C/U$fot?Jcai    c/v 


UNDER  THE   RED  ROBE 


COUNT  HANNIBAL 


A  GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANC  I 


STANLEY  J.   WEYMAN 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 

GIFT  OF 


Jeanette  MacDonald 


HISTORICAL  ROMANCES 

UNDER  THE  1(ED  ?(QBE 

COUNT  HANNIBAL 
A  GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 


'BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  WOLF 

A  GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

UNDER  THE  RED  ROBE 

SHREWSBURY 

SOPHIA 

COUNT  HANNIBAL 

IN  KINGS'  BYWAYS 

STARVECROW  FARM 

LAID  UP  IN  LAVENDER 

OVINGTON'S  BANK 

THE  TRAVELLER  IN  THE  FUR  CLOAK 

QUEEN'S  FOLLY 

THE  LIVELY  PEGGY 


HISTORICAL  ROMANCES 

Under  The  'Red  "Robe 
Count  Hannibal 
(gentleman  of  France 


BY 

STANLEY  J.  WEYMAN 


LONGMANS,  GREEN  AND  CO. 

55    FIFTH    AVENUE    •    NEW    YORK 


HISTORICAL    ROMANCES 

UNDER    THE    RED    ROBE        •        COUNT    HANNIBAL 
A    GENTLEMAN    O!     FRANCE 


COPYRIGHT    '     1893     '     1894     '     1900     •     1901     '     1921 
BY    STANLEY    J.    WEYMAN 


PRINTED    IN    THE    UNITED    STATES    OF    AMERICA 


College 
Library 

PR 


UNDER  THE  RED  ROBE 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PACK 

I.    AT  ZATON'S i 

II.    AT  THE  GREEN  PILLAR 27 

III.  THE  HOUSE  IN  THE  WOOD 53 

IV.  MADAME  AND  MADEMOISELLE 78 

V.    REVENGE 102 

VI.    UNDER  THE  Pic  DU  MIDI 127 

VII.    A  MASTER  STROKE 153 

VIII.    THE  QUESTION 178 

IX.    CLON  .        .        .        .    '   .        .        .        .       .        .  204 

X.    THE  ARREST 231 

XI.    THE  ROAD  TO  PARIS 259 

XII.      AT  THE  FINGER-POST 284 

XIII.  ST.  MARTIN'S  EVE 3" 

XIV.  ST.  MARTIN'S  SUMMER 325 

v 


UNDER  THE    RED    ROBE. 

CHAPTER    I. 
AT  ZATON'S. 

"  MARKED  cards  ! " 

There  were  a  score  round  us  when  the  fool, 
little  knowing  the  man  with  whom  he  had  to 
deal,  and  as  little  how  to  lose  like  a  gentleman, 
flung  the  words  in  my  teeth.  He  thought,  I'll 
be  sworn,  that  I  should  storm  and  swear  and 
ruffle  it  like  any  common  cock  of  the  hackle. 
But  that  was  never  Gil  de  Berault's  way.  For  a 
few  seconds  after  he  had  spoken  I  did  not  even 
look  at  him.  I  passed  my  eye  instead  —  smiling, 
bien  entendu  —  round  the  ring  of  waiting  faces, 
saw  that  there  was  no  one  except  De  Pombal  I 
had  cause  to  fear;  and  then  at  last  I  rose  and 
looked  at  the  fool  with  the  grim  face  I  have 
known  impose  on  older  and  wiser  men. 

I  B 


2  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

"  Marked  cards,  M.  1'Anglais  ? "  I  said,  with  a 
chilling  sneer.  "They  are  used,  I  am  told,  to 
trap  players  —  not  unbirched  schoolboys." 

"  Yet  I  say  that  they  are  marked ! "  he  replied 
hotly,  in  his  queer  foreign  jargon.  "In  my  last 
hand  I  had  nothing.  You  doubled  the  stakes. 
Bah,  Sir,  you  knew  !  You  have  swindled  me  !  " 

"Monsieur  is  easy  to  swindle  —  when  he  plays 
with  a  mirror  behind  him,"  I  answered  tartly. 
And  at  that  there  was  a  great  roar  of  laughter, 
which  might  have  been  heard  in  the  street,  and 
which  brought  to  the  table  every  one  in  the 
eating-house  whom  his  violence  had  not  already 
attracted.  But  I  did  not  relax  my  face.  I  waited 
until  all  was  quiet  again,  and  then  waving  aside 
two  or  three  who  stood  between  us  and  the  en- 
trance, I  pointed  gravely  to  the  door.  "There  is 
a  little  space  behind  the  church  of  St.  Jacques, 
M.  1'Etranger,"  I  said,  putting  on  my  hat  and 
taking  my  cloak  on  my  arm.  "  Doubtless  you 
will  accompany  me  thither  ?  " 

He  snatched  up  his  hat,  his  face  burning  with 
shame  and  rage.  "  With  pleasure  ! "  he  blurted 
out.  "  To  the  devil,  if  you  like ! " 


AT  ZATON^S.  3 

I  thought  the  matter  arranged,  when  the  Mar- 
quis laid  his  hand  on  the  young  fellow's  arm 
and  checked  him.  "  This  must  not  be,"  he  said, 
turning  from  him  to  me  with  his  grand  fine- 
gentleman's  air.  "  You  know  me,  M.  de  Berault. 
This  matter  has  gone  far  enough." 

"Too  far,  M.  de  Pombal!"  I  answered  bitterly. 
"Still,  if  you  wish  to  take  the  gentleman's  place, 
I  shall  raise  no  objection." 

"Chut,  man  !  "  he  retorted,  shrugging  his  shoul- 
ders negligently.  "  I  know  you,  and  I  do  not  fight 
with  men  of  your  stamp.  Nor  need  this  gentle- 
man." 

"  Undoubtedly,"  I  replied,  bowing  low,  "  if  he 
prefers  to  be  caned  in  the  streets." 

That  stung  the  Marquis.  "  Have  a  care  !  have 
a  care!"  he  cried  hotly.  "You  go  too  far,  M. 
Berault." 

"De  Berault,  if  you  please,"  I  objected,  eyeing 
him  sternly.  "  My  family  has  borne  the  de  as  long 
as  yours,  M.  de  Pombal." 

He  could  not  deny  that,  and  he  answered,  "  As 
you  please";  at  the  same  time  restraining  his 
friend  by  a  gesture.  "But  none  the  less,  take  my 

B  2 


4  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

advice,"  he  continued.  "  The  Cardinal  has  forbid- 
den duelling,  and  this  time  he  means  it !  You 
have  been  in  trouble  once  and  gone  free.  A 
second  time  it  may  fare  worse  with  you.  Let  this 
gentleman  go,  therefore,  M.  de  Berault.  Besides 
—  why,  shame  upon  you,  man !  "  he  exclaimed 
hotly  ;  "  he  is  but  a  lad  !  " 

Two  or  three  who  stood  behind  me  applauded 
that.  But  I  turned  and  they  met  my  eye ;  and 
they  were  as  mum  as  mice.  "  His  age  is  his  own 
concern,"  I  said  grimly.  "He  was  old  enough  a 
while  ago  to  insult  me." 

"And  I  will  prove  my  words!"  the  lad  cried, 
exploding  at  last.  He  had  spirit  enough,  and  the 
Marquis  had  had  hard  work  to  restrain  him  so 
long.  "You  do  me  jio  service,  M.  de  Pombal,"  he 
continued,  pettishly  shaking  off  his  friend's  hand. 
"  By  your  leave,  this  gentleman  and  I  will  settle 
this  matter." 

"That  is  better,"  I  said,  nodding  drily,  while 
the  Marquis  stood  aside,  frowning  and  baffled. 
"Permit  me  to  lead  the  way." 

Zaton's  eating-house  stands  scarcely  a  hundred 
paces  from  St.  Jacques  la  Boucherie,  and  half  the 


AT  Z ATONES.  5 

company  went  thither  with  us.  The  evening  was 
wet,  the  light  in  the  streets  was  waning,  the 
streets  themselves  were  dirty  and  slippery.  There 
were  few  passers  in  the  Rue  St.  Antoine ;  and 
our  party,  which  earlier  in  the  day  must  have 
attracted  notice  and  a  crowd,  crossed  unmarked, 
and  entered  without  interruption  the  paved  trian- 
gle which  lies  immediately  behind  the  church.  I 
saw  in  the  distance  one  of  the  Cardinal's  guard 
loitering  in  front  of  the  scaffolding  round  the 
new  H6tel  Richelieu ;  and  the  sight  of  the  uni- 
form gave  me  pause  for  a  moment.  But  it  was 
too  late  to  repent. 

The  Englishman  began  at  once  to  strip  off  his 
clothes.  I  closed  mine  to  the  throat,  for  the  air 
was  chilly.  At  that  moment,  while  we  stood  pre- 
paring and  most  of  the  company  seemed  a  little 
inclined  to  stand  off  from  me,  I  felt  a  hand  on 
my  arm,  and,  turning,  saw  the  dwarfish  tailor  at 
whose  house  in  the  Rue  Savonnerie  I  lodged  at 
the  time.  The  fellow's  presence  was  unwelcome, 
to  say  the  least  of  it ;  and  though  for  want  of 
better  company  I  had  sometimes  encouraged  him 
to  be  free  with  me  at  home,  I  took  that  to  be  no 


6  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

reason  why  I  should  be  plagued  with  him  before 
gentlemen.  I  shook  him  off,  therefore,  hoping 
by  a  frown  to  silence  him. 

He  was  not  to  be  so  easily  put  down,  however. 
And  perforce  I  had  to  speak  to  him.  "After- 
wards, afterwards,"  I  said.  "  I  am  engaged  now." 

"For  God's  sake,  don't,  Sir!"  was  the  poor 
fool's  answer.  "  Don't  do  it !  You  will  bring  a 
curse  on  the  house.  He  is  but  a  lad,  and  — " 

"  You,  too  !  "  I  exclaimed,  losing  patience.  "  Be 
silent,  you  scum  !  What  do  you  know  about  gen- 
tlemen's quarrels  ?  Leave  me  ;  do  you  hear  ? " 

"  But  the  Cardinal ! "  he  cried  in  a  quavering 
voice.  "  The  Cardinal,  M.  de  Berault  ?  The  last 
man  you  killed  is  not  forgotten  yet.  This  time 
he  will  be  sure  to  — " 

"  Do  you  hear  ? "  I  hissed.  The  fellow's  im- 
pudence passed  all  bounds.  It  was  as  bad  as  his 
croaking.  "  Begone  !  "  I  said.  "  I  suppose  you  are 
afraid  he  will  kill  me,  and  you  will  lose  your  money?" 

Prison  fell  back  at  that  almost  as  if  I  had  struck 
him,  and  I  turned  to  my  adversary,  who  had 
been  awaiting  my  motions  with  impatience.  God 
knows  he  did  look  young ;  as  he  stood  with  his 


AT  Z ATONES.  7 

head  bare  and  his  fair  hair  drooping  over  his 
smooth  woman's  forehead  —  a  mere  lad  fresh  from 
the  College  of  Burgundy,  if  they  have  such  a  thing 
in  England.  I  felt  a  sudden  chill  as  I  looked  at 
him  :  a  qualm,  a  tremor,  a  presentiment.  What 
was  it  the  little  tailor  had  said  ?  That  I  should  — 
but  there,  he  did  not  know.  What  did  he  know 
of  such  things  ?  If  I  let  this  pass  I  must  kill  a 
man  a  day,  or  leave  Paris  and  the  eating-house, 
and  starve. 

"  A  thousand  pardons,"  I  said  gravely,  as  I 
drew  and  took  my  place.  "  A  dun.  I  am  sorry 
that  the  poor  devil  caught  me  so  inopportunely. 
Now,  however,  I  am  at  your  service." 

He  saluted,  and  we  crossed  swords  and  began. 
But  from  the  first  I  had  no  doubt  what  the  result 
would  be.  The  slippery  stones  and  fading  light 
gave  him,  it  is  true,  some  chance,  some  advantage, 
more  than  he  deserved ;  but  I  had  no  sooner  felt 
his  blade  than  I  knew  that  he  was  no  swordsman. 
Possibly  he  had  taken  half-a-dozen  lessons  in  rapier 
art,  and  practised  what  he  learned  with  an  Eng- 
lishman as  heavy  and  awkward  as  himself.  But 
that  was  all.  He  made  a  few  wild,  clumsy  rushes, 


UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

parrying  widely.  When  I  had  foiled  these,  the 
danger  was  over,  and  I  held  him  at  my  mercy. 

I  played  with  him  a  little  while,  watching  the 
sweat  gather  on  his  brow,  and  the  shadow  of 
the  church-tower  fall  deeper  and  darker,  like 
the  shadow  of  doom,  on  his  face.  Not  out  of 
cruelty  —  God  knows  I  have  never  erred  in  that 
direction  !  —  but  because,  for  the  first  time  in  my 
life,  I  felt  a  strange  reluctance  to  strike  the  blow. 
The  curls  clung  to  his  forehead  ;  his  breath  came 
and  went  in  gasps ;  I  heard  the  men  behind  me 
murmur,  and  one  or  two  of  them  drop  an  oath  ; 
and  then  I  slipped  —  slipped,  and  was  down  in  a 
moment  on  my  right  side,  my  elbow  striking  the 
pavement  so  sharply  that  the  arm  grew  numb  to 
the  wrist. 

He  held  off !  I  heard  a  dozen  voices  cry,  "  Now ! 
now  you  have  him  !  "  But  he  held  off.  He  stood 
back  and  waited  with  his  breast  heaving  and  his 
point  lowered,  until  I  had  risen  and  stood  again  on 
my  guard. 

"  Enough  !  enough  ! "  a  rough  voice  behind  me 
cried.  "  Don't  hurt  the  man  after  that." 

"On  guard,  Sir!"  I  answered  coldly  —  for  he 


AT  ZATOWS.  9 

seemed  to  waver.  "  It  was  an  accident  It  shall 
not  avail  you  again." 

Several  voices  cried  "  Shame  !  "  and  one,  "  You 
coward !  "  But  the  Englishman  stepped  forward, 
a  fixed  look  in  his  blue  eyes.  He  took  his  place 
without  a  word.  I  read  in  his  drawn  white  face 
that  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  the  worst,  and 
his  courage  won  my  admiration.  I  would  gladly 
and  thankfully  have  set  one  of  the  lookers-on  — 
any  of  the  lookers-on  —  in  his  place ;  but  that 
could  not  be.  So  I  thought  of  Zaton's  closed  to 
me,  of  Pombal's  insult,  of  the  sneers  and  slights 
I  had  long  kept  at  the  sword's  point ;  and,  press- 
ing him  suddenly  in  a  heat  of  affected  anger,  I 
thrust  strongly  over  his  guard,  which  had  grown 
feeble,  and  ran  him  through  the  chest. 

When  I  saw  him  lying,  laid  out  on  the  stones 
with  his  eyes  half  shut,  and  his  face  glimmering 
white  in  the  dusk  —  not  that  I  saw  him  thus  long, 
for  there  were  a  dozen  kneeling  round  him  in  a 
twinkling — I  felt  an  unwonted  pang.  It  passed, 
however,  in  a  moment.  For  I  found  myself  con- 
fronted by  a  ring  of  angry  faces  —  of  men  who, 
keeping  at  a  distance,  hissed  and  threatened  me. 


10  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

They  were  mostly  canaille,  who  had  gathered 
during  the  fight,  and  had  viewed  all  that  passed 
from  the  farther  side  of  the  railings.  While 
some  snarled  and  raged  at  me  like  wolves,  call- 
ing me  "  Butcher !  "  and  "  Cut-throat !  "  and  the 
like,  or  cried  out  that  Berault  was  at  his  trade 
again,  others  threatened  me  with  the  vengeance 
of  the  Cardinal,  flung  the  edict  in  my  teeth,  and 
said  with  glee  that  the  guard  were  coming  — 
they  would  see  me  hanged  yet. 

"  His  blood  is  on  your  head  ! "  one  cried  furi- 
ously. "  He  will  be  dead  in  an  hour.  And  you 
will  swing  for  him  !  Hurrah  !  " 

"  Begone  to  your  kennel ! "  I  answered,  with  a 
look  which  sent  him  a  yard  backwards,  though 
the  railings  were  between  us.  And  I  wiped  my 
blade  carefully,  standing  a  little  apart.  For  — 
well,  I  could  understand  it  —  it  was  one  of  those 
moments  when  a  man  is  not  popular.  Those 
who  had  come  with  me  from  the  eating-house 
eyed  me  askance,  and  turned  their  backs  when 
I  drew  nearer ;  and  those  who  had  joined  us  and 
obtained  admission  were  scarcely  more  polite. 

But    I    was   not    to    be    outdone   in   sangfroid. 


AT  ZATOWS.  II 

I  cocked  my  hat,  and  drawing  my  cloak  over  my 
shoulders,  went  out  with  a  swagger  which  drove 
the  curs  from  the  gate  before  I  came  within  a 
dozen  paces  of  it.  The  rascals  outside  fell  back 
as  quickly,  and  in  a  moment  I  was  in  the  street. 
Another  moment  and  I  should  have  been  clear 
of  the  place  and  free  to  lie  by  for  a  while,  when 
a  sudden  scurry  took  place  round  me.  The  crowd 
fled  every  way  into  the  gloom,  and  in  a  hand-turn 
a  dozen  of  the  Cardinal's  guard  closed  round  me. 

I  had  some  acquaintance  with  the  officer  in 
command,  and  he  saluted  me  civilly.  "  This  is  a 
bad  business,  M.  de  Berault,"  he  said.  "The 
man  is  dead  they  tell  me." 

"Neither  dying  nor  dead,"  I  answered  lightly. 
"  If  that  be  all,  you  may  go  home  again." 

"With  you,"  he  replied,  with  a  grin,  "certainly. 
And  as  it  rains,  the  sooner  the  better.  I  must 
ask  you  for  your  sword,  I  am  afraid." 

"Take  it,"  I  said,  with  the  philosophy  which 
never  deserts  me.  "But  the  man  will  not  die." 

"  I  hope  that  may  avail  you,"  he  answered  in  a 
tone  I  did  not  like.  "  Left  wheel,  my  friends ! 
To  the  Chatelet!  March!" 


12  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

"There  are  worse  places,"  I  said,  and  resigned 
myself  to  fate.  After  all,  I  had  been  in  prison 
before,  and  learned  that  only  one  jail  lets  no 
prisoner  escape. 

But  when  I  found  that  my  friend's  orders  were 
to  hand  me  over  to  the  watch,  and  that  I  was 
to  be  confined^  like  any  common  jail-bird  caught 
cutting  a  purse  or  slitting  a  throat,  I  confess  my 
heart  sank.  If  I  could  get  speech  with  the 
Cardinal,  all  would  probably  be  well ;  but  if  I 
failed  in  this,  or  if  the  case  came  before  him 
in  strange  guise,  or  he  were  in  a  hard  mood 
himself,  then  it  might  go  ill  with  me.  The  edict 
said,  death  ! 

And  the  lieutenant  at  the  Chatelet  did  not 
put  himself  to  much  trouble  to  hearten  me. 
"  What !  again,  M.  de  Berault  ? "  he  said,  raising 
his  eyebrows  as  he  received  me  at  the  gate, 
and  recognized  me  by  the  light  of  the  brazier 
which  his  men  were  just  kindling  outside.  "  You 
are  a  very  bold  man,  Sir,  or  a  very  foolhardy 
one,  to  come  here  again.  The  old  business,  I 
suppose  ? " 

"Yes,  but  he  is  not  dead,"  I  answered  coolly. 


AT  Z ATONES.  13 

"He  has  a  trifle  —  a  mere  scratch.  It  was  behind 
the  church  of  St.  Jacques." 

"  He  looked  dead  enough,"  my  friend  the 
guardsman  interposed.  He  had  not  yet  gone. 

"Bah ! "  I  answered  scornfully.  "  Have  you  ever 
known  me  make  a  mistake  ?  When  I  kill  a  man, 
I  kill  him.  I  put  myself  to  pains,  I  tell  you,  not 
to  kill  this  Englishman.  Therefore  he  will  live." 

"  I  hope  so,"  the  lieutenant  said,  with  a  dry 
smile.  "  And  you  had  better  hope  so,  too,  M.  de 
Berault.  For  if  not  —  " 

"Well?"  I  said,  somewhat  troubled.  "If  not, 
what,  my  friend  ? " 

"  I  fear  he  will  be  the  last  man  you  will  fight," 
he  answered.  "  And  even  if  he  lives,  I  would  not. 
be  too  sure,  my  friend.  This  time  the  Cardinal  is 
determined  to  put  it  down." 

"  He  and  I  are  old  friends,"  I  said  confidently. 

"  So  I  have  heard,"  he  answered,  with  a  short 
laugh.  "  I  think  the  same  was  said  of  Chalais.  I 
do  not  remember  that  it  saved  his  head." 

This  was  not  reassuring.  But  worse  was  to 
come.  Early  in  the  morning  orders  were  received 
that  I  should  be  treated  with  especial  strictness, 


14  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

and  I  was  given  the  choice  between  irons  and  one 
of  the  cells  below  the  level.  Choosing  the  latter, 
I  was  left  to  reflect  upon  many  things  ;  among 
others,  on  the  queer  and  uncertain  nature  of  the 
Cardinal,  who  loved,  I  knew,  to  play  with  a  man 
as  a  cat  with  a  mouse ;  and  on  the  ill  effects  which 
sometimes  attend  a  high  chest-thrust,  however 
carefully  delivered.  I  only  rescued  myself  at  last 
from  these  and  other  unpleasant  reflections  by 
obtaining  the  loan  of  a  pair  of  dice  ;  and  the  light 
being  just  enough  to  enable  me  to  reckon  the 
throws,  I  amused  myself  for  hours  by  casting 
them  on  certain  principles  of  my  own.  But  a 
long  run  again  and  again  upset  my  calculations; 
and  at  last  brought  me  to  the  conclusion  that  a 
run  of  bad  luck  may  be  so  persistent  as  to  see 
out  the  most  sagacious  player.  This  was  not  a 
reflection  very  welcome  to  me  at  the  moment. 

Nevertheless,  for  three  days  it  was  all  the  com- 
pany I  had.  At  the  end  of  that  time  the  knave 
of  a  jailer  who  attended  me,  and  who  had  never 
grown  tired  of  telling  me,  after  the  fashion  of  his 
kind,  that  I  should  be  hanged,  came  to  me  with  a 
less  assured  air.  "  Perhaps  you  would  like  a  little 
water?"  he  said  civilly. 


AT  ZATON'S.  15 

"  Why,  rascal  ? "   I  asked. 

"  To  wash  with,"  he  answered. 

"  I  asked  for  some  yesterday,  and  you  would 
Aot  bring  it,"  I  grumbled.  "  However,  better  late 
than  never.  Bring  it  now.  If  I  must  hang,  I  will 
hang  like  a  gentleman.  But,  depend  upon  it,  the 
Cardinal  will  not  serve  an  old  friend  so  scurvy  a 
trick." 

"You  are  to  go  to  him,"  he  answered,  when 
he  came  back  with  the  water. 

"What?     To  the  Cardinal?"    I  cried. 

"Yes,"  he  answered. 

"  Good  ! "  I  exclaimed  ;  and  in  my  joy  I  sprang 
up  at  once,  and  began  to  refresh  my  dress.  "  So 
all  this  time  I  have  been  doing  him  an  injustice. 
Vive  Monseigneur !  I  might  have  known  it." 

"  Don't  make  too  sure ! "  the  man  answered 
spitefully.  Then  he  went  on  :  "I  have  some- 
thing else  for  you.  A  friend  of  yours  left  it 
at  the  gate,"  he  added.  And  he  handed  me  a 
packet. 

"  Quite  so ! "  I  said,  reading  his  rascally  face 
aright.  "And  you  kept  it  as  long  as  you  dared 
—  as  long  as  you  thought  I  should  hang,  you 


1 6  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

knave !  Was  not  that  so  ?  But  there,  do  not 
lie  to  me.  Tell  me  instead  which  of  my  friends 
left  it."  For,  to  confess  the  truth,  I  had  not 
so  many  friends  at  this  time ;  and  ten  good 
crowns  —  the  packet  contained  no  less  a  sum  — 
argued  a  pretty  staunch  friend,  and  one  of  whom 
a  man  might  be  proud. 

The  knave  sniggered  maliciously.  "A  crooked, 
dwarfish  man  left  it,"  he  said.  "  I  doubt  I  might 
call  him  a  tailor  and  not  be  far  out." 

"  Chut ! "  I  answered ;  but  I  was  a  little  out 
of  countenance.  "  I  understand.  An  honest  fel- 
low enough,  and  in  debt  to  me !  I  am  glad  he 
remembered.  But  when  am  I  to  go,  friend  ? " 

"  In  an  hour,"  he  answered  sullenly.  Doubt- 
less he  had  looked  to  get  one  of  the  crowns ; 
but  I  was  too  old  a  hand  for  that.  If  I  came 
back  I  could  buy  his  services ;  and  if  I  did  not 
I  should  have  wasted  my  money. 

Nevertheless,  a  little  later,  when  I  found  my- 
self on  my  way  to  the  Hotel  Richelieu  under  so 
close  a  guard  that  I  could  see  nothing  except 
the  figures  that  immediately  surrounded  me,  I 
wished  I  had  given  him  the  money.  At  such 


AT  ZATON^S.  17 

times,  when  all  hangs  in  the  balance  and  the 
sky  is  overcast,  the  mind  runs  on  luck  and  old 
superstitions,  and  is  prone  to  think  a  crown  given 
here  may  avail  there  —  though  there  be  a  hun- 
dred leagues  away. 

The  Palais  Richelieu  was  at  this  time  in  build- 
ing, and  we  were  required  to  wait  in  a  long, 
bare  gallery,  where  the  masons  were  at  work. 
I  was  kept  a  full  hour  here,  pondering  uncom- 
fortably on  the  strange  whims  and  fancies  of 
the  great  man  who  then  ruled  France  as  the 
King's  Lieutenant-General,  with  all  the  King's 
powers ;  and  whose  life  I  had  once  been  the 
means  of  saving  by  a  little  timely  information. 
On  occasion  he  had  done  something  to  wipe  out 
the  debt ;  and  at  other  times  he  had  permitted 
me  to  be  free  with  him.  We  were  not  unknown 
to  one  another,  therefore. 

Nevertheless,  when  the  doors  were  at  last  thrown 
open,  and  I  was  led  into  his  presence,  my  confi- 
dence underwent  a  shock.  His  cold  glance,  that, 
roving  over  me,  regarded  me  not  as  a  man  but 
an  item,  the  steely  glitter  of  his  southern  eyes, 
chilled  me  to  the  bone.  The  room  was  bare,  the 

c 


1 8  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

floor  without  carpet  or  covering.  Some  of  the 
woodwork  lay  about,  unfinished  and  in  pieces. 
But  the  man  —  this  man,  needed  no  surroundings. 
His  keen,  pale  face,  his  brilliant  eyes,  even  his 
presence  —  though  he  was  of  no  great  height  and 
began  already  to  stoop  at  the  shoulders  —  were 
enough  to  awe  the  boldest.  I  recalled  as  I  looked 
at  him  a  hundred  tales  of  his  iron  will,  his  cold 
heart,  his  unerring  craft.  He  had  humbled  the 
King's  brother,  the  splendid  Duke  of  Orleans,  in 
the  dust.  He  had  curbed  the  Queen-mother.  A 
dozen  heads,  the  noblest  in  France,  had  come  to 
the  block  through  him.  Only  two  years  before 
he  had  quelled  Rochelle ;  only  a  few  months  be- 
fore he  had  crushed  the  great  insurrection  in  Lan- 
gucdoc  :  and  though  the  south,  stripped  of  its  old 
privileges,  still  seethed  with  discontent,  no  one  in 
this  year  1630  dared  lift  a  hand  against  him  — 
openly,  at  any  rate.  Under  the  surface  a  hundred 
plots,  a  thousand  intrigues,  sought  his  life  or  his 
power  ;  but  these,  I  suppose,  are  the  hap  of  every 
great  man. 

No  wonder,  then,  that  the  courage  on  which  I 
plumed  myself  sank  low  at  sight  of  him  ;  or  that 


AT  ZATON'S.  19 

it  was  as  much  as  I  could  do  to  mingle  with  the 
humility  of  my  salute  some  touch  of  the  sangfroid 
of  old  acquaintanceship. 

And  perhaps  that  had  been  better  left  out.  For 
this  man  was  without  bowels.  For  a  moment, 
while  he  stood  looking  at  me  and  before  he  spoke 
to  me,  I  gave  myself  up  for  lost.  There  was  a 
glint  of  cruel  satisfaction  in  his  eyes  that  warned 
me,  before  he  spoke,  what  he  was  going  to  say 
to  me. 

"  I  could  not  have  made  a  better  catch,  M.  de 
Berault,"  he  said,  smiling  villainously,  while  he 
gently  smoothed  the  fur  of  a  cat  that  had  sprung 
on  the  table  beside  him.  "An  old  offender  and 
an  excellent  example.  I  doubt  it  will  not  stop 
with  you.  But  later,  we  will  make  you  the  war- 
rant for  flying  at  higher  game." 

"Monseigneur  has  handled  a  sword  himself,"  I 
blurted  out.  The  very  room  seemed  to  be  grow- 
ing darker,  the  air  colder.  I  was  never  nearer 
fear  in  my  life. 

"  Yes  ? "  he  said,  smiling  delicately.    "  And  so  ? " 

"  Will  not  be  too  hard  on  the  failings  of  a  poor 
gentleman." 


20  UN-DER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

"  He  shall  suffer  no  more  than  a  rich  one,"  h< 
replied  suavely,  as  he  stroked  the  cat.  "  Enjo) 
that  satisfaction,  M.  de  Berault.  Is  that  all  ? " 

"Once  I  was  of  service  to  your  Eminence,"  ] 
said  desperately. 

"Payment  has  been  made,"  he  answered,  "more 
than  once.  But  for  that  I  should  not  have  seen 
you,  M.  de  Berault." 

"  The  King's  face !  "  I  cried,  snatching  at  the 
straw  he  seemed  to  hold  out. 

He  laughed  cynically,  smoothly.  His  thin  face, 
his  dark  moustache,  and  whitening  hair,  gave  him 
an  air  of  indescribable  keenness.  "  I  am  not  the 
King,"  he  said.  "  Besides,  I  am  told  you  have 
killed  as  many  as  six  men  in  duels.  You  owe  the 
King,  therefore,  one  life  at  least.  You  must  pay 
it.  There  is  no  more  to  be  said,  M.  de  Berault," 
he  continued  coldly,  turning  away  and  beginning 
to  collect  some  papers.  "  The  law  must  take  its 
course." 

I  thought  he  was  about  to  nod  to  the  lieuten- 
ant to  withdraw  me,  and  a  chilling  sweat  broke 
out  down  my  back.  I  saw  the  scaffold,  I  felt  the 
cords.  A  moment,  and  it  would  be  too  late !  "  I 


AT  ZATOWS.  21 

have  a  favour  to  ask,"  I  stammered  desperately, 
"if  your  Eminence  would  give  me  a  moment 
alone." 

"To  what  end?"  he  answered,  turning  and  eye- 
ing me  with  cold  disfavour.  "  I  know  you  —  your 
past  —  all.  It  can  do  no  good,  my  friend." 

"  Nor  harm  !  "  I  cried.  "  And  I  am  a  dying 
man,  Monseigneur !" 

"That  is  true,"  he  said  thoughtfully.  Still  he 
seemed  to  hesitate ;  and  my  heart  beat  fast.  At 
last  he  looked  at  the  lieutenant.  "  You  may  leave 
us,"  he  said  shortly.  "  Now,"  when  the  officer 
had  withdrawn  and  left  us  alone,  "  what  is  it  ? 
Say  what  you  have  to  say  quickly.  And  above 
all,  do  not  try  to  fool  me,  M.  de  Berault." 

But  his  piercing  eyes  so  disconcerted  me  that 
now  I  had  my  chance  I  could  not  find  a  word  to 
say,  and  stood  before  him  mute.  I  think  this 
pleased  him,  for  his  face  relaxed. 

"  Well  ? "  he  said  at  last.     "  Is  that  all  ? " 

"The  man  is  not  dead,"  I  muttered. 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders  contemptuously. 
"What  of  that?"  he  said.  "That  was  not  what 
you  wanted  to  say  to  me." 


22  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

"Once  I  saved  your  Eminence's  life,"  I  fai- 
tered  miserably. 

"Admitted,"  he  answered,  in  his  thin,  incisive 
voice.  "  You  mentioned  the  fact  before.  On  the 
other  hand,  you  have  taken  six  to  my  knowledge, 
M.  de  Berault.  You  have  lived  the  life  of  a 
bully,  a  common  bravo,  a  gamester.  You,  a  man 
of  family  !  For  shame  !  And  it  has  brought  you 
to  this.  Yet  on  that  one  point  I  am  willing  to 
hear  more,"  he  added  abruptly. 

"I  might  save  your  Eminence's  life  again,"  I 
cried.  It  was  a  sudden  inspiration. 

"  You  know  something,"  he  said  quickly,  fixing 
me  with  his  eyes.  "  But  no,"  he  continued,  shak 
ing  his  head  gently.  "  Pshaw !  the  trick  is  old. 
I  have  better  spies  than  you,  M.  de  Berault." 

"  But  no  better  sword,"  I  cried  hoarsely.  "  No, 
not  in  all  your  guard ! " 

"That  is  true,"  he  said.  "That  is  true."  To 
my  surprise,  he  spoke  in  a  tone  of  consideration ; 
and  he  looked  down  at  the  floor.  "  Let  me  think, 
my  friend,"  he  continued. 

He  walked  two  or  three  times  up  and  down 
the  room,  while  I  stood  trembling.  I  confess  it 


AT  Z ATONES.  23 

trembling.  The  man  whose  pulses  danger  has 
no  power  to  quicken,  is  seldom  proof  against 
suspense ;  and  the  sudden  hope  his  words  awak- 
ened in  me  so  shook  me  that  his  figure,  as  he 
trod  lightly  to  and  fro,  with  the  cat  rubbing 
against  his  robe  and  turning  time  for  time  with 
him,  wavered  before  my  eyes.  I  grasped  the 
table  to  steady  myself.  I  had  not  admitted  even 
in  my  own  mind  how  darkly  the  shadow  of 
Montfaucon  and  the  gallows  had  fallen  across 
me. 

I  had  leisure  to  recover  myself,  for  it  was  some 
time  before  he  spoke.  When  he  did,  it  was  in 
a  voice  harsh,  changed,  imperative.  "You  have 
the  reputation  of  a  man  faithful,  at  least,  to  his 
employer,"  he  said.  "Do  not  answer  me.  I  say 
it  is  so.  Well,  I  will  trust  you.  I  will  give  you 
one  more  chance  —  though  it  is  a  desperate  one. 
Woe  to  you  if  you  fail  me !  Do  you  know 
Cocheforet  in  Beam?  It  is  not  far  from  Auch." 

"No,  your  Eminence." 

"  Nor  M.  de  Cocheforet  ?  " 

"  No,  your  Eminence." 

"So  much  the  better,"  he  retorted.     "But  you 


24  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

have  heard  of  him.  He  has  been  engaged  in 
every  Gascon  plot  since  the  late  King's  death, 
and  gave  me  more  trouble  last  year  in  the 
Vivarais  than  any  man  twice  his  years.  At 
present  he  is  at  Bosost  in  Spain,  with  other 
refugees,  but  I  have  learned  that  at  frequent 
intervals  he  visits  his  wife  at  Cocheforet,  which 
is  six  leagues  within  the  border.  On  one  of 
these  visits  he  must  be  arrested." 

"That  should  be  easy,"  I  said. 

The  Cardinal  looked  at  me.  "  Tush,  man ! 
what  do  you  know  about  it  ? "  he  answered 
bluntly.  "  It  is  whispered  at  Cccheforet  if  a  sol- 
dier crosses  the  street  at  Auch.  In  the  house 
are  only  two  or  three  servants,  but  they  have 
the  country-side  with  them  to  a  man,  and  they 
are  a  dangerous  breed.  A  spark  might  kindle 
a  fresh  rising.  The  arrest,  therefore,  must  be 
made  secretly." 

I  bowed. 

"  One  resolute  man  inside  the  house,  with  the 
help  of  two  or  three  servants  whom  he  could 
summon  to  his  aid  at  will,  might  effect  it,"  the 
Cardinal  continued,  glancing  at  a  paper  which  lay 


AT  Z ATONES.  25 

on  the  table.  "The  question  is,  will  you  be  the 
man,  my  friend  ? " 

I  hesitated  ;  then  I  bowed.  What  choice 
had  I  ? 

"Nay,  nay,  speak  out !  "  he  said  sharply.  "Yes 
or  no,  M.  de  Berault  ? " 

"  Yes,  your  Eminence,"  I  said  reluctantly. 
Again,  I  say,  what  choice  had  I  ? 

"  You  will  bring  him  to  Paris,  and  alive.  He 
knows  things,  and  that  is  why  I  want  him.  You 
understand?" 

"I  understand,  Monseigneur,"  I  answered. 

"  You  will  get  into  the  house  as  you  can,"  he 
continued.  "  For  that  you  will  need  strategy,  and 
good  strategy.  They  suspect  everybody.  You 
must  deceive  them.  If  you  fail  to  deceive  them, 
or,  deceiving  them,  are  found  out  later,  M.  de 
Berault  —  I  do  not  think  you  will  trouble  me 
again,  or  break  the  edict  a  second  time.  On  the 
other  hand,  should  you  deceive  me''  —  he  smiled 
still  more  subtly,  but  his  voice  sank  to  a  purring 
note  —  "I  will  break  you  on  the  wheel  like  the 
ruined  gamester  you  are  !  " 

I  met  his  look  without  quailing.     "  So  be  it ! " 


26  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

I  said  recklessly.  "  If  I  do  not  bring  M.  de 
Cochefordt  to  Paris,  you  may  do  that  to  me,  and 
more  also!" 

"  It  is  a  bargain  ! "  he  answered  slowly.  "  I 
think  you  will  be  faithful.  For  money,  here  are  a 
hundred  crowns.  That  sum  should  suffice  ;  but  if 
you  succeed  you  shall  have  twice  as  much  more. 
Well,  that  is  all,  I  think.  You  understand?" 

"Yes,  Monseigneur." 

"Then  why  do  you  wait?" 

"The  lieutenant?"  I  said  modestly. 

Monseigneur  laughed  to  himself,  and  sitting 
down  wrote  a  word  or  two  on  a  slip  of  paper. 
"  Give  him  that,"  he  said,  in  high  good-humour. 
"I  fear,  M.  de  Berault,  you  will  never  get  your 
deserts  —  in  this  world  I " 


CHAPTER   II. 

AT   THE    GREEN    PILLAR. 

COCHEFORET  lies  in  a  billowy  land  of  oak  and 
beech  and  chestnut  —  a  land  of  deep,  leafy  bot- 
toms, and  hills  clothed  with  forest  Ridge  and 
valley,  glen  and  knoll,  the  woodland,  sparsely 
peopled  and  more  sparsely  tilled,  stretches  away 
to  the  great  snow  mountains  that  here  limit 
France.  It  swarms  with  game  —  wivh  wolves 
aiid  bears,  deer  and  boars.  To  the  end  of  his 
life  I  have  heard  that  the  great  King  loved  this 
district,  and  would  sigh,  when  years  and  State 
fell  heavily  on  him,  for  the  beech-groves  and 
box-covered  hills  of  South  Beam.  From  the 
terraced  steps  of  Auch  you  can  see  the  forest 
roll  away  in  light  and  shadow,  vale  and  upland, 
to  the  base  of  the  snow-peaks ;  and,  though  1 
come  from  Brittany  and  love  the  smell  of  the 
salt  wind,  I  have  seen  few  sights  that  outdo  this. 

27 


28  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

It  was  the  second  week  in  October  when  I 
came  to  Cocheforet,  and,  dropping  down  from 
the  last  wooded  brow,  rode  quietly  into  the  place 
at  evening.  I  was  alone,  and  had  ridden  all 
day  in  a  glory  of  ruddy  beech-leaves,  through 
the  silence  of  forest  roads,  across  clear  brooks 
and  glades  still  green.  I  had  seen  more  of  the 
quiet  and  peace  of  the  country  than  had  been 
my  share  since  boyhood,  and  I  felt  a  little  mel- 
ancholy ;  it  might  be  for  that  reason,  or  because 
I  had  no  great  taste  for  the  task  before  me  — 
the  task  now  so  imminent.  In  good  faith,  it 
was  not  a  gentleman's  work,  look  at  it  how  you 
might. 

But  beggars  must  not  be  choosers,  and  I  knew 
that  this  feeling  would  pass  away.  At  the  inn, 
in  the  presence  of  others,  under  the  spur  of 
necessity,  or  in  the  excitement  of  the  chase, 
were  that  once  begun,  I  should  lose  the  feeling. 
When  a  man  is  young,  he  seeks  solitude :  when 
he  is  middle-aged  he  flies  it  and  his  thoughts. 
I  made  without  ado  for  the  Green  Pillar,  a  little 
inn  in  the  village  street,  to  which  I  had  been 
iirected  at  Auch,  and,  thundering  on  the  door 


AT  THE  GREEN  PILLAR.  29 

with  the  knob  of  my  riding-switch,  railed  at  the 
man  for  keeping  me  waiting. 

Here  and  there  at  hovel  doors  in  the  street 
—  which  was  a  mean,  poor  place,  not  worthy  of 
the  name  —  men  and  women  looked  out  at  me 
suspiciously.  But  I  affected  to  ignore  them  ; 
and  at  last  the  host  came.  He  was  a  fair 
haired  man,  half  Basque,  half  Frenchman,  and 
had  scanned  me  well,  I  was  sure,  through  some 
window  or  peephole ;  for,  when  he  came  out, 
he  betrayed  no  surprise  at  the  sight  of  a  well- 
dressed  stranger  —  a  portent  in  that  out-of-the- 
way  village  —  but  eyed  me  with  a  kind  of  sullen 
reserve. 

"  I  can  lie  here  to-night,  I  suppose  ? "  I  said, 
dropping  the  reins  on  the  sorrel's  neck.  The 
horse  hung  its  head. 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  answered  stupidly. 

I  pointed  to  the  green  bough  which  topped  a 
post  that  stood  opposite  the  door. 

"  This  is  an  inn,  is  it  not  ?  "  I  said. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered  slowly ;  "  it  is  an  inn. 
But  —  " 

"But  you  are  full,  or  you  are  out  of  food*  or 


30  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

your  wife  is  ill,  or  something  else  is  amiss,"  I 
answered  peevishly.  "  All  the  same,  I  am  going 
to  lie  here.  So  you  must  make  the  best  of  it, 
and  your  wife,  too  —  if  you  have  one." 

He  scratched  his  head,  looking  at  me  with  an 
ugly  glitter  in  his  eyes.  But  he  said  nothing, 
and  I  dismounted. 

"Where  can  I  stable  my  horse?"  I  asked. 

"  I'll  put  it  up,"  he  answered  sullenly,  step- 
ping forward  and  taking  the  reins  in  his  hands. 

"  Very  well,"  I  said ;  "  but  I  go  with  you.  A 
merciful  man  is  merciful  to  his  beast,  and  where- 
ever  I  go  I  see  my  horse  fed." 

"  It  will  be  fed,"  he  said  shortly.  And  then 
he  waited  for  me  to  go  into  the  house.  "  The 
wife  is  in  there,"  he  continued,  looking  at  me 
stubbornly. 

"Imprimis — if  you  understand  Latin,  my  friend," 
I  answered,  "the  horse  in  the  stall." 

As  if  he  saw  it  was  no  good,  he  turned  the 
sorrel  slowly  round,  and  began  to  lead  it  across 
the  village  street.  There  was  a  shed  behind 
the  inn,  which  I  had  already  marked  and  taken 
for  the  stable,  and  I  was  surprised  when  I  found 


AT  THE  GREEN  PILLAR.  31 

he  was  not  going  there.  But  I  made  no  remark, 
and  in  a  few  minutes  saw  the  horse  well  stabled 
in  a  hovel  which  seemed  to  belong  to  a  neighbour. 

This  done,  the  man  led  the  way  back  to  the 
inn,  carrying  my  valise. 

"  You  have  no  other  guests  ? "  I  said,  with  a 
casual  air.  I  knew  he  was  watching  me  closely. 

"  No,"  he  answered. 

"This  is  not  much  in  the  way  to  anywhere,  I 
suppose  ? " 

"No." 

That  was  evident ;  a  more  retired  place  I  nevei 
saw.  The  hanging  woods,  rising  steeply  to  a 
great  height,  so  shut  the  valley  in  that  I  was 
puzzled  to  think  how  a  man  could  leave  it  save 
by  the  road  I  had  come.  The  cottages,  which 
were  no  more  than  mean,  small  huts,  ran  in  a 
straggling  double  line,  with  many  gaps  —  through 
fallen  trees  and  ill-cleared  meadows.  Among 
them  a  noisy  brook  ran  in  and  out.  And  the 
inhabitants  —  charcoal-burners,  or  swineherds,  or 
poor  people  of  the  like  class,  were  no  better  than 
their  dwellings.  I  looked  in  vain  for  the  Chateau. 
It  was  not  to  be  seen,  and  I  dared  not  ask  for  it 


32  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

The  man  led  me  into  the  common  room  of  the 
tavern  —  a  low-roofed,  poor  place,  lacking  a  chim- 
ney or  glazed  windows,  and  grimy  with  smoke 
and  use.  The  fire  —  a  great  half-burned  tree  — 
smouldered  on  a  stone  hearth,  raised  a  foot  from 
the  floor.  A  huge  black  pot  simmered  over  it, 
and  beside  one  window  lounged  a  country  fellow 
talking  with  the  goodwife.  In  the  dusk  I  could 
not  see  his  face,  but  I  gave  the  woman  a  word, 
and  sat  down  to  wait  for  my  supper. 

She  seemed  more  silent  than  the  common  run 
of  women  ;  but  this  might  be  because  her  hus- 
band was  present.  While  she  moved  about,  get- 
ting my  meal,  he  took  his  place  against  the  door- 
post and  fell  to  staring  at  me  so  persistently  that 
I  felt  by  no  means  at  my  ease.  He  was  a  tall, 
strong  fellow,  with  a  rough  moustache  and  brown 
beard,  cut  in  the  mode  Henri  Ouatre ;  and  on  the 
subject  of  that  king  —  a  safe  one,  I  knew,  with  a 
Bearnais  —  and  on  that  alone,  I  found  it  possible 
to  make  him  talk.  Even  then  there  was  a  suspi- 
cious gleam  in  his  eyes  that  bade  me  abstain  from 
questions ;  and  as  the  darkness  deepened  behind 
him,  and  the  firelight  played  more  and  more 


AT  THE  GREEN  PILLAR.  33 

strongly  on  his  features,  and  I  thought  of  the 
leagues  of  woodland  that  lay  between  this  remote 
valley  and  Auch.  I  recalled  the  Cardinal's  warn- 
ing that  if  I  failed  in  my  attempt  I  should  be 
little  likely  to  trouble  Paris  again. 

The  lout  by  the  window  paid  no  attention  to 
me ;  nor  I  to  him,  when  I  had  once  satisfied  my- 
self that  he  was  really  what  he  seemed  to  be. 
But  by  and  by  two  or  three  men  —  rough,  un- 
couth fellows  —  dropped  in  to  reinforce  the  land- 
lord, and  they,  too,  seemed  to  have  no  other 
business  than  to  sit  in  silence  looking  at  me,  or 
now  and  again  to  exchange  a  word  in  a  patois 
of  their  own.  By  the  time  my  supper  was  ready, 
the  knaves  numbered  six  in  all ;  and,  as  they 
were  armed  to  a  man  with  huge  Spanish  knives, 
and  evidently  resented  my  presence  in  their  dull 
rustic  fashion  —  every  rustic  is  suspicious  —  1 
began  to  think  that,  unwittingly,  I  had  put  my 
head  into  a  wasp's  nest. 

Nevertheless,  I  ate  and  drank  with  apparent 
appetite ;  but  little  that  passed  within  the  circle 
of  light  cast  by  the  smoky  lamp  escaped  me.  I 
watched  the  men's  looks  and  gestures  at  least 


34  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

as  sharply  as  they  watched  mine ;  and  all  the 
time  I  was  racking  my  wits  for  some  mode  of  dis- 
arming their  suspicions  —  or  failing  that,  of  learn- 
ing something  more  of  the  position,  which,  it  was 
clear,  far  exceeded  in  difficulty  and  danger  any- 
thing I  had  expected.  The  whole  valley,  it  would 
seem,  was  on  the  lookout  to  protect  my  man ! 

I  had  purposely  brought  with  me  from  Auch  a 
couple  of  bottles  of  choice  Armagnac ;  and  these 
had  been  carried  into  the  house  with  my  saddle- 
bags. I  took  one  out  now  and  opened  it,  and 
carelessly  offered  a  dram  of  the  spirit  to  the 
landlord.  He  took  it.  As  he  drank  it,  I  saw  his 
face  flush;  he  handed  back  the  cup  reluctantly, 
and  on  that  hint  I  offered  him  another.  The 
strong  spirit  was  already  beginning  to  work.  He 
accepted,  and  in  a  few  minutes  began  to  talk 
more  freely  and  with  less  of  the  constraint  which 
had  marked  us.  Still,  his  tongue  ran  chiefly  on 
questions  —  he  would  know  this,  he  would  learn 
that;  but  even  this  was  a  welcome  change.  I 
told  him  openly  whence  I  had  come,  by  what 
road,  how  long  I  had  stayed  in  Auch,  and  where ; 
and  so  far  I  satisfied  his  curiosity.  Only  wnen  I 


AT  THE  GREEN  PILLAR.  35 

irame  to  the  subject  of  my  visit  to  Cocheforet  I 
kept  a  mysterious  silence,  hinting  darkly  at  busi- 
ness in  Spain  and  friends  across  the  border,  and 
this  and  that,  and  giving  the  peasants  to  under- 
stand, if  they  pleased,  that  I  was  in  the  same 
interest  as  their  exiled  master. 

They  took  the  bait,  winked  at  one  another,  and 
began  to  look  at  me  in  a  more  friendly  way  — 
the  landlord  foremost.  But  when  I  had  led  them 
so  far,  I  dared  go  no  farther,  lest  I  should  com- 
mit myself  and  be  found  out.  I  stopped,  there- 
tore,  and,  harking  back  to  general  subjects, 
chanced  to  compare  my  province  with  theirs. 
The  landlord,  now  become  almost  talkative,  was 
not  slow  to  take  up  this  challenge;  and  it  pres- 
ently led  to  my  acquiring  a  curious  piece  ot 
knowledge.  He  was  boasting  of,  his  great  snow 
mountains,  the  forests  that  propped  them,  the 
bears  that  roamed  in  them,  the  izards  that  loved 
the  ice,  and  the  boars  that  fed  on  the  oak  mast. 

"  Well,"  I  said,  quite  by  chance,  "  we  have  not 
these  things,  it  is  true.  But  we  have  things  in 
the  north  you  have  not.  We  have  tens  of  thou- 
sands of  good  horses  —  not  such  ponies  as  you 

D  2 


36  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

breed  here.  At  the  horse  fair  at  Fe'camp  my 
sorrel  would  be  lost  in  the  crowd.  Here  in  the 
south  you  will  not  meet  his  match  in  a  long  day's 
journey." 

"  Do  not  make  too  sure  of  that ! "  the  man 
replied,  his  eyes  bright  with  triumph  and  the 
dram.  "What  would  you  say  if  I  showed  you 
a  better  —  in  my  own  stable?" 

I  saw  that  his  words  sent  a  kind  of  thrill 
through  his  other  hearers,  and  that  such  of  them 
as  understood  —  for  two  or  three  of  them  talked 
their  patois  only  —  looked  at  him  angrily ;  and 
in  a  twinkling  I  began  to  comprehend.  But  ] 
affected  dulness,  and  laughed  scornfully. 

"  Seeing  is  believing,"  I  said.  "  I  doubt  if  you 
know  a  good  horse  here  when  you  see  one,  my 
friend." 

"  Oh,  don't  I  ?  "  he  said,  winking.     "  Indeed  !  " 

"  I  doubt  it,"  I  answered  stubbornly. 

"Then  come  with  me,  and  I  will  show  you 
one,"  he  retorted,  discretion  giving  way  to  vain- 
glory. His  wife  and  the  others,  I  saw,  looked 
at  him  dumbfounded;  but,  without  paying  any 
heed  to  them,  he  took  up  a  lanthorn,  and,  assum- 


AT  THE  GREEN  PILLAR.  37 

ing  an  air  of  peculiar  wisdom,  opened  the  door. 
"  Come  with  me,"  he  continued.  "  I  don't  know 
a  good  horse  when  I  see  one,  don't  I  ?  I  know 
a  better  than  yours,  at  any  rate!" 

I  should  not  have  been  surprised  if  the  other 
men  had  interfered;  but — I  suppose  he  was  a 
leader  among  them,  and  they  did  not,  and  in 
a  moment  we  were  outside.  Three  paces  through 
the  darkness  took  us  to  the  stable,  an  offset  at 
the  back  of  the  inn.  My  man  twirled  the  pin, 
and,  leading  the  way  in,  raised  his  lanthorn.  A 
horse  whinnied  softly,  and  turned  its  bright,  soft 
eyes  on  us  —  a  baldf aced  chestnut,  with  white 
hairs  in  its  tail  and  one  white  stocking. 

"  There ! "  my  guide  exclaimed,  waving  the 
lanthorn  to  and  fro  boastfully,  that  I  might  see 
its  points.  "  What  do  you  say  to  that  ?  Is  that 
an  undersized  pony  ?  " 

"  No,"  1  answered,  purposely  stinting  my 
praise.  "It  is  pretty  fair  —  for  this  country." 

"Or  any  country,"  he  answered  wrathfully. 
"Any  country,  I  say — I  don't  care  where  it  is! 
And  I  have  reason  to  know  !  Why,  man,  that 
horse  is —  But  there,  that  is  a  good  horse,  if 


$8  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

ever  you  saw  one  \  "  And  with  that  he  ended 
abruptly  and  lamely,  lowering  the  lanthorn  with 
a  sudden  gesture,  and  turning  to  the  door.  He 
was  on  the  instant  in  such  hurry,  that  he  almost 
shouldered  me  out. 

But  I  understood.  I  knew  that  he  had  nearly 
betrayed  all  —  that  he  had  been  on  the  point  of 
blurting  out  that  that  was  M.  de  Cochefore"t's 
horse  !  M.  de  Cocheforet's,  comprenez  bien  !  And 
while  I  turned  away  my  face  in  the  darkness, 
that  he  might  not  see  me  smile,  I  was  not  sur- 
prised to  find  the  man  in  a  moment  changed, 
and  become,  in  the  closing  of  the  door,  as  sober 
and  suspicious  as  before,  ashamed  of  himself  and 
enraged  with  me,  and  in  a  mood  to  cut  my  throat 
for  a  trifle. 

It  was  not  my  cue  to  quarrel,  however — any- 
thing but  that.  I  made,  therefore,  as  if  I  had 
seen  nothing,  and  when  we  were  back  in  the 
inn  praised  the  horse  grudgingly,  and  like  a  man 
but  half  convinced.  The  ugly  looks  and  ugly 
weapons  I  saw  around  me  were  fine  incentives 
to  caution ;  and  no  Italian,  I  flatter  myself,  could 
have  played  his  part  more  nicely  than  I  did.  But 


AT  THE  GREEN  PILLAR.  39 

I  was  heartily  glad  when  it  was  over,  and  I  found 
myself,  at  last,  left  alone  for  the  night  in  a  little 
garret — a  mere  fowl-house  —  upstairs,  formed  by 
the  roof  and  gable  walls,  and  hung  with  strings 
of  apples  and  chestnuts.  It  was  a  poor  sleeping- 
place —  rough,  chilly,  and  unclean.  I  ascended 
to  it  by  a  ladder;  my  cloak  and  a  little  fern 
formed  my  only  bed.  But  I  was  glad  to  accept 
it.  It  enabled  me  to  be  alone  and  to  think  out 
the  position  unwatched. 

Of  course  M.  de  Cocheforet  was  at  the  Chateau. 
He  had  left  his  horse  here,  and  gone  up  on 
foot :  probably  that  was  his  usual  plan.  He 
was  therefore  within  my  reach,  in  one  sense  — 
I  could  not  have  come  at  a  better  time  —  but  in 
another  he  was  as  much  beyond  it  as  if  I  were 
still  in  Paris.  So  far  was  I  from  being  able  to 
seize  him  that  I  dared  not  ask  a  question  or  let 
fall  a  rash  word,  or  even  look  about  me  freely. 
I  saw  I  dared  not.  The  slightest  hint  of  my 
mission,  the  faintest  breath  of  distrust,  would 
lead  to  throat-cutting  —  and  the  throat  would  be 
mine;  while  the  longer  I  lay  in  the  village,  the 
greater  suspicion  I  should  incur,  and  the  closer 
would  be  the  watch  kept  over  me. 


40  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

In  such  a  position  some  men  might  have  j^iven 
up  the  attempt  and  saved  themselves  across  the 
border.  But  I  have  always  valued  myself  on 
my  fidelity,  and  I  did  not  shrink.  If  not  to-day, 
to-morrow ;  if  not  this  time,  next  time.  The 
dice  do  not  always  turn  up  aces.  Bracing  myself, 
therefore,  to  the  occasion,  I  crept,  as  soon  as 
the  house  was  quiet,  to  the  window,  a  small, 
square,  open  lattice,  much  cobwebbed,  and  partly 
stuffed  with  hay.  I  looked  out.  The  village 
seemed  to  be  asleep.  The  dark  branches  of  trees 
hung  a  few  feet  away,  and  almost  obscured  a 
grey,  cloudy  sky,  through  which  a  wet  moon 
sailed  drearily.  Looking  downwards,  I  could  at 
first  see  nothing ;  but  as  my  eyes  grew  used  to 
the  darkness  —  I  had  only  just  put  out  my 
rushlight  —  I  made  out  the  stable-door  and  the 
shadowy  outlines  of  the  lean-to  roof. 

I  had  hoped  for  this.  I  could  now  keep 
watch,  and  learn  at  least  whether  Cochefore't 
left  before  morning.  If  he  did  not  I  should 
know  he  was  still  here.  If  he  did,  I  should  be 
the  better  for  seeing  his  features,  and  learning, 
perhaps,  other  things  that  might  be  of  use. 


AT  THE  GREEN  PILLAR.  41 

Making  up  my  mind  to  be  uncomfortable,  I. 
sat  down  on  the  floor  by  the  lattice,  and  began 
a  vigil  that  might  last,  I  knew,  until  morning. 
It  did  last  about  an  hour.  At  the  end  of  that 
time  I  heard  whispering  below,  then  footsteps; 
then,  as  some  persons  turned  a  corner,  a  voice 
speaking  aloud  and  carelessly.  I  could  not  catch 
the  words  spoken ;  but  the  voice  was  a  gentle- 
man's, and  its  bold  accents  and  masterful  tone 
left  me  in  no  doubt  that  the  speaker  was  M.  de 
Cocheforet  himself.  Hoping  to  learn  more,  I 
pressed  my  face  nearer  to  the  opening,  and 
I  had  just  made  out  through  the  gloom  two 
figures  —  one  that  of  a  tall,  slight  man,  wearing 
a  cloak,  the  other,  I  thought,  a  woman's,  in  a 
sheeny  white  dress  —  when  a  thundering  rap  on 
the  door  of  my  garret  made  me  spring  back  a 
yard  from  the  lattice,  and  lie  down  hurriedly  on 
my  couch.  The  noise  was  repeated. 

"Well?"  I  cried,  cursing  the  untimely  inter, 
ruption.  I  was  burning  with  anxiety  to  see  more. 
"What  is  it?  What  is  the  matter?" 

The  trapdoor  was  lifted  a  foot  or  more.  The 
landlord  thrust  up  his  head. 


42  UNDER    THE  RED  ROBE. 

"You  called,  did  you  not?"  he  asked.  Tie 
held  up  a  rushlight,  which  illumined  half  the 
room  and  lit  up  his  grinning  face. 

"  Called  —  at  this  hour  of  the  night,  you  fool  ?  " 
I  answered  angrily.  "  No  !  I  did  not  call.  Go 
to  bed,  man  !  " 

But  he  remained  on  the  ladder,  gaping  stupidly. 

"  I  heard  you,"  he  said. 

"Go  to  bed !  You  are  drunk !  "  I  answered, 
sitting  up.  "  I  tell  you  I  did  not  call." 

"Oh,  very  well,"  he  answered  slowly.  "And 
you  do  not  want  anything?" 

"  Nothing  —  except  to  be  left  alone  !  "  I  replied 
sourly. 

"  Umph  !      he  said.     "  Good-night !  " 

"  Good-nignt !  Good-night !  "  I  answered,  with 
what  patience  I  might.  The  tramp  of  the  horse's 
hoofs  as  it  was  led  out  of  the  stable  was  in 
my  ear  at  the  moment.  "  Good-night ! '  I  con- 
tinued feverishly,  hoping  he  would  still  retire 
in  time,  and  I  have  a  chance  to  look  out.  "  I 
want  to  sleep." 

"  Good,"  he  said,  with  a  broad  grin.  "  But 
it  is  early  yet,  and  you  have  plenty  of  time." 


AT  THE  GREEN  PILLAR.  4*y 

And  then,  at  last,  he  slowly  let  down  the  trar> 
door,  and  I  heard  him  chuckle  as  Vie  went  down 
the  ladder. 

Before  he  reached  the  bottom  I  was  at  the 
window.  The  woman  whom  I  had  seen  still 
stood  below,  in  the  same  place;  and  beside  her 
a  man  in  a  peasant's  dress,  holding  a  lanthorn, 
But  the  man,  the  man  I  wanted  to  see  was  no 
longer  there.  And  it  was  evident  that  he  was 
gone;  it  was  evident  that  the  others  no  longer 
feared  me,  for  while  I  gazed  the  landlord  came 
out  to  them  with  another  lanthorn,  and  said 
something  to  the  lady,  and  she  looked  up  at  my 
window  and  laughed. 

It  was  a  warm  night,  and  she  wore  nothing 
over  her  white  dress.  I  could  see  her  tall, 
shapely  figure  and  shining  eyes,  and  the  firm 
contour  of  her  beautiful  face ;  which,  if  any 
fault  might  be  found  with  it,  erred  in  being  too 
regular.  She  looked  like  a  woman  formed  by 
nature  to  meet  dangers  and  difficulties ;  and  even 
here,  at  midnight,  in  the  midst  of  these  desperate 
men,  she  seemed  in  place.  It  was  possible  that 
under  her  queenly  exterior,  and  behind  the  con- 


44  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

temptuous  laugh  with  which  she  heard  the  land 
lord's  story,  there  lurked  a  woman's  soul  capable 
of  folly  and  tenderness.  But  no  outward  sign 
betrayed  its  presence. 

I  scanned  her  very  carefully ;  and  secretly,  if 
the  truth  be  told,  I  was  glad  to  find  Madame  de 
Cocheforet  such  a  woman.  I  was  glad  that  she 
had  laughed  as  she  had  —  that  she  was  not  a 
little,  tender,  child-like  woman,  to  be  crushed  by 
the  first  pinch  of  trouble.  For  if  I  succeeded  in 
my  task,  if  I  —  but,  pish !  Women,  I  said,  were 
all  alike.  She  would  find  consolation  quickly 
enough. 

I  watched  until  the  group  broke  up,  and 
Madame,  with  one  of  the  men,  went  her  way 
round  the  corner  of  the  inn,  and  out  of  my 
sight.  Then  I  retired  to  bed  again,  feeling  more 
than  ever  perplexed  what  course  I  should  adopt. 
It  was  clear  that,  to  succeed,  I  must  obtain 
admission  to  the  house.  This  was  garrisoned, 
unless  my  instruction*  erred,  by  two  or  three 
old  men-servants  only,  and  as  many  women ; 
since  Madame,  to  disguise  her  husband's  visits 
the  more  easily,  lived,  and  gave  out  that  she 


AT  THE  GREEN  PILLAR.  45 

lived,  in  great  retirement.  To  seize  her  hus- 
band at  home,  therefore,  might  be  no  impossible 
task;  though  here,  in  the  heart  of  the  village, 
a  troop  of  horse  might  make  the  attempt,  and 
fail. 

But  how  was  I  to  gain  admission  to  the  house 
—  a  house  guarded  by  quick-witted  women,  and 
hedged  in  with  all  the  precautions  love  could 
devise  ?  That  was  the  question ;  and  dawn  found 
me  still  debating  it,  still  as  far  as  ever  from  an 
answer.  With  the  first  light  I  was  glad  to  get 
up.  I  thought  that  the  fresh  air  might  inspire 
me,  and  I  was  tired,  besides,  of  my  stuffy  closet 
I  crept  stealthily  down  the  ladder,  and  managed 
to  pass  unseen  through  the  lower  room,  in  which 
several  persons  were  snoring  heavily.  The  outei 
door  was  not  fastened,  and  in  a  hand-turn  I 
stood  in  the  street. 

It  was  still  so  early  that  the  trees  stood  up 
black  against  the  reddening  sky,  but  the  bough 
upon  the  post  before  the  door  was  growing 
green,  and  in  a  few  minutes  the  grey  light 
would  be  everywhere.  Already  even  in  the  road 
way  there  was  a  glimmering  of  it;  and  as  \ 


46  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

stood  at  the  corner  of  the  house  —  where  I  could 
command  both  the  front  and  the  side  on  which 
the  stable  opened  —  looking  greedily  for  any 
trace  of  the  midnight  departure,  my  eyes  de- 
tected something  light-coloured  lying  on  the 
ground.  It  was  not  more  than  two  or  three 
paces  from  me,  and  I  stepped  to  it  and  picked 
It  up  curiously,  hoping  it  might  be  a  note.  It 
was  not  a  note,  however,  but  a  tiny  orange-col- 
oured sachet,  such  as  women  carry  in  the  bosom. 
It  was  full  of  some  faintly  scented  powder,  and 
bore  on  one  side  the  initial  "  E,"  worked  in 
white  silk;  and  was  altogether  a  dainty  little 
toy,  such  as  women  love. 

Doubtless  Madame  de  Cocheforet  had  dropped 
it  in  the  night.  I  turned  it  over  and  over;  and 
then  I  put  it  away  with  a  smile,  thinking  it 
might  be  useful  some  time,  and  in  some  way. 
I  had  scarcely  done  this,  and  turned  with  the 
intention  of  exploring  the  street,  when  the  door 
behind  me  creaked  on  its  leather  hinges,  and  in 
a  moment  my  host  stood  at  my  elbow. 

Evidently  his  suspicions  were  again  aroused. 
for  from  that  time  he  managed  to  be  with  me, 


AT  THE  GREEN  PILLAR.  47 

on  one  pretence  or  another,  until  noon.  More- 
over, his  manner  grew  each  moment  more  churl- 
ish, his  hints  plainer;  until  I  could  scarcely  avoid 
noticing  the  one  or  the  other.  About  midday, 
having  followed  me  for  the  twentieth  time  into 
the  street,  he  came  at  last  to  the  point,  by  ask- 
ing me  rudely  if  I  did  not  need  my  horse. 

"No,"  I  said.     "Why  do  you  ask?" 

"  Because,"  he  answered,  with  an  ugly  smile, 
"this  is  not  a  very  healthy  place  for  strangers." 

"  Ah !  "  I  retorted.  "  But  the  border  air  suits 
me,  you  see." 

It  was  a  lucky  answer;  for,  taken  with  my 
talk  of  the  night  before,  it  puzzled  him,  by  again 
suggesting  that  I  was  on  the  .losing  side,  and 
had  my  reasons  for  lying  near  Spain.  Before 
he  had  done  scratching  his  head  over  it,  the  clat- 
ter of  hoofs  broke  the  sleepy  quiet  of  the  vil- 
lage street,  and  the  lady  I  had  seen  the  night 
before  rode  quickly  round  the  corner,  and  drew 
her  horse  on  to  its  haunches.  Without  •  looking 
at  me,  she  called  to  the  innkeeper  to  come  to 
her  stirrup. 

He  went     The  moment  his  back  was  turned,. 


48  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

I  slipped  away,  and  in  a  twinkling  was  hidden 
by  a  house.  Two  or  three  glum-looking  fellows 
stared  at  me  as  I  passed,  but  no  one  moved ;  and 
in  two  minutes  I  was  clear  of  the  village,  and  in 
a  half-worn  track  which  ran  through  the  wood, 
and  led  —  if  my  ideas  were  right  —  to  the  Cha- 
teau. To  discover  the  house  and  learn  all  that 
was  to  be  learned  about  its  situation  was  my 
most  pressing  need  :  even  at  the  risk  of  a  knife- 
thrust,  I  was  determined  to  satisfy  it. 

I  had  not  gone  two  hundred  paces  along  the 
path  before  I  heard  the  tread  of  a  horse  behind 
me,  and  I  had  just  time  to  hide  myself  before 
Madame  came  up  and  rode  by  me,  sitting  her 
horse  gracefully,  and  with  all  the  courage  of  a 
northern  woman.  I  watched  her  pass,  and  then, 
assured  by  her  presence  that  I  was  in  the  right 
road,  I  hurried  after  her.  Two  minutes'  walking 
at  speed  brought  me  to  a  light  wooden  bridge 
spanning  a  stream.  I  crossed  this,  and,  the  wood 
opening,  saw  before  me  first  a  wide,  pleasant 
meadow,  and  beyond  this  a  terrace.  On  the  ter- 
race, pressed  upon  on  three  sides  by  thick  woods, 
stood  a  grey  mansion,  with  the  corner  tourelles. 


AT  THE  GREEN"  PILLAR.  49 

steep,  high  roofs,  and  round  balconies  that  men 
loved  and  built  in  the  days  of  the  first  Francis. 

It  was  of  good  size,  but  wore,  I  fancied,  a 
gloomy  aspect.  A  great  yew  hedge,  which  seemed 
to  enclose  a  walk  or  bowling-green,  hid  the  ground 
floor  of  the  east  wing  from  view,  while  a  formal 
rose  garden,  stiff  even  in  neglect,  lay  in  front  of 
the  main  building.  The  west  wing,  whose  lower 
roofs  fell  gradually  away  to  the  woods,  probably 
contained  the  stables  and  granaries. 

I  stood  a  moment  only,  but  I  marked  all,  and 
noted  how  the  road  reached  the  house,  and  which 
windows  were  open  to  attack ;  then  I  turned  and 
hastened  back.  Fortunately,  I  met  no  one  be- 
tween the  house  and  the  village,  and  was  able  to 
enter  the  inn  with  an  air  of  the  most  complete 
innocence. 

Short  as  had  been  my  absence,  I  found  things 
altered  there.  Round  the  door  loitered  and  chat- 
tered three  strangers  —  stout,  well-armed  fellows, 
whose  bearing  suggested  a  curious  mixture  of 
smugness  and  independence.  Half-a-dozen  pack- 
horses  stood  tethered  to  the  post  in  front  of  the 
house;  and  the  landlord's  manner,  from  being 


50  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

rude  and  churlish  only,  had  grown  perplexed  and 
almost  timid.  One  of  the  strangers,  I  soon  found, 
supplied  him  with  wine  ;  the  others  were  travel- 
ling merchants,  who  rode  in  the  first  one's  com- 
pany for  the  sake  of  safety.  All  were  substantial 
men  from  Tarbes  —  solid  burgesses;  and  I  was 
not  long  in  guessing  that  my  host,  fearing  what 
might  leak  out  before  them,  and  particularly  that 
I  might  refer  to  the  previous  night's  disturbance, 
was  on  tenterhooks  while  they  remained. 

For  a  time  this  did  not  suggest  anything  to  me. 
But  when  we  had  all  taken  our  seats  for  supper 
there  came  an  addition  to  the  party.  The  door 
opened,  and  the  fellow  whom  I  had  seen  the  night 
before  with  Madame  de  Cocheforet  entered,  and 
took  a  stool  by  the  fire.  I  felt  sure  that  he  was 
one  of  the  servants  at  the  Chateau  ;  and  in  a  flash 
his  presence  inspired  me  with  the  most  feasible 
plan  for  obtaining  admission  which  I  had  yet  hit 
upon.  I  felt  myself  growing  hot  at  the  thought 
—  it  seemed  so  full  of  promise  and  of  danger  — 
and  on  the  instant,  without  giving  myself  time 
to  think  too  much,  I  began  to  carry  it  into 
effect. 


AT  THE  GREEN  PILLAR.  51 

I  called  for  two  or  three  bottles  of  better  wine, 
and,  assuming  a  jovial  air,  passed  it  round  the 
table.  When  we  had  drunk  a  few  glasses,  I  fell 
to  talking,  and,  choosing  politics,  took  the  side 
of  the  Languedoc  party  and  the  malcontents,  in 
so  reckless  a  fashion  that  the  innkeeper  was 
beside  himself  at  my  imprudence.  The  mer- 
chants, who  belonged  to  the  class  with  whom  the 
Cardinal  was  always  most  popular,  looked  first 
astonished  and  then  enraged.  But  I  was  not  to 
be  checked.  Hints  and  sour  looks  were  lost  upon 
me.  I  grew  more  outspoken  with  every  glass,  I 
drank  to  the  Rochellois,  I  swore  it  would  not  be 
long  before  they  raised  their  heads  again ;  and  at 
last,  while  the  innkeeper  and  his  wife  were  en- 
gaged lighting  the  lamp,  I  passed  round  the 
bottle  and  called  on  all  for  a  toast. 

"  I'll  give  you  one  to  begin,"  I  bragged  noisily. 
"  A  gentleman's  toast !  A  southern  toast !  Here 
is  confusion  to  the  Cardinal,  and  a  health  to  all 
who  hate  him  !  " 

"  Mon  Dieu ! "  one  of  the  strangers  cried, 
springing  from  his  seat  in  a  rage.  "  I  am  not 
going  to  stomach  that !  Is  your  house  a  common 


52  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

treason-hole,"  he  continued,  turning  furiously  on 
the  landlord,  "that  you  suffer  this?" 

"  Hoity-toity !  "  I  answered,  coolly  keeping  my 
seat.  "  What  is  all  this  ?  Don't  you  relish  my 
toast,  little  man  ? " 

"  No  —  nor  you  !  "  he  retorted  hotly,  "  whoever 
you  may  be  !  " 

"Then  I  will  give  you  another,"  I  answered, 
with  a  hiccough.  "  Perhaps  it  will  be  more  to 
your  taste.  Here  is  the  Duke  of  Orleans,  and 
may  he  soon  be  King ! " 


CHAPTER   III. 

THE   HOUSE    IN   THE   WOOD. 

MY  words  fairly  startled  the  three  men  out  of 
their  anger.  Foi"  a  moment  they  glared  at  me 
as  if  they  had  seen  a  ghost.  Then  the  wine- 
merchant  clapped  his  hand  on  the  table.  "  That 
is  enough ! "  he  said,  with  a  look  at  his  com- 
panions. "  I  think  there  can  be  no  mistake 
about  that.  As  damnable  treason  as  ever  I 
heard  whispered !  I  congratulate  you,  Sir,  on 
your  boldness.  As  for  you,"  he  continued,  turn- 
ing with  an  ugly  sneer  to  the  landlord,  "  I 
shall  know  now  the  company  you  keep !  I  was 
not  aware  that  my  wine  wet  whistles  to  such 
a  tune!" 

But  if  he  was  startled,  the  innkeeper  was 
furious,  seeing  his  character  thus  taken  away; 
and,  being  at  no  time  a  man  of  many  words,  he 
vented  his  rage  exactly  in  the  way  I  wished.  In 

S3 


54  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

a  twinkling  he  raised  such  an  uproar  as  can 
scarcely  be  conceived.  With  a  roar  like  a  bull's 
he  ran  headlong  at  the  table,  and  overturned  it 
on  the  top  of  me.  The  woman  saved  the  lamp 
and  fled  with  it  into  a  corner,  whence  she  and 
the  man  from  the  Chateau  watched  the  skirmish 
in  silence ;  but  the  pewter  cups  and  platters 
flew  spinning  across  the  floor,  while  the  table 
pinned  me  to  the  ground  among  the  ruins  of  my 
stool.  Having  me  at  this  disadvantage  —  for  at 
first  I  made  no  resistance  —  the  landlord  began 
to  belabour  me  with  the  first  thing  he  snatched 
up,  and  when  I  tried  to  defend  myself  cursed 
me  with  each  blow  for  a  treacherous  rogue  and 
a  vagrant.  Meanwhile,  the  three  merchants, 
delighted  with  the  turn  things  had  taken,  skipped 
round  us  laughing ;  and  now  hounded  him  on, 
now  bantered  me  with  "  How  is  that  for  the 
Duke  of  Orleans  ?  "  and  "  How  now,  traitor  ?  " 

When  I  thought  this  had  lasted  long  enough 
—  or,  to  speak  more  plainly,  when  I  could  stand 
the  innkeeper's  drubbing  no  longer  —  I  threw 
him  off  by  a  great  effort,  and  struggled  to  my 
feet.  But  still,  though  the  blood  was  trickling 


THE  HOUSE  IN   THE   WOOD.  55 

down  my  face,  I  refrained  from  drawing  my 
sword.  I  caught  up  instead  a  leg  of  the  stool 
which  lay  handy,  and,  watching  my  opportunity, 
dealt  the  landlord  a  shrewd  blow  under  the  ear, 
which  laid  him  out  in  a  moment  on  the  wreck 
of  his  own  table. 

"  Now !  "  I  cried,  brandishing  my  new  weapon, 
which  fitted  the  hand  to  a  nicety,  "  come  on ! 
Come  on,  if  you  dare  to  strike  a  blow,  you  ped- 
dling, truckling,  huckstering  knaves !  A  fig  for 
you  and  your  shaveling  Cardinal ! " 

The  red-faced  wine-merchant  drew  his  sword 
in  a  one-two.  "  Why,  you  drunken  fool,"  he 
said  wrathfully,  "  put  that  stick  down,  or  I  will 
spit  you  like  a  lark !  " 

"  Lark  in  your  teeth ! "  I  cried,  staggering  as 
if  the  wine  were  in  my  head.  "Another  word, 
and  I  —  " 

He  made  a  couple  of  savage  passes  at  me,  but 
in  a  twinkling  his  sword  flew  across  the  room. 

"  Voila!"  I  shouted,  lurching  forward,  as  if  I 
had  luck  and  not  skill  to  thank  for  it.  "  Now 
the  next !  Come  on,  come  on  — •  you  white-livered 
knaves ! "  And,  pretending  a  drunken  frenzy, 


$6  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

I  flung  my  weapon  bodily  amongst  them,  and 
seizing  the  nearest,  began  to  wrestle  with  him. 

In  a  moment  they  all  threw  themselves  upon 
me,  and,  swearing  copiously,  bore  me  back  to 
the  door.  The  wine-merchant  cried  breathlessly 
to  the  woman  to  open  it,  and  in  a  twinkling 
they  had  me  through  it  and  half  way  across 
the  road.  The  one  thing  I  feared  was  a  knife- 
thrust  in  the  melee ;  but  I  had  to  run  that  risk, 
and  the  men  were  honest  enough  and,  thinking 
me  drunk,  indulgent.  In  a  trice  I  found  myself 
on  my  back  in  the  dirt,  with  my  head  humming ; 
and  heard  the  bars  of  the  door  fall  noisily  into 
their  places. 

I  got  up  and  went  to  the  door,  and,  to  play 
out  my  part,  hammered  on  it  frantically,  crying 
out  to  them  to  let  me  in.  But  the  three  trav- 
ellers only  jeered  at  me,  and  the  landlord,  com- 
ing to  the  window,  with  his  head  bleeding,  shook 
his  fist  at  me  and  cursed  me  for  a  mischief- 
maker. 

Baffled  in  this  I  retired  to  a  log  which  lay 
in  the  road  a  few  paces  from  the  house,  and 
sat  down  on  it  to  await  events.  With  torn 


THE  HOUSE  IN  THE  WOOD.  57 

clothes  and  bleeding  face,  hatless  and  covered 
vvith  dirt,  I  was  in  scarcely  better  case  than 
my  opponent.  It  was  raining,  too,  and  the 
dripping  branches  swayed  over  my  head.  The 
wind  was  in  the  south  —  the  coldest  quarter. 
I  began  to  feel  chilled  and  dispirited.  If  my 
scheme  failed,  I  had  forfeited  roof  and  bed  to 
no  purpose,  and  placed  future  progress  out  of 
the  question.  It  was  a  critical  moment. 

But  at  last  that  happened  for  which  I  had 
been  looking.  The  door  swung  open  a  few 
inches,  and  a  man  came  noiselessly  out;  the 
door  was  quickly  barred  behind  him.  He  stood 
a  moment,  waiting  on  the  threshold  and  peering 
into  the  gloom;  and  seemed  to  expect  to  be 
attacked.  Finding  himself  unmolested,  however, 
and  all  quiet,  he  went  off  steadily  down  the  street 
—  towards  the  Chateau. 

I  let  a  couple  of  minutes  go  by  and  then  I 
followed.  I  had  no  difficulty  in  hitting  on  the 
track  at  the  end  of  the  street,  but  when  I  had 
once  plunged  into  the  wood,  I  found  myself  in 
darkness  so  intense  that  I  soon  stiayed  from 
the  path,  and  fell  over  roots,  and  tore  my 


58  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

clothes  with  thorns,  and  lost  my  temper  twenty 
times  before  I  found  the  path  again.  However,  I 
gained  the  bridge  at  last,  and  caught  sight  of  a 
light  twinkling  before  me.  To  make  for  it  across 
the  meadow  and  terrace  was  an  easy  task ;  yet 
when  I  had  reached  the  door  and  had  hammered 
upon  it,  I  was  in  so  sorry  a  plight  that  I  sank 
down,  and  had  no  need  to  play  a  part  or  pretend 
to  be  worse  than  I  was. 

For  a  long  time  no  one  answered.  The  dark 
house  towering  above  me  remained  silent.  I 
could  hear,  mingled  with  the  throbbings  of  my 
heart,  the  steady  croaking  of  the  frogs  in  a  pond 
near  the  stables;  but  no  other  sound.  In  a  frenzy 
of  impatience  and  disgust  I  stood  up  again  and 
hammered,  kicking  with  my  heels  on  the  nail- 
studded  door,  and  crying  out  desperately,  "A  moi  ! 
A  moi!" 

Then,  or  a  moment  later,  I  hearc1  a  remote  door 
opened ;  footsteps  as  of  more  than  one  person 
drew  near.  I  raised  my  voice  and  cried  again, 
"A  moi!" 

"  Who  is  there  ? "  a  voice  asked. 

"  A  gentleman  in  distress,"  I  answered  piteously, 


THE  HOUSE  IN  THE  WOOD.  59 

moving  my  hands  across  the  door.  "  For  God's 
sake  open  and  let  me  in.  I  am  hurt,  and  dying 
of  cold." 

"  What  brings  you  here  ? "  the  voice  asked 
sharply.  Despite  its  tartness,  I  fancied  it  was  a 
woman's. 

"  Heaven  knows  !  "  I  answered  desperately.  "  I 
cannot  tell.  They  maltreated  me  at  the  inn,  and 
threw  me  into  the  street.  I  crawled  away,  and 
have  been  wandering  in  the  wood  for  hours. 
Then  I  saw  a  light  here." 

Thereon,  some  muttering  took  place  on  the 
other  side  of  the  door,  to  which  I  had  my  ear 
It  ended  in  the  bars  being  lowered.  The  door 
swung  partly  open  and  a  light  shone  out,  dazzling 
me.  I  tried  to  shade  my  eyes  with  mv  fingers, 
and  as  I  did  so  fancied  I  heard  a  murmur  of  pity. 
But  when  I  looked  in  under  screen  of  my  hand  I 
saw  only  one  person  —  the  man  who  held  the 
light,  and  his  aspect  was  so  strange,  so  terrify- 
ing, that,  shaken  as  I  was  by  fatigue,  I  recoiled 
a  step. 

He  was  a  tall  and  very  thin  man,  meanly 
Pressed  in  a  short  scanty  jacket  and  well-darned 


60  UNDER  THE  RED  ROBE. 

hose.  Unable,  for  some  reason,  to  bend  his  neckj 
he  carried  his  head  with  a  strange  stiffness. 

And  that  head !  Never  did  living  man  show  a 
face  so  like  death.  His  forehead  was  bald  and 
white,  his  cheek-bones  stood  out  under  the  strained 
skin,  all  the  lower  part  of  his  face  fell  in,  his  jaws 
receded,  his  cheeks  were  hollow,  his  lips  and  chin 
were  thin  and  fleshless.  He  seemed  to  have  only 
one  expression  —  a  fixed  grin. 

While  I  stood  looking  at  this  formidable  crea- 
ture he  made  a  quick  motion  to  shut  the  door 
again,  smiling  more  widely.  I  had  the  presence 
of  mind  to  thrust  in  my  foot,  and,  before  he  could 
resent  the  act,  a  voice  in  the  background  cried  : 
"  For  shame,  Clon  !  Stand  back.  Stand  back,  do 
you  hear?  I  am  afraid,  Monsieur,  that  you  are 
hurt." 

The  last  words  were  my  welcome  to  that  house ; 
and,  spoken  at  an  hour  and  in  circumstances  so 
gloomy,  they  made  a  lasting  impression.  Round 
the  hall  ran  a  gallery,  and  this,  the  height  of  the 
apartment,  and  the  dark  panelling  seemed  to  swal- 
low up  the  light.  I  stood  within  the  entrance  (as 
it  seemed  to  me)  of  a  huge  cave ;  the  skull-headed 


THE  HOUSE  IN  THE  WOOD.  6l 

porter  had  the  air  of  an  ogre.  Only  the  voice 
which  greeted  me  dispelled  the  illusion.  I  turned 
trembling  towards  the  quarter  whence  it  came, 
and,  shading  my  eyes,  made  out  a  woman's  form 
standing  in  a  doorway  under  the  gallery.  A 
second  figure,  which  I  took  to  be  that  of  the 
servant  I  had  seen  at  the  inn,  loomed  uncer- 
tainly beside  her. 

I  bowed  in  silence.     My  teeth  were  chattering 
I  was  faint  without  feigning,  and  felt  a  kind  of 
terror,    hard    to    explain,    at    the    sound    of    this 
woman's  voice. 

"One  of  our  people  has  told  me  about  you," 
she  continued,  speaking  out  of  the  darkness.  "  I 
am  sorry  that  this  has  happened  to  you  here,  but 
I  am  afraid  that  you  were  indiscreet." 

"  I  take  all  the  blame,  Madame,"  I  answered 
humbly.  "  I  ask  only  shelter  for  the  night." 

"The  time  has  not  yet  come  when  we  cannot 
give  our  friends  that !  "  she  answered,  with  noble 
courtesy.  "  When  it  does,  Monsieur,  we  shall  be 
homeless  ourselves." 

I  shivered,  looking  anywhere  but  at  her;  for  I 
had  not  sufficiently  pictured  this  scene  of  my 


62  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

arrival  —  I  had  not  foreseen  its  details ;  and  now 
I  took  part  in  it  I  felt  a  miserable  meanness  weigh 
me  down.  I  had  never  from  the  first  liked  the 
work  !  But,  I  had  had  no  choice.  And  I  had  no 
choice  now.  Luckily,  the  guise  in  which  I  came, 
my  fatigue,  and  wound  were  a  sufficient  mark,  or 
I  should  have  incurred  suspicion  at  once.  For  I 
am  sure  that  if  ever  in  this  world  a  brave  man 
wore  a  hang-dog  air,  or  Gil  de  Berault  fell  below 
himself,  it  was  then  and  there  —  on  Madame  de 
Cocheforet's  threshold,  with  her  welcome  sounding 
in  my  ears. 

One,  I  think,  did  suspect  me.  Clon,  the  porter, 
continued  to  hold  the  door  obstinately  ajar  and  to 
eye  me  with  grinning  spite,  until  his  mistress, 
with  some  sharpness,  bade  him  drop  the  bars, 
and  conduct  me  to  a  room. 

"  Do  you  go  also,  Louis,"  she  continued,  speak- 
ing to  the  man  beside  her,  "and  see  this  gentle- 
man comfortably  disposed.  I  am  sorry,"  she 
added,  addressing  me  in  the  graceful  tone  she 
had  before  used,  and  I  thought  I  could  see  her 
head  bend  in  the  darkness,  "  that  our  present  cir- 
cumstances do  not  permit  us  to  welcome  you  more 


THE  HOUSE  IN  THE   WOOD.  63 

fitly,  Monsieur.  But  the  troubles  of  the  times  — 
however,  you  will  excuse  what  is  lacking.  Until 
to-morrow,  I  have  the  honour  to  bid  you  good- 
night." 

"Good-night,  Madame,"  I  stammered,  trem- 
bling. I  had  not  been  able  to  distinguish  her 
face  in  the  gloom  of  the  doorway,  but  her  voice, 
her  greeting,  her  presence,  unmanned  me.  I  was 
troubled  and  perplexed ;  I  had  not  spirit  to  kick 
a  dog.  I  followed  the  two  servants  from  the  hall 
without  heeding  how  we  went ;  nor  was  it  until  we 
came  to  a  full  stop  at  a  door  in  a  whitewashed 
corridor,  and  it  was  forced  upon  me  that  some- 
thing was  in  question  between  my  two  conductors, 
that  I  began  to  take  notice. 

Then  I  saw  that  one  of  them,  Louis,  wished  to 
lodge  me  here  where  we  stood.  The  porter,  on 
the  other  hand,  who  held  the  keys,  would  not. 
He  did  not  speak  a  word,  nor  did  the  other  — 
and  this  gave  a  queer  ominous  character  to  the 
debate ;  but  he  continued  to  jerk  his  head  towards 
the  farther  end  of  the  corridor,  and,  at  last,  he 
carried  his  point.  Louis  shrugged  his  shoulders, 
and  moved  on,  glancing  askance  at  me;  and  I, 


64  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

not  understanding  the  matter  in  debate,  followed 
the  pair  in  silence. 

We  reached  the  end  of  the  corridor,  and  there, 
for  an  instant,  the  monster  with  the  keys  paused 
and  grinned  at  me.  Then  he  turned  into  a  narrow 
passage  on  the  left,  and  after  following  it  for  some 
paces,  halted  before  a  small,  strong  door.  His  key 
jarred  in  the  lock,  but  he  forced  it  shrieking  round, 
and  with  a  savage  flourish  threw  the  door  open. 

I  walked  in  and  saw  a  mean,  bare  chamber 
with  barred  windows.  The  floor  was  indifferently 
clean,  there  was  no  furniture.  The  yellow  light 
of  the  lanthorn  falling  on  the  stained  walls  gave 
the  place  the  look  of  a  dungeon.  I  turned  to  the 
two  men.  "  This  is  not  a  very  good  room,"  I  said. 
"And  it  feels  damp.  Have  you  no  other?" 

Louis  looked  doubtfully  at  his  companion.  But 
the  porter  shook  his  head  stubbornly. 

"  Why  does  he  not  speak  ?  "  I  asked  with 
impatience. 

"  He  is  dumb,"  Louis  answered. 

"Dumb!"    I  exclaimed.     "But  he  hears." 

"  He  has  ears,"  the  servant  answered  drily. 
"But  he  has  no  tongue,  Monsieur." 


THE  HOUSE  IN  THE   WOOD.  65 

I  shuddered.     "  How  did  he  lose  it?  "  I  asked. 

"  At  Rochelle.  He  was  a  spy,  and  the  King's 
people  took  him  the  day  the  town  surrendered. 
They  spared  his  life,  but  cut  out  his  tongue." 

"Ah !  "  I  said.  I  wished  to  say  more,  to  be 
natural,  to  show  myself  at  my  ease.  But  the 
porter's  eyes  seemed  to  burn  into  me,  and  my 
own  tongue  clove  to  the  roof  of  my  mouth.  He 
opened  his  lips  and  pointed  to  his  throat  with  a 
horrid  gesture,  and  I  shook  my  head  and  turned 
from  him  —  "  You  can  let  me  have  some  bed- 
ding ? "  I  murmured  hastily,  for  the  sake  of 
saying  something,  and  to  escape. 

"  Of  course,  Monsieur,"  Louis  answered.  "  I 
will  fetch  some." 

He  went  away,  thinking  doubtless  that  Clon 
would  stay  with  me.  But  after  waiting .  a  min- 
ute the  porter  strode  off  also  with  the  lanthorn, 
leaving  me  to  stand  in  the  middle  of  the  damp, 
dark  room,  and  reflect  on  the  position.  It  was 
plain  that  Clon  suspected  me.  This  prison-like 
room,  with  its  barred  window  at  the  back  of  the 
house,  and  in  the  wing  farthest  from  the  stables, 
proved  so  much.  Clearly,  he  was  a  dangerous 


66  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

fellow,  of  whom  I  must  beware.  I  had  just 
begun  to  wonder  how  Madame  could  keep  such 
a  monster  in  her  house,  when  I  heard  his  step 
returning.  He  came  in,  lighting  Louis,  who  car- 
ried a  small  pallet  and  a  bundle  of  coverings. 

The  dumb  man  had,  besides  the  lanthorn,  a 
bowl  of  water  and  a  piece  of  rag  in  his  hand. 
He  set  them  down,  and  going  out  again,  fetched 
in  a  stool.  Then  he  hung  up  the  lanthorn  on 
a  nail,  took  the  bowl  and  rag,  and  invited  me  to 
sit  down. 

I  was  loth  to  let  him  touch  me ;  but  he  con- 
tinued to  stand  over  me,  pointing  and  grinning 
with  dark  persistence,  and,  rather  than  stand  on 
a  trifle,  I  sat  down  at  last,  and  gave  him  his  way. 
He  bathed  my  head  carefully  enough,  and  I  dare 
say  did.  it  good ;  but  I  understood.  I  knew  that 
his  only  desire  was  to  learn  whether  the  cut  was 
real  or  a  pretence.  I  began  to  fear  him  more 
and  more,  and,  until  he  was  gone  from  the  room, 
dared  scarcely  lift  my  face,  lest  he  should  read 
too  much  in  it. 

Alone,  even,  I  felt  uncomfortable.  This  seemed 
so  sinister  a  business,  and  so  ill  begun.  I  was 


THE  HOUSE  IN  THE   WOOD.  67 

in  the  house.  But  Madame's  frank  voice  haunted 
me,  and  the  dumb  man's  eyes,  full  of  suspicion 
and  menace.  When  I  presently  got  up  and  tried 
my  door,  I  found  it  locked.  The  room  smelled 
dank  and  close  —  like  a  vault.  I  could  not  sec 
through  the  barred  window  ;  but  I  could  hear 
the  boughs  sweep  it  in  ghostly  fashion  ;  and  I 
guessed  that  it  looked  out  where  the  wood  grew 
close  to  the  walls  of  the  house  ;  and  that  even  in 
the  day  the  sun  never  peeped  through  it. 

Nevertheless,  tired  and  worn  out,  I  slept  at 
last.  When  I  awoke  the  room  was  full  of  grey 
light,  the  door  stood  open,  and  Louis,  looking 
ashamed  of  himself,  waited  by  my  pallet  with  a 
cup  of  wine  in  his  hand,  and  some  bread  and 
fruit  on  a  platter. 

"  Will  Monsieur  be  good  enough  to  rise  ?  " 
he  said.  "  It  is  eight  o'clock." 

"Willingly,"  I  answered  tartly.  "  Now  that  the 
door  is  unlocked." 

He  turned  red.  "  It  was  an  oversight,"  he 
stammered.  "  Clon  is  accustomed  to  lock  the 
door,  and  he  did  it  inadvertently,  forgetting  that 
there  was  any  one  —  " 


r: 


68  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

"  Inside  !  "  I  said  drily. 

"Precisely,  Monsieur." 

"Ah!"  I  replied.  "Well,  I  do  not  think  the 
oversight  would  please  Madame  de  Cocheforet, 
if  she  heard  of  it  ? " 

"  If  Monsieur  would  have  the  kindness  not 
to—" 

"  Mention  it,  my  good  fellow  ? "  I  answered, 
looking  at  him  with  meaning,  as  I  rose.  "  No ; 
but  it  must  not  occur  again." 

I  saw  that  this  man  was  not  like  Qon.  He 
had  the  instincts  of  the  family  servant,  and  freed 
from  the  influences  of  darkness,  felt  ashamed  of 
his  conduct.  While  he  arranged  my  clothes,  he 
looked  round  the  room  with  an  air  of  distaste, 
and  muttered  once  or  twice  that  the  furniture  of 
the  principal  chambers  was  packed  away. 

"  M.  de  Cocheforet  is  abroad,  I  think  ? "  I  said, 
as  I  dressed. 

"  And  likely  to  remain  there,"  the  man  answered 
carelessly,  shrugging  his  shoulders.  "  Monsieur 
will  doubtless  have  heard  that  he  is  in  trouble. 
In  the  meantime,  the  house  is  triste,  and  Mon- 
sieur must  overlook  much,  if  he  stays.  Madame 


THE  HOUSE  IN  THE   WOOD.  69 

lives  retired,  and  the  roads  are  ill-made  and  visi- 
tors few." 

"  When  the  lion  was  ill  the  jackals  left  him,"  I 
said. 

Louis  nodded.  "  It  is  true,"  he  answered 
simply.  He  made  no  boast  or  brag  on  his  own 
account,  I  noticed ;  and  it  came  home  to  me  that 
he  was  a  faithful  fellow,  such  as  I  love.  I  ques- 
tioned him  discreetly,  and  learned  that  he  and 
Clon  and  an  older  man  who  lived  over  the  sta- 
bles were  the  only  male  servants  left  of  a  great 
household.  Madame,  her  sister-in-law,  and  three 
women  completed  the  family. 

It  took  me  some  time  to  repair  my  wardrobe,  so 
that  I  dare  say  it  was  nearly  ten  when  I  left  my 
dismal  little  room.  I  found  Louis  waiting  in  the 
corridor,  and  he  told  me  that  Madame  de  Coche- 
foret  and  Mademoiselle  were  in  the  rose-garden, 
and  would  be  pleased  to  receive  me.  I  nodded, 
and  he  guided  me  through  several  dim  passages 
to  a  parlour  with  an  open  door,  through  which 
the  sun  shone  in  gaily.  Cheered  by  the  morning 
air  and  this  sudden  change  to  pleasantness  and 
life,  I  stepped  lightly  out. 


70  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

The  two  ladies  were  walking  up  and  down 
a  wide  path  which  bisected  the  garden.  The 
weeds  grew  rankly  in  the  gravel  underfoot,  the 
rose-bushes  which  bordered  the  walk  thrust  their 
branches  here  and  there  in  untrained  freedom, 
a  dark  yew  hedge  which  formed  the  background 
bristled  with  rough  shoots  and  sadly  needed  trim- 
ming. But  I  did  not  see  any  of  these  things  then. 
The  grace,  the  noble  air,  the  distinction  of  the  two 
women  who  paced  slowly  to  meet  me  —  and  who 
shared  all  these  qualities  greatly  as  they  differed 
in  others  —  left  me  no  power  to  notice  trifles. 

Mademoiselle  was  a  head  shorter  than  her  belle 
sceur —  a  slender  woman  and  petite,  with  a  beauti- 
ful face  and  a  fair  complexion.  She  walked  with 
dignity,  but  beside  Madame's  stately  figure  she 
seemed  almost  childish.  And  it  was  character- 
istic of  the  two  that  Mademoiselle  as  they  drew 
near  to  me  regarded  me  with  sorrowful  attention, 
Madame  with  a  grave  smile. 

I  bowed  low.  They  returned  the  salute. 
"  This  is  my  sister,"  Madame  de  Cocheforet  said, 
with  a  slight,  a  very  slight  air  of  condescension. 
"  Will  you  please  to  tell  me  your  name,  Monsieur  ? " 


THE  HOUSE  IN  THE   WOOD.  7* 

"I  am  M.  de  Barthe,  a  gentleman  of  Nor- 
mandy," I  said,  taking  the  name  of  my  mother. 
My  own,  by  a  possibility,  might  be  known. 

Madame's  face  wore  a  puzzled  look.  "  I  do  not 
know  your  name,  I  think,"  she  said  thoughtfully. 
Doubtless  she  was  going  over  in  her  mind  all 
the  names  with  which  conspiracy  had  made  her 
familiar. 

"That  is  my  misfortune,  Madame,"  I  said 
humbly. 

"  Nevertheless  I  am  going  to  scold  you,"  she 
rejoined,  still  eyeing  me  with  some  keenness.  "  I 
am  glad  to  see  that  you  are  none  the  worse  for 
your  adventure  —  but  others  may  be.  And  you 
should  have  borne  that  in  mind." 

"  I  do  not  think  that  I  hurt  the  man  seriously," 
I  stammered. 

"  I  do  not  refer  to  that,"  she  answered  coldly. 
"  You  know,  or  should  know,  that  we  are  in  dis- 
grace here ;  that  the  Government  regards  us 
already  with  an  evil  eye,  and  that  a  very  small 
thing  would  lead  them  to  garrison  the  village  and 
perhaps  oust  us  from  the  little  the  wars  have  left 
us.  You  should  have  known  this  and  considered 


72  UNDER  THE  RED  ROBE. 

it,"  she  continued.  "  Whereas  —  I  do  not  say  that 
you  are  a  braggart,  M.  de  Barthe.  But  on  this 
one  occasion  you  seem  to  have  played  the  part 
of  one." 

"  Madame,  I  did  not  think,"  I  stammered. 

"  Want  of  thought  causes  much  evil,"  she  an- 
swered, smiling.  "  However,  I  have  spoken,  and 
we  trust  that  while  you  stay  with  us  you  will 
be  more  careful.  For  the  rest,  Monsieur,"  she 
continued  graciously,  raising  her  hand  to  prevent 
me  speaking,  "  we  do  not  know  why  you  are  here, 
or  what  plans  you  are  pursuing.  And  we  do  not 
wish  to  know.  It  is  enough  that  you  are  of  our 
side.  This  house  is  at  your  service  as  long  as  you 
please  to  use  it.  And  if  we  can  aid  you  in  any 
other  way  we  will  do  so." 

"  Madame  !  "  I  exclaimed  ;  and  there  I  stopped. 
I  could  not  say  any  more.  The  rose-garden,  with 
its  air  of  neglect,  the  shadow  of  the  quiet  house 
that  fell  across  it,  the  great  yew  hedge  which 
backed  it,  and  was  the  pattern  of  one  under 
which  I  had  played  in  childhood  —  all  had  points 
that  pricked  me.  But  the  women's  kindness, 
their  unquestioning  confidence,  the  noble  air  of 


THE  HOUSE  IN  THE   WOOD.  73 

hospitality  which  moved  them!  Against  these 
and  their  placid  beauty  in  its  peaceful  frame  I 
had  no  shield.  I  turned  away,  and  feigned  to 
be  overcome  by  gratitude.  "  I  have  no  words 
—  to  thank  you!"  I  muttered  presently.  "I  am 
a  little  shaken  this  morning.  I  —  pardon  me." 

"We  will  leave  you  for  a  while,"  Mademoiselle 
de  Cocheforet  said,  in  gentle,  pitying  tones. 
"  The  air  will  revive  you.  Louis  shall  call  you 
when  we  go  to  dinner,  M.  de  Barthe.  Come, 
Elise." 

I  bowed  low  to  hide  my  face,  and  they  nodded 
pleasantly  —  not  looking  closely  at  me  —  as  they 
walked  by  me  to  the  house.  I  watched  the  two 
gracious,  pale-robed  figures  until  the  doorway 
swallowed  them,  and  then  I  walked  away  to  a 
quiet  corner  where  the  shrubs  grew  highest  and 
the  yew  hedge  threw  its  deepest  shadow,  and  I 
stood  to  think. 

They  were  strange  thoughts,  I  remember.  If 
the  oak  can  think  at  the  moment  the  wind  uproots 
it,  or  the  gnarled  thorn-bush  when  the  landslip 
tears  it  from  the  slope,  they  may  have  such 
thoughts.  I  stared  at  the  leaves,  at  the  rotting 


74  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

blossoms,  into  the  dark  cavities  of  the  hedge ; 
I  stared  mechanically,  dazed  and  wondering. 
What  was  the  purpose  for  which  I  was  here  ? 
What  was  the  work  I  had  come  to  do  ?  Above 
all,  how  —  my  God !  how  was  I  to  do  it  in  the 
face  of  these  helpless  women,  who  trusted  me  — 
who  opened  their  house  to  me  ?  Clon  had  not 
frightened  me,  nor  the  loneliness  of  the  leagued 
village,  nor  the  remoteness  of  this  corner  where 
the  dread  Cardinal  seemed  a  name,  and  the  King's 
writ  ran  slowly,  and  the  rebellion,  long  quenched 
elsewhere,  still  smouldered.  But  Madame's  pure 
faith,  the  younger  woman's  tenderness  —  how  was 
I  to  face  these  ? 

I  cursed  the  Cardinal,  I  cursed  the  English 
fool  who  had  brought  me  to  this,  I  cursed  the 
years  of  plenty  and  scarceness  and  the  Quartier 
Marais,  and  Zaton's,  where  I  had  lived  like  a 
pig,  and  — 

A  touch  fell  on  my  arm.  I  turned.  It  was 
Clon.  How  he  had  stolen  up  so  quietly,  how 
long  he  had  been  at  my  elbow,  I  could  not  tell. 
But  his  eyes  gleamed  spitefully  in  their  deep 
sockets,  and  he  laughed  with  his  fleshless  lips; 


THE  HOUSE  IN  THE   WOOD.  75 

and  I  hated  him.  In  the  daylight  the  man 
looked  more  like  a  death's-head  than  ever.  I 
fancied  I  read  in  his  face  that  he  knew  my 
secret,  and  I  flashed  into  rage  at  sight  of 
him. 

"  What  is  it  ? "  I  cried,  with  another  oath. 
•'  Don't  lay  your  corpse-claws  on  me ! " 

He  mowed  at  me,  and,  bowing  with  ironical 
politeness,  pointed  to  the  house.  "  Is  Madame 
served  ? "  I  said  impatiently,  crushing  down  my 
nnger.  "  Is  that  what  you  mean,  fool  ?  " 

He  nodded. 

"Very  well,"  I  retorted.  "I  can  find  my  way, 
then.  You  may  go !  " 

He  fell  behind,  and  I  strode  back  through  the 
sunshine  and  flowers,  and  along  the  grass-grown 
paths,  to  the  door  by  which  I  had  come.  I 
walked  fast,  but  his  shadow  kept  pace  with  me, 
driving  out  the  strange  thoughts  in  which  I  had 
been  indulging.  Slowly  but  surely  it  darkened 
my  mood.  After  all,  this  was  a  little,  little  place ; 
the  people  who  lived  here  —  I  shrugged  my 
shoulders.  France,  power,  pleasure,  life  lay  yon- 
der in  the  great  city.  A  boy  might  wreck  himself 


76  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE, 

here  for  a  fancy ;  a  man  of  the  world,  never. 
When  I  entered  the  room,  where  the  two  ladies 
stood  waiting  for  me  by  the  table,  I  was  myself 
again. 

"  Clon  made  you  understand,  then  ? "  the 
younger  woman  said  kindly. 

"  Yes,  Mademoiselle,"  I  answered.  On  which 
I  saw  the  two  smile  at  one  another,  and  I  added : 
"  He  is  a  strange  creature.  I  wonder  you  can 
bear  to  have  him  near  you." 

"  Poor  man  !  You  do  not  know  his  story  ? " 
Madame  said. 

"  I  have  heard  something  of  it,"  I  answered. 
"  Louis  told  me." 

"Well,  I  do  shudder  at  him,  sometimes,"  she 
replied,  in  a  low  voice.  "  He  has  suffered  — 
and  horribly,  and  for  us.  But  I  wish  it  had  been 
on  any  other  service.  Spies  are  necessary  things, 
but  one  does  not  wish  to  have  to  do  with  them ! 
Anything  in  the  nature  of  treachery  is  so  hor- 
rible." 

"  Quick,  Louis !  the  cognac,  if  you  have  any 
there !  "  Mademoiselle  exclaimed.  "  I  am  sure 
you  are  —  still  feeling  ill,  Monsieur." 


THE  HOUSE  IN  THE  WOOD.  77 

"  No,  I  thank  you,"  I  muttered  hoarsely, 
making  an  effort  to  recover  myself.  "  I  am 
quite  well.  It  was  an  old  wound  that  sometimes 
touches  me." 


CHAPTER   IV. 

MADAME   AND    MADEMOISELLE. 

To  be  frank,  however,  it  was  not  the  old  wound 
that  touched  me  so  nearly,  but  Madame's  words; 
which,  finishing  what  Clon's  sudden  appearance 
in  the  garden  had  begun,  went  a  long  way  towards 
hardening  me  and  throwing  me  back  into  myself. 
I  saw  with  bitterness  —  what  I  had  perhaps  for- 
gotten for  a  moment  —  how  great  was  the  chasm 
which  separated  me  from  these  women ;  how  im- 
possible it  was  we  could  long  think  alike ;  how  far 
apart  in  views,  in  experience,  in  aims  we  were. 
And  while  I  made  a  mock  in  my  heart  of  their 
high-flown  sentiments  —  or  thought  I  did  —  I 
laughed  no  less  at  the  folly  which  had  led  me 
to  dream,  even  for  a  moment,  that  I  could,  at  my 
age,  go  back  —  go  back  and  risk  all  for  a  whim, 
a  scruple,  the  fancy  of  a  lonely  hour. 

I  dare  say  something  of  this  showed  in  my  face : 
78 


MADAME  AND  MADEMOISELLE.          7g 

for  Madame's  eyes  mirrored  a  dim  reflection  of 
trouble  as  she  looked  at  me,  and  Mademoiselle  ate 
nervously  and  at  random.  At  any  rate,  I  fancied 
so,  and  I  hastened  to  compose  myself;  and  the 
two,  in  pressing  upon  me  the  simple  dainties  of 
the  table,  soon  forgot,  or  appeared  to  forget,  the 
incident. 

Yet  in  spite  of  this  contretemps,  that  first  meal 
had  a  strange  charm  for  me.  The  round  table 
whereat  we  dined  was  spread  inside  the  open  door 
which  led  to  the  garden,  so  that  the  October  sun- 
shine fell  full  on  the  spotless  linen  and  quaint  old 
plate,  and  the  fresh  balmy  air  filled  the  room  with 
the  scent  of  sweet  herbs.  Louis  served  us  with 
the  mien  of  major-domo,  and  set  on  each  dish  as 
though  it  had  been  a  peacock  or  a  mess  of  orto- 
lans. The  woods  provided  the  larger  portion  of 
our  meal ;  the  garden  did  its  part ;  the  confections 
Mademoiselle  had  cooked  with  her  own  hand. 

By-and-bye,  as  the  meal  went  on,  as  Louis  trod 
to  and  fro  across  the  polished  floor,  and  the  last 
insects  of  summer  hummed  sleepily  outside,  and 
the  two  gracious  faces  continued  to  smile  at  me 
out  of  the  gloom  —  for  the  ladies  sat  with  their 


00  UNDER  THE  RED  ROBE, 

backs  to  the  door  —  I  began  to  dream  again.  I 
began  to  sink  again  into  folly  —  that  was  half 
pleasure,  half  pain.  The  fury  of  the  gaming- 
house and  the  riot  of  Zaton's  seemed  far  away. 
The  triumphs  of  the  fencing-room  —  even  they 
grew  cheap  and  tawdry.  I  thought  of  existence 
as  one  outside  it.  I  balanced  this  against  that, 
and  wondered  whether,  after  all,  the  red  soutane 
were  so  much  better  than  the  homely  jerkin,  or 
the  fame  of  a  day  than  ease  and  safety. 

And  life  at  Cocheforet  was  all  after  the  pattern 
of  this  dinner.  Each  day,  I  might  almost  say 
each  meal,  gave  rise  to  the  same  sequence  of 
thoughts.  In  Clon's  presence,  or  when  some 
word  of  Madame's,  unconsciously  harsh,  reminded 
me  of  the  distance  between  us,  I  was  myself.  At 
other  times,  in  face  of  this  peaceful  and  intimate 
life,  which  was  only  rendered  possible  by  the 
^emoteness  of  the  place  and  the  peculiar  circum- 
stances in  which  the  ladies  stood,  I  felt  a  strange 
weakness.  The  loneliness  of  the  woods  that  en- 
circled the  house,  and  here  and  there  afforded  a 
distant  glimpse  of  snow-clad  peaks;  the  absence 
of  any  link  to  bind  me  to  the  old  life,  so  that  at 


MADAME  AND  MADEMOISELLE.          8 1 

intervals  it  seemed  unreal ;  the  remoteness  of  the 
great  world,  all  tended  to  sap  my  will  and  weaken 
the  purpose  which  had  brought  me  to  this  place. 

On  the  fourth  day  after  my  coming,  however, 
something  happened  to  break  the  spell.  It  chanced 
that  I  came  late  to  dinner,  and  entered  the  room 
hastily  and  without  ceremony,  expecting  to  find 
Madame  and  her  sister  already  seated.  Instead, 
I  found  them  talking  in  a  low  tone  by  the  open 
door,  with  every  mark  of  disorder  in  their  appear- 
ance ;  while  Clon  and  Louis  stood  at  a  little  dis- 
tance with  downcast  faces  and  perplexed  looks. 

I  had  tune  to  see  all  this,  and  then  my  en- 
trance wrought  a  sudden  change.  Clon  and  Louis 
sprang  to  attention ;  Madame  and  her  sister  came 
to  the  table  and  sat  down,  and  made  a  shallow 
pretence  of  being  at  their  ease.  But  Mademoi- 
selle's face  was  pale,  her  hand  trembled;  and 
though  Madame's  greater  self-command  enabled 
her  to  carry  off  the  matter  better,  I  saw  that  she 
was  not  herself.  Once  or  twice  she  spoke  harshly 
to  Louis;  she  fell  at  other  times  into  a  brown 
study ;  and  when  she  thought  I  was  not  watching 
her,  her  face  wore  a  look  of  deep  anxiety. 


82  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

I  wondered  what  all  this  meant;  and  I  won- 
dered more  when,  after  the  meal,  the  two  walked 
in  the  garden  for  an  hour  with  Clon.  Mademoi- 
selle came  from  this  interview  alone,  and  I  was 
sure  that  she  had  been  weeping.  Madame  and 
the  dark  porter  stayed  outside  some  time  longer; 
then  she,  too,  came  in,  and  disappeared. 

Clon  did  not  return  with  her,  and  when  I  went 
into  the  garden  five  minutes  later  Louis  also  had 
vanished.  Save  for  two  women  who  sat  sewing 
at  an  upper  window,  the  house  seemed  to  be 
deserted.  Not  a  sound  broke  the  afternoon  still- 
ness of  room  or  garden,  and  yet  I  felt  that  more 
was  happening  in  this  silence  than  appeared  on 
the  surface.  I  began  to  grow  curious  —  suspi- 
cious; and  presently  slipped  out  myself  by  way 
of  the  stables,  and,  skirting  the  wood  at  the 
back  of  the  house,  gained  with  a  little  trouble 
the  bridge  which  crossed  the  stream  and  led  to 
the  village. 

Turning  round  at  this  point,  I  could  see  the 
house,  and  I  moved  a  little  aside  into  the  under- 
wood, and  stood  gazing  at  the  windows,  trying 
to  unriddle  the  matter.  It  was  not  likely  that 


MADAME  AND  MADEMOISELLE.  83 

M.  de  Cocheforet  would  repeat  his  visit  so  soon; 
and,  besides,  the  women's  emotions  had  been 
those  of  pure  dismay  and  grief,  unmixed  with 
any  of  the  satisfaction  to  which  such  a  meeting, 
though  snatched  by  stealth,  would  give  rise.  I 
discarded  my  first  thought,  therefore  —  that  he 
had  returned  unexpectedly  —  and  I  sought  for 
another  solution. 

But  none  was  on  the  instant  forthcoming.  The 
windows  remained  obstinately  blind,  no  figures 
appeared  on  the  terrace,  the  garden  lay  deserted, 
and  without  life.  My  departure  had  not,  as  I  half 
expected  it  would,  drawn  the  secret  into  light. 

I  watched  a  while,  at  times  cursing  my  own 
meanness;  but  the  excitement  of  the  moment 
and  the  quest  tided  me  over  that.  Then  I  de- 
termined to  go  down  into  the  village  and  see 
whether  anything  was  moving  there.  I  had  been 
down  to  the  inn  once,  and  had  been  received 
half  sulkily,  half  courteously,  as  a  person  privi- 
leged at  the  great  house,  and  therefore  to  be 
accepted.  It  would  not  be  thought  odd  if  I 
went  again ;  and  after  a  moment's  thought, 
I  started  down  the  track. 

G  2 


84  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

This,  where  it  ran  through  the  wood,  was  so 
densely  shaded  that  the  sun  penetrated  to  it  little, 
and  in  patches  only.  A  squirrel  stirred  at  times, 
sliding  round  a  trunk,  or  scampering  across  the 
dry  leaves.  Occasionally  a  pig  grunted  and 
moved  farther  into  the  wood.  But  the  place 
was  very  quiet,  and  I  do  not  know  how  it  was 
that  I  surprised  Clon  instead  of  being  surprised 
by  him. 

He  was  walking  along  the  path  before  me  with 
his  eyes  on  the  ground  —  walking  so  slowly,  and 
with  his  lean  frame  so  bent  that  I  might  have 
supposed  him  ill  if  I  had  not  remarked  the 
steady  movement  of  his  head  from  right  to  left, 
and  the  alert  touch  with  which  he  now  and  again 
displaced  a  clod  of  earth  or  a  cluster  of  leaves. 
By-and-bye  he  rose  stiffly,  and  looked  round  him 
suspiciously;  but  by  that  time  I  had  slipped  be- 
hind a  trunk,  and  was  not  to  be  seen ;  and  after 
a  brief  interval  he  went  back  to  his  task,  stoop- 
ing over  it  more  closely,  if  possible,  than  before, 
and  applying  himself  with  even  greater  care. 

By  that  time  I  had  made  up  my  mind  that  he 
was  tracking  some  one.  But  whom  ?  I  could  not 


MADAME  AND  MADEMOISELLE.  85 

make  a  guess  at  that.  I  only  knew  that  the 
plot  was  thickening,  and  began  to  feel  the  eager- 
ness of  the  chase.  Of  course,  if  the  matter  had 
not  to  do  with  Cocheforet,  it  was  no  affair  of 
mine;  but  though  it  seemed  unlikely  that  any- 
thing could  bring  him  back  so  soon,  he  might 
still  be  at  the  bottom  of  this.  And,  besides,  I 
felt  a  natural  curiosity.  When  Clon  at  last  im- 
proved his  pace,  and  went  on  to  the  village,  I  took 
up  his  task.  I  called  to  mind  all  the  wood-lore 
I  had  ever  known,  and  scanned  trodden  mould 
and  crushed  leaves  with  eager  eyes.  But  in  vain. 
I  could  make  nothing  of  it  at  all,  and  rose  at 
last  with  an  aching  back  and  no  advantage. 

I  did  not  go  on  to  the  village  after  that,  but 
returned  to  the  house,  where  I  found  Madame 
pacing  the  garden.  She  looked  up  eagerly  on 
hearing  my  step ;  and  I  was  mistaken  if  she 
was  not  disappointed  —  if  she  had  not  been  ex- 
pecting some  one  else.  She  hid  the  feeling 
bravely,  however,  and  met  me  with  a  careless 
word;  but  she  turned  to  the  house  more  than 
once  while  we  talked,  and  she  seemed  to  be  all 
the  while  on  the  watch,  and  uneasy.  I  was  not 


86  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

surprised  when  Clon's  figure  presently  appeared 
in  the  doorway,  and  she  left  me  abruptly,  and 
went  to  him.  I  only  felt  more  certain  than 
before  that  there  was  something  strange  on  foot. 
What  it  was,  and  whether  it  had  to  do  with  M.  de 
CocheCoret,  I  could  not  tell.  But  there  it  was, 
and  I  grew  more  curious  the  longer  I  remained 
alone. 

She  came  back  to  me  presently,  looking 
thoughtful  and  a  trifle  downcast.  "That  was 
Clon,  was  it  not  ? "  I  said,  studying  her  face. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered.  She  spoke  absently, 
and  did  not  look  at  me. 

"How  does  he  talk  to  you?"  I  asked,  speak- 
ing a  trifle  curtly. 

As  I  intended,  my  tone  roused  her.  "  By 
signs,"  she  said. 

'  Is  he  —  is  he  not  a  little  mad?"  I  ventured. 
I  wanted  to  make  her  talk  and  forget  herself. 

She  looked  at  me  with  sudden  keenness,  then 
dropped  her  eyes. 

"  You  do  not  like  him  ? "  she  said,  a  note  of 
challenge  in  her  voice.  "  I  have  noticed  that, 
Monsieur." 


MADAME  AND  MADEMOISELLE.          87 

"  I  think  he  does  not  like  me,"  I  replied. 

"  He  is  less  trustful  than  we  are,"  she  an- 
swered na'fvely.  "It  is  natural  that  he  should 
be.  He  has  seen  more  of  the  world." 

That  silenced  me  for  a  moment,  but  she  did 
not  seem  to  notice  it.  "  I  was  looking  for  him 
a  little  while  ago,  and  I  could  not  find  him,"  I 
said,  after  a  pause. 

"  He  has  been  into  the  village,"  she  answered. 

I  longed  to  pursue  the  matter  farther;  but 
though  she  seemed  to  entertain  no  suspicion  of 
me,  I  dared  not  run  the  risk.  I  tried  her,  instead, 
on  another  tack.  "  Mademoiselle  de  Cocheforet 
does  not  seem  very  well  to-day  ? "  I  said. 

"  No  ? "  she  answered  carelessly.  "  Well,  now 
Vou  speak  of  it,  I  do  not  think  she  is.  She  is 
often  anxious  about  —  my  husband." 

She  uttered  the  last  two  words  with  a  little 
hesitation,  and  looked  at  me  quickly  when  she 
had  spoken  them.  We  were  sitting  at  the  mo- 
ment on  a  stone  seat  which  had  the  wall  of  the 
house  for  a  back ;  and,  fortunately,  I  was  toying 
with  the  branch  of  a  creeping  plant  that  hung 
over  it,  so  that  she  could  not  see  more  than  the 


UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

side  of  my  face.  For  I  knew  that  it  altered. 
Over  ray  voice,  however,  I  had  more  control,  and 
I  hastened  to  answer,  "Yes,  I  suppose  so,"  as 
innocently  as  possible. 

"He  is  at  Bosost  —  in  Spain.  You  knew  that, 
I  conclude?"  she  said,  with  a  certain  sharpness. 
And  she  looked  me  in  the  face  again  very 
directly. 

"Yes,"  I  answered,  beginning  to  tremble. 

"  I  suppose  you  have  heard,  too,  that  he  — 
that  he  sometimes  crosses  the  border?"  she  con- 
tinued, in  a  low  voice,  but  with  a  certain  ring  of 
insistence  in  her  tone.  "  Or,  if  you  have  not 
heard  it,  you  guess  it  ? " 

I  was  in  a  quandary,  and  grew,  in  one  second, 
hot  all  over.  Uncertain  what  amount  of  knowl- 
edge I  ought  to  admit,  I  took  refuge  in  gallantry. 
"  I  should  be  surprised  if  he  did  not,"  I  answered, 
with  a  bow,  "  being,  as  he  is,  so  close,  and  having 
such  an  inducement  to  return,  Madame." 

She  drew  a  long,  shivering  sigh  —  at  the 
thought  of  his  peril,  I  fancied,  and  sat  back 
against  the  wall.  Nor  did  she  say  any  more, 
though  I  heard  her  sigh  again.  In  a  moment 


MADAME  AND  MADEMOISELLE.  89 

she  rose.  "The  afternoons  are  growing  chilly," 
she  said ;  "  I  will  go  in  and  see  how  Mademoiselle 
is.  Sometimes  she  does  not  come  to  supper.  If 
she  cannot  descend  this  evening,  I  am  afraid 
you  must  excuse  me  too,  Monsieur." 

I  said  what  was  right,  and  watched  her  go  in ; 
and,  as  I  did  so,  I  loathed  my  errand,  and  the 
mean  contemptible  curiosity  which  it  had  planted 
in  my  mind,  more  than  at  any  former  time. 
These  women  —  I  could  find  it  in  my  heart  to 
hate  them  for  their  frankness,  for  their  foolish 
confidence,  and  the  silly  trustfulness  that  made 
them  so  easy  a  prey ! 

Nom  de  Dieu  !  What  did  the  woman  mean  by 
telling  me  all  this  ?  To  meet  me  in  such  a  way, 
to  disarm  one  by  such  methods,  was  to  take  an 
unfair  advantage.  It  put  a  vile  —  ay,  the  vilest 
—  aspect,  on  the  work  I  had  to  do. 

Yet  it  was  very  odd !  What  could  M.  de 
Cochefore't  mean  by  returning  so  soon,  if  M.  de 
Cochefore"t  was  here?  And,  on  the  other  hand, 
if  it  was  not  his  unexpected  presence  that  had  so 
upset  the  house,  what  was  the  secret?  Whom 
had  Clon  been  tracking?  And  what  was  the 


90  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

cause  of  Madame's  anxiety  ?  In  a  few  minutes  I 
began  to  grow  curious  again ;  and,  as  the  ladies 
did  not  appear  at  supper,  I  had  leisure  to  give  my 
brain  full  license,  and  in  the  course  of  an  hour 
thought  of  a  hundred  keys  to  the  mystery.  But 
none  exactly  fitted  the  lock,  or  laid  open  the 
secret. 

A  false  alarm  that  evening  helped  to  puzzle  me 
still  more.  I  was  sitting,  about  an  hour  after 
supper,  on  the  same  seat  in  the  garden  —  I  had 
my  cloak  and  was  smoking  —  when  Madame 
came  out  like  a  ghost,  and,  without  seeing  me, 
flitted  away  through  the  darkness  toward  the  sta- 
bles. For  a  moment  I  hesitated,  then  I  followed 
her.  She  went  down  the  path  and  round  the 
stables,  and  so  far  I  understood;  but  when  she 
had  in  this  way  gained  the  rear  of  the  west  wing, 
she  took  a  track  through  the  thicket  to  the  east  of 
the  house  again,  and  so  came  back  to  the  garden 
This  gained,  she  came  up  the  path  and  went  in 
through  the  parlour  door,  and  disappeared  —  after 
making  a  clear  circuit  of  the  house,  and  not  once 
pausing  or  looking  to  right  or  left !  I  confess  I 
was  fairly  baffled.  I  sank  back  on  the  seat  I  had 


MADAME  AND  MADEMOISELLE.  91 

left,  and  said  to  myself  that  this  was  the  lamest 
of  all  conclusions.  I  was  sure  that  she  had  ex- 
changed no  word  with  any  one.  I  was  equally 
sure  that  she  had  not  detected  my  presence 
behind  her.  Why,  then,  had  she  made  this 
strange  promenade,  alone,  unprotected,  an  hour 
after  nightfall?  No  dog  had  bayed,  no  one  had 
moved,  she  had  not  once  paused,  or  listened,  like 
a  person  expecting  a  rencontre.  I  could  not  make 
it  out.  And  I  came  no  nearer  to  solving  it,  though 
I  lay  awake  an  hour  beyond  my  usual  time. 

In  the  morning  neither  of  the  ladies  descended 
to  dinner,  and  I  heard  that  Mademoiselle  was  not 
ao  well.  After  a  lonely  meal,  therefore  —  I  missed 
them  more  than  I  should  have  supposed  —  I  re- 
tired to  my  favourite  seat,  and  fell  to  meditating. 

The  day  was  fine,  and  the  garden  pleasant. 
Sitting  there  with  my  eyes  on  the  old-fashioned 
herb-beds,  with  the  old-fashioned  scents  in  the  air, 
and  the  dark  belt  of  trees  bounding  the  view  on 
either  side,  I  could  believe  that  I  had  been  out  of 
Paris  not  three  weeks,  but  three  months.  The 
quiet  lapped  me  round.  I  could  fancy  that  I  had 
never  loved  anything  else.  The  wood-doves  cooed 


92  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE7 

in  the  stillness;  occasionally  the  harsh  cry  of  a 
jay  jarred  the  silence.  It  was  an  hour  after  noon, 
and  hot.  I  think  I  nodded. 

On  a  sudden,  as  if  in  a  dream,  I  saw  Clon's 
face  peering  at  me  round  the  angle  of  the  parlour 
door.  He  looked,  and  in  a  moment  withdrew, 
and  I  heard  whispering.  The  door  was  gently 
closed.  Then  all  was  still  again. 

But  I  was  wide  awake  now,  and  thinking  hard. 
Clearly  the  people  of  the  house  wished  to  assure 
themselves  that  I  was  asleep  and  safely  out  of  the 
way.  As  clearly,  it  was  to  my  interest  to  know 
what  was  passing.  Giving  way  to  the  temptation, 
I  rose  quietly,  and,  stooping  below  the  level  of 
the  windows,  slipped  round  the  east  end  of  the 
house,  passing  between  it  and  the  great  yew 
hedge.  Here  I  found  all  still,  and  no  one  stir- 
ring. So,  keeping  a  wary  eye  about  me,  I  went 
on  round  the  house  —  reversing  the  route  which 
Madame  had  taken  the  night  before  —  until  I 
gained  the  rear  of  the  stables.  Here  I  had 
scarcely  paused  a  second  to  scan  the  ground 
before  two  persons  came  out  of  the  stable-court 
They  were  Madame  and  the  porter. 


MADAME  AND  MADEMOISELLE.  93 

They  stood  a  brief  while  outside,  and  looked 
up  and  down.  Then  Madame  said  something  to 
the  man,  and  he  nodded.  Leaving  him  standing 
where  he  was,  she  crossed  the  grass  with  a  quick, 
light  step,  and  vanished  among  the  trees. 

In  a  moment  my  mind  was  made  up  to  follow ; 
and,  as  Clon  turned  at  once  and  went  in,  I  was 
able  to  do  so  before  it  was  too  late.  Bending  low 
among  the  shrubs,  I  ran  hot-foot  to  the  point 
where  Madame  had  entered  the  wood.  Here  I 
found  a  narrow  path,  and  ran  nimbly  along  it,  and 
presently  saw  her  grey  robe  fluttering  among  the 
trees  before  me.  It  only  remained  to  keep  out  of 
her  sight  and  give  her  no  chance  of  discovering 
that  she  was  followed;  and  this  I  set  myself  to 
do.  Once  or  twice  she  glanced  round,  but  the 
wood  was  of  beech,  the  light  which  passed 
between  the  leaves  was  mere  twilight,  and  my 
clothes  were  dark-coloured.  I  had  every  advan- 
tage, therefore,  and  little  to  fear  as  long  as  I 
could  keep  her  in  view  and  still  remain  myself  at 
such  a  distance  that  the  rustle  of  my  tread  would 
not  disturb  her. 

Assured  that  she  was  on  her  way  to  meet  her 


94  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

husband,  whom  my  presence  kept  from  the  house, 
I  felt  that  the  crisis  had  come  at  last ;  and  I  grew 
more  excited  with  each  step  I  took.  True,  I  de- 
tested the  task  of  watching  her :  it  filled  me  with 
peevish  disgust.  But  in  proportion  as  I  hated  it  I 
was  eager  to  have  it  done  and  be  done  with  itf 
and  succeed,  and  stuff  my  ears  and  begone  from 
the  scene.  When  she  presently  came  to  the  verge 
of  the  beech  wood,  and,  entering  a  little  open 
clearing,  seemed  to  loiter,  I  went  cautiously 
This,  I  thought,  must  be  the  rendezvous ;  and  1 
held  back  warily,  looking  to  see  him  step  out  of 
the  thicket. 

But  he  did  not,  and  by-and-bye  she  quickened 
her  pace.  She  crossed  the  open  and  entered  a 
wide  ride  cut  through  a  low,  dense  wood  of  alder 
and  dwarf  oak  —  a  wood  so  closely  planted,  and 
so  intertwined  with  hazel  and  elder  and  box  that 
the  branches  rose  like  a  solid  wall,  twelve  feet 
high,  on  either  side  of  the  track. 

Down  this  she  passed,  and  I  stood  and  watched 
her  go ;  for  I  dared  not  follow.  The  ride  stretched 
away  as  straight  as  a  line  for  four  or  five  hundred 
yards,  a  green  path  between  green  walls.  To 


MADAME  AND  MADEMOISELLE.  95 

it  was  to  be  immediately  detected,  if  she  turned ; 
while  the  thicket  itself  permitted  no  passage.  I 
stood  baffled  and  raging,  and  watched  her  pass 
along.  It  seemed  an  age  before  she  at  last 
reached  the  end,  and,  turning  sharply  to  the  right, 
was  in  an  instant  gone  from  sight. 

I  waited  then  no  longer.  I  started  off,  and, 
running  as  lightly  and  quietly  as  I  could,  I  sped 
down  the  green  alley.  The  sun  shone  into  it,  the 
trees  kept  off  the  wind,  and  between  heat  and 
haste,  I  sweated  finely.  But  the  turf  was  soft, 
and  the  ground  fell  slightly,  and  in  little  more 
than  a  minute  I  gained  the  end.  Fifty  yards 
short  of  the  turning  I  stayed  myself,  and, 
stealing  on,  looked  cautiously  the  way  she  had 
gone. 

I  saw  before  me  a  second  ride,  the  twin  of  the 
other,  and  a  hundred  and  fifty  paces  down  it  her 
grey  figure  tripping  on  between  the  green  hedges. 
I  stood  and  took  breath,  and  cursed  the  wood  and 
the  heat  and  Madame's  wariness.  We  must  have 
come  a  league  or  two-thirds  of  a  league,  at  least. 
How  far  did  the  man  expect  her  to  plod  to  meet 
him  ?  I  began  to  grow  angry.  There  is  modera- 


96  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

tion  even  in  the  cooking  of  eggs,  and  this  wood 
might  stretch  into  Spain,  for  all  I  knew! 

Presently  she  turned  the  corner  and  was  gone 
again,  and  I  had  to  repeat  my  manoeuvre.  This 
time,  surely,  I  should  find  a  change.  But  no ! 
Another  green  ride  stretched  away  into  the  depths 
of  the  forest,  with  hedges  of  varying  shades  — 
here  light  and  there  dark,  as  hazel  and  elder,  or 
thorn,  and  yew  and  box  prevailed  —  but  always 
high  and  stiff  and  impervious.  Half-way  down  the 
ride  Madame's  figure  tripped  steadily  on,  the  only 
moving  thing  in  sight.  I  wondered,  stood,  and, 
when  she  vanished,  followed  —  only  to  find  that 
she  had  entered  another  track,  a  little  narrower, 
but  in  every  other  respect  alike. 

And  so  it  went  on  for  quite  half  an  hour. 
Sometimes  Madame  turned  to  the  right,  some- 
times to  the  left.  The  maze  seemed  to  be  end- 
less. Once  or  twice  I  wondered  whether  she  had 
lost  her  way,  and  was  merely  seeking  to  return. 
But  her  steady,  purposeful  gait,  her  measured 
pace,  forbade  the  idea.  I  noticed,  too,  that  she 
seldom  looked  behind  her  —  rarely  to  right  or  left. 
Once  the  ride  down  which  she  passed  was  car- 


MADAME  AND  MADEMOISELLE.  97 

peted  not  with  green,  but  with  the  silvery,  sheeny 
leaves  of  some  creeping  plant  that  in  the  distance 
had  a  shimmer  like  that  of  water  at  evening.  As 
she  trod  this,  with  her  face  to  the  low  sun,  her  tall 
grey  figure  had  a  pure  air  that  for  the  moment 
startled  me  —  she  looked  unearthly.  Then  I  swore 
in  scorn  of  myself,  and  at  the  next  corner  I  had 
my  reward.  She  was  no  longer  walking  on.  She 
had  stopped,  I  found,  and  seated  herself  on  a 
fallen  tree  that  lay  in  the  ride. 

For  some  time  I  stood  in  ambush  watching  her, 
and  with  each  minute  I  grew  more  impatient  At 
last  I  began  to  doubt  —  to  have  strange  thoughts. 
The  green  walls  were  growing  dark.  The  sun 
was  sinking ;  a  sharp,  white  peak,  miles  and  miles 
away,  which  closed  the  vista  of  the  ride  began  to 
flush  and  colour  rosily.  Finally,  but  not  before 
I  had  had  leisure  to  grow  uneasy,  she  stood  up 
and  walked  on  more  slowly.  I  waited,  as  usual, 
until  the  next  turning  hid  her.  Then  I  hastened 
after  her,  and,  warily  passing  round  the  corner  — 
came  face  to  face  with  her! 

I  knew  all  in  a  moment  —  that  she  had  fooled 
me,  tricked  me,  lured  me  away.  Her  face  was 

H 


98  UNDER  THE  RED  ROBE. 

white  with  scorn,  her  eyes  blazed ;  her  figure,  as 
she  confronted  me,  trembled  with  anger  and  infi- 
nite contempt. 

"  You  spy  !  "  she  cried.  "  You  hound !  You  — 
gentleman !  Oh,  mon  Dieu !  if  you  are  one  of 
us  —  if  you  are  really  not  canaille  —  we  shall  pay 
for  this  some  day !  We  shall  pay  a  heavy  reck- 
oning in  the  time  to  come !  I  did  not  think,"  she 
continued  —  her  every  syllable  like  the  lash  of 
a  whip  —  "that  there  was  anything  so  vile  as 
you  in  this  world !  " 

I  stammered  something  — I  do  not  know  what. 
Her  words  burned  into  me  —  into  my  heart !  Had 
she  been  a  man,  I  would  have  struck  her  dead! 

"You  thought  you  deceived  me  yesterday," 
she  continued,  lowering  her  tone,  but  with  no 
lessening  of  the  passion  and  contempt  which 
curled  her  lip  and  gave  fulness  to  her  voice. 
"  You  plotter !  You  surface  trickster !  You 
thought  it  an  easy  task  to  delude  a  woman  — 
you  find  yourself  deluded.  God  give  you  shame 
that  you  may  suffer ! "  she  continued  mercilessly. 
"  You  talked  of  Clon,  but  Clon  beside  you  is  the 
most  honourable  of  men ! " 


MADAME  AND  MADEMOISELLE.  99 

"Madame,"  I  said  hoarsely  —  and  I  know  my 
face  was  grey  as  ashes  —  "  let  us  understand  one 
another." 

"  God  forbid  !  "  she  cried,  on  the  instant.  "  I 
would  not  soil  myself !  " 

"  Fie  !  Madame,"  I  said,  trembling.  "  But  then, 
you  are  a  woman.  That  should  cost  a  man  his 
life!" 

She  laughed  bitterly. 

"You  say  well,"  she  retorted.  "I  am  not  a 
man.  Neither  am  I  Madame.  Madame  de 
Cocheforet  has  spent  this  afternoon  —  thanks 
to  your  absence  and  your  imbecility  —  with  her 
husband.  Yes,  I  hope  that  hurts  you !  "  she  went 
on,  savagely  snapping  her  little  white  teeth 
together.  "  To  spy  and  do  vile  work,  and  do  it 
ill,  Monsieur  Mpuchard — Monsieur  de  Mouchard, 
I  should  say  —  I  congratulate  you!" 

"  You  are  not  Madame  de  Cocheforet ! "  I  cried, 
stunned  —  even  in  the  midst  of  my  shame  and 
rage  —  by  this  blow. 

"No,  Monsieur!"  she  answered  grimly.  "I 
am  not!  And  permit  me  to  point  out  —  for  we 
io  not  all  lie  easily  —  that  I  never  said  I  was 

H  9. 


100  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

You  deceived  yourself  so  skilfully  that  we  had  no 
need  to  trick  you." 

"  Mademoiselle,  then  ?  "  I  muttered. 

"  Is  Madame !  "  she  cried.  "  Yes,  and  I  am 
Mademoiselle  de  Cocheforet.  And  in  that  char- 
acter,  and  in  all  others,  I  beg  from  this  moment 
to  close  our  acquaintance,  Sir.  When  we  meet 
again — if  we  ever  do  meet  —  which  God  for- 
bid !  "  she  cried,  her  eyes  sparkling,  "  do  not  pre- 
sume to  speak  to  me,  or  I  will  have  you  flogged 
by  the  grooms.  And  do  not  stain  our  roof  by 
sleeping  under  it  again.  You  may  lie  to-night  in 
the  inn.  It  shall  not  be  said  that  Cocheforet," 
she  continued  proudly,  "returned  even  treachery 
with  inhospitality ;  and  I  will  give  orders  to  that 
end.  To-morrow  begone  back  to  your  master,  like 
the  whipped  cur  you  are  !  Spy  and  coward !  " 

With  the  last  fierce  words  she  moved  away. 
I  would  have  said  something,  I  could  almost  have 
found  it  in  my  heart  to  stop  her  and  make  her 
hear.  Nay,  I  had  dreadful  thoughts;  for  I  was 
the  stronger,  and  I  might  have  done  with  her  as 
I  pleased.  But  she  swept  by  me  so  fearlessly  — 
as  I  might  pass  some  loathsome  cripple  in  the 


MADAME  AND  MADEMOISELLE.          IOI 

road  —  that  I  stood  turned  to  stone.  Without 
looking  at  me  —  without  turning  her  head'  to  see 
whether  I  followed  or  remained,  or  what  I  did  — 
she  went  steadily  down  the  track  until  the  trees 
and  the  shadow  and  the  growing  darkness  hid 
her  grey  figure  from  me;  and  I  found  myself 
alone. 


CHAPTER  V. 

REVENGE. 

AND  full  of  black  rage !  Had  she  only  re- 
proached me,  or,  turning  on  me  in  the  hour  of 
my  victory,  said  all  she  had  now  said  in  the 
moment  of  her  own,  I  could  have  borne  it.  She 
might  have  shamed  me  then,  and  I  might  have 
taken  the  shame  to  myself,  and  forgiven  her. 
But,  as  it  was,  I  stood  there  in  the  gathering 
dusk,  between  the  darkening  hedges,  baffled, 
tricked,  defeated !  And  by  a  woman  !  She  had 
pitted  her  wits  against  mine,  her  woman's  will 
against  my  experience,  and  she  had  come  off  the 
victor.  And  then  she  had  reviled  me.  As  I  took 
it  all  in,  and  began  to  comprehend,  also,  the  more 
remote  results,  and  how  completely  her  move  had 
made  further  progress  on  my  part  impossible,  I 
hated  her.  She  had  tricked  me  with  her  gracious 
ways  and  her  slow-coming  smile.  And,  after  al] 


REVENGE.  103 

—  for  what  she  had  said — it  was  this  man's  life 
or  mine.  What  had  I  done  that  another  man 
would  not  do  ?  Man  Dieu  !  In  the  future  there 
was  nothing  I  would  not  do.  I  would  make  her 
smart  for  those  words  of  hers!  I  would  bring 
her  to  her  knees ! 

Still,  hot  as  I  was,  an  hour  might  have  restored 
me  to  coolness.  But  when  I  started  to  return, 
I  fell  into  a  fresh  rage,  for  I  remembered  that  I 
did  not  know  my  way  out  of  the  maze  of  rides 
and  paths  into  which  she  had  drawn  me ;  and 
this  and  the  mishaps  which  followed  kept  my 
rage  hot.  For  a  full  hour  I  wandered  in  the 
wood,  unable,  though  I  knew  where  the  village 
lay,  to  find  any  track  which  led  continuously  in 
one  direction.  Whenever,  at  the  end  of  each 
attempt,  the  thicket  brought  me  up  short,  I  fan- 
cied I  heard  her  laughing  on  the  farther  side  of 
the  brake ;  and  the  ignominy  of  this  chance  pun- 
ishment, the  check  which  the  confinement  placed 
on  my  rage,  almost  maddened  me.  In  the  dark- 
ness, I  fell,  and  rose  cursing ;  I  tore  my  hands 
with  thorns ;  I  stained  my  suit,  which  had  suffered 
sadly  once  before.  At  length,  when  I  had  almost 


104  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

resigned  myself  to  lie  in  the  wood,  I  caught  sight 
of  the  lights  of  the  village,  and  trembling  between 
haste  and  anger,  pressed  towards  them.  In  a 
few  minutes  I  stood  in  the  little  street. 

The  lights  of  the  inn  shone  only  fifty  yards 
away  ;  but  before  I  could  show  myself  even  there 
pride  suggested  that  I  should  do  something  to 
repair  my  clothes.  I  stopped,  and  scraped  and 
brushed  them ;  and,  at  the  same  time,  did  what 
I  could  to  compose  my  features.  Then  I  ad- 
vanced to  the  door  and  knocked.  Almost  on 
the  instant  the  landlord's  voice  cried  from  the 
inside,  "  Enter,  Monsieur !  " 

I  raised  the  latch  and  went  in.  The  man  was 
alone,  squatting  over  the  fire,  warming  his  hands 
A  black  pot  simmered  on  the  ashes :  as  I  entered, 
he  raised  the  lid  and  peeped  inside.  Then  he 
glanced  over  his  shoulder. 

"  You  expected  me  ? "  I  said  defiantly,  walking 
to  the  hearth,  and  setting  one  of  my  damp  boots 
on  the  logs. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  nodding  curtly.  "  Your 
supper  is  just  ready.  I  thought  you  would  be 
in  about  this  time." 


REVENGE.  105 

He  grinned  as  he  spoke,  and  it  was  with  diffi- 
culty I  suppressed  my  wrath  "  Mademoiselle 
de  Cocheforet  told  you,"  I  said,  affecting  in- 
difference, "  where  I  was  ? " 

"  Ay,  Mademoiselle  —  or  Madame,"  he  replied, 
grinning  afresh. 

So  she  had  told  him  where  she  had  left  me, 
and  how  she  had  tricked  me !  She  had  made 
me  the  village  laughing-stock!  My  rage  flashed 
out  afresh  at  the  thought,  and,  at  the  sight  of 
his  mocking  face,  I  raised  my  fist. 

But  he  read  the  threat  in  my  eyes,  and  was 
up  in  a  moment,  snarling,  with  his  hand  on  his 
knife.  "  Not  again,  Monsieur !  "  he  cried,  in  his 
vile  patois,  "  My  head  is  sore  still.  Raise  your 
hand,  and  I  will  rip  you  up  as  I  would  a  pig !  " 

"  Sit  down,  fool,"  I  said.  "  I  am  not  going 
to  harm  you.  Where  is  your  wife  ?  " 

"  About  her  business." 

"Which  should  be  getting  my  supper,"  I  re- 
torted sharply. 

He  rose  sullenly,  and,  fetching  a  platter,  poured 
the  mess  of  broth  and  vegetables  into  it.  Then 
he  went  to  a  cupboard  and  brought  out  a  loaf 


106  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

of  black  bread  and  a  measure  of  wine,  and  set 
them  also  on  the  table.  "You  see  it,"  he  said 
laconically. 

"  And  a  poor  welcome  !  "  I  exclaimed. 

He  flamed  into  sudden  passion  at  that.  Lean- 
ing with  both  his  hands  on  the  table,  he  thrust 
his  rugged  face  and  blood-shot  eyes  close  to 
mine.  His  mustachios  bristled;  his  beard  trem- 
bled. "  Hark  ye,  Sirrah ! "  he  muttered,  with 
sullen  emphasis  —  "  be  content !  I  have  my  sus- 
picions. And  if  it  were  not  for  my  lady's  orders 
I  would  put  a  knife  into  you,  fair  or  foul,  this 
very  night.  You  would  lie  snug  outside,  instead 
of  inside,  and  I  do  not  think  any  one  would  be 
the  worse.  But,  as  it  is,  be  content.  Keep  a 
still  tongue ;  and  when  you  turn  your  back  on 
Cocheforet  to-morrow  keep  it  turned." 

"Tut!  tut!"  I  said  —  but  I  confess  I  was  a 
little  out  of  countenance.  "  Threatened  men  live 
long,  you  rascal !  " 

"  In  Paris  !  "  he  answered  significantly.  "  Not 
here,  Monsieur." 

He  straightened  himself  with  that,  nodded 
once,  and  went  back  to  the  fire,  and  I  shrugged 


REVENGE.  107 

my  shoulders  and  began  to  eat,  affecting  to  for- 
get his  presence.  The  logs  on  the  hearth  burned 
sullenly,  and  gave  no  light.  The  poor  oil-lump, 
casting  weird  shadows  from  wall  to  wall,  served 
only  to  discover  the  darkness.  The  room,  with 
its  low  roof  and  earthen  floor,  and  foul  clothes 
flung  here  and  there,  reeked  of  stale  meals  and 
garlic  and  vile  cooking.  I  thought  of  the  par- 
lour at  Cocheforet,  and  the  dainty  table,  and 
the  stillness,  and  the  scented  pot-herbs;  and, 
though  I  was  too  old  a  soldier  to  eat  the  worse 
because  my  spoon  lacked  washing,  I  felt  the 
change,  and  laid  it  savagely  at  Mademoiselle's 
door. 

The  landlord,  watching  me  stealthily  from  his 
place  by  the  hearth,  read  my  thoughts,  and 
chuckled  aloud.  "  Palace  fare,  palace  man- 
ners !  "  he  muttered  scornfully.  "  Set  a  beggar 
on  horseback,  and  he  will  ride  —  back  to  the 
inn !  " 

"  Keep  a  civil  tongue,  will  you ! "  I  answered, 
scowling  at  him. 

"  Have  you  finished  ?  "  he  retorted. 

I  rose,  without  deigning  to  reply,   and,  going 


108  UNDER  TJJE  RED  ROBE. 

to  the  fire,  drew  off  my  boots,  which  were  wet 
through.  He,  on  the  instant,  swept  off  the 
wine  and  loaf  to  the  cupboard,  and  then,  coming 
back  for  the  platter  I  had  used,  took  it,  opened 
the  back  door,  and  went  out,  leaving  the  door 
ajar.  The  draught  which  came  in  beat  the 
flame  of  the  lamp  this  way  and  that,  and  gave 
the  dingy,  gloomy  room  an  air  still  more  miser- 
able. I  rose  angrily  from  the  fire,  and  went  to 
the  door,  intending  to  close  it  with  a  bang. 

But  when  I  reached  it,  I  saw  something,  be- 
tween door  and  jamb,  which  stayed  my  hand. 
The  door  led  to  a  shed  in  which  the  housewife 
washed  pots  and  the  like.  I  felt  some  surprise, 
therefore,  when  I  found  a  light  there  at  this 
time  of  night ;  still  more  surprise  when  I  saw 
what  she  was  doing. 

She  was  seated  on  the  mud  floor,  with  a  rush- 
light before  her,  and  on  either  side  of  her  a 
high-piled  heap  of  refuse  and  rubbish.  From 
one  of  these,  at  the  moment  I  caught  sight  of 
her,  she  was  sorting  things  —  horrible,  filthy 
sweepings  of  road  or  floor  —  to  the  other;  shak- 
ing and  sifting  each  article  as  she  passed  it 


REVENGE.  109 

across,  and  then  taking  up  another  and  repeat- 
ing the  action  with  it,  and  so  on  :  all  minutely, 
warily,  with  an  air  of  so  much  patience  and 
persistence  that  I  stood  wondering.  Some 
things  —  rags  —  she  held  up  between  her  eyes 
and  the  light,  some  she  passed  through  her 
fingers,  some  she  fairly  tore  in  pieces.  And 
all  the  time  her  husband  stood  watching  her 
greedily,  my  platter  still  in  his  hand,  as  if  her 
strange  occupation  fascinated  him. 

I  stood  looking,  also,  for  half  a  minute,  per- 
haps;  then  the  man's  eye,  raised  for  a  single 
second  to  the  doorway,  met  mine.  He  started, 
muttered  something  to  his  wife,  and,  quick  as 
thought,  kicked  the  light  out,  leaving  the  shed 
in  darkness.  Cursing  him  for  an  ill-conditioned 
fellow,  I  walked  back  to  the  fire,  laughing.  In  a 
twinkling  he  followed  me,  his  face  dark  with  rage. 

"  Ventre  saint  gris ! "  he  exclaimed,  thrusting 
it  close  to  mine.  "  Is  not  a  man's  house  his 
own  ? " 

"  It  is,  for  me,"  I  answered  coolly,  shrugging 
my  shoulders.  "  And  his  wife :  if  she  likes  to 
pick  dirty  rags  at  this  hour,  that  is  your  affair." 


1 10  UNDER  THE  RED  ROBE. 

"  Pig  of  a  spy ! "  he  cried,  foaming  with  rage 

I  was  angry  enough  at  bottom,  but  I  had  noth- 
ing to  gain  by  quarrelling  with  the  fellow ;  and 
I  curtly  bade  him  remember  himself.  "Your 
mistress  gave  you  your  orders,"  I  said  contempt- 
uously. "  Obey  them  !  " 

He  spat  on  the  floor,  but  at  the  same  time 
he  grew  calmer.  "You  are  right  there,"  he 
answered  spitefully.  "  What  matter,  after  all, 
since  you  leave  to-morrow  at  six  ?  Your  horse 
has  been  sent  down,  and  your  baggage  is  above." 

"  I  will  go  to  it,"  I  retorted.  "  I  want  none 
of  your  company.  Give  me  a  light,  fellow!" 

He  obeyed  reluctantly,  and,  glad  to  turn  my 
back  on  him,  I  went  up  the  ladder,  still  wonder- 
ing faintly,  in  the  midst  of  my  annoyance,  what 
his  wife  was  about  that  my  chance  detection  of 
her  had  so  enraged  him.  Even  now  he  was  not 
quite  himself.  He  followed  me  with  abuse,  and, 
deprived  by  my  departure  of  any  other  means 
of  showing  his  spite,  fell  to  shouting  through 
the  floor,  bidding  me  remember  six  o'clock,  and 
be  stirring ;  with  other  taunts,  which  did  not 
cease  until  he  had  tired  himself  out. 


REVENGE.  1 1 1 

The  sight  of  my  belongings  —  which  I  had 
left  a  few  hours  before  at  the  Chateau  —  strewn 
about  the  floor  of  this  garret,  went  some  way 
towards  firing  me  again.  But  I  was  worn  out 
The  indignities  and  mishaps  of  the  evening  had, 
for  once,  crushed  my  spirit,  and  after  swearing 
an  oath  or  two  I  began  to  pack  my  bags.  Ven- 
geance I  would  have ;  but  the  time  and  manner 
I  left  for  daylight  thought.  Beyond  six  o'clock 
in  the  morning  I  did  not  look  forward;  and  if 
I  longed  for  anything  it  was  for  a  little  of  the 
good  Armagnac  I  had  wasted  on  those  louts  of 
merchants  in  the  kitchen  below.  It  might  have 
done  me  good  now. 

I  had  wearily  strapped  up  one  bag,  and  nearly 
filled  the  other,  when  I  came  upon  something 
which  did,  for  the  moment,  rouse  the  devil  in 
me.  This  was  the  tiny  orange-coloured  sachet 
which  Mademoiselle  had  dropped  the  night  I 
first  saw  her  at  the  inn,  and  which,  it  will  be 
remembered,  I  picked  up.  Since  that  night  I 
had  not  seen  it,  and  had  as  good  as  forgotten 
it.  Now,  as  I  folded  up  my  other  doublet,  the 
one  I  had  then  been  wearing,  it  dropped  from 
the  pocket. 


112  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

The  sight  of  it  recalled  all  —  that  night,  and 
Mademoiselle's  face  in  the  lanthorn  light,  and  my 
fine  plans,  and  the  end  of  them ;  and,  in  a  fit  of 
childish  fury,  the  outcome  of  long  suppressed 
passion,  I  snatched  up  the  sachet  from  the  floor 
and  tore  it  across  and  across,  and  flung  the 
pieces  down.  As  they  fell,  a  cloud  of  fine  pun- 
gent dust  burst  from  them,  and  with  the  dust 
something  heavier,  which  tinkled  sharply  on 
the  boards.  I  looked  down  to  see  what  this  was 
—  perhaps  I  already  repented  of  my  act  —  but 
for  the  moment  I  could  see  nothing.  The  floor 
was  grimy  and  uninviting,  and  the  light  bad. 

In  certain  moods,  however,  a  man  is  obstinate 
about  small  things,  and  I  moved  the  taper 
nearer.  As  I  did  so,  a  point  of  light,  a  flash- 
ing sparkle  that  shone  for  a  second  among  the 
dirt  and  refuse  on  the  floor,  caught  my  eye.  It 
was  gone  in  a  moment,  but  I  had  seen  it.  I 
stared,  and  moved  the  light  again,  and  the  spark 
flashed  out  afresh,  this  time  in  a  different  place. 
Much  puzzled,  I  knelt,  and,  in  a  twinkling,  found 
a  tiny  crystal.  Hard  by  lay  another  —  and  an- 
other; each  as  large  as  a  fair-sized  pea.  I  took 


REVENGE.  113 

up  the  three,  and  rose  to  my  feet  again,  the 
light  in  one  hand,  the  crystals  in  the  palm  of 
the  other. 

They  were  diamonds !  —  diamonds  of  price  ! 
I  knew  it  in  a  moment.  As  I  moved  the  taper 
to  and  fro  above  them,  and  watched  the  fire 
glow  and  tremble  in  their  depths,  I  knew  that 
I  held  that  which  would  buy  the  crazy  inn  and 
all  its  contents  a  dozen  times  over.  They  were 
diamonds !  Gems  so  fine,  and  of  so  rare  a 
water  —  or  I  had  never  seen  gems  —  that  my 
hand  trembled  as  I  held  them,  and  my  head 
grew  hot,  and  my  heart  beat  furiously.  For  a 
moment  I  thought  I  dreamed,  that  my  fancy 
played  me  some  trick;  and  I  closed  my  eyes 
and  did  not  open  them  again  for  a  minute.  But 
when  I  did,  there  they  were,  hard,  real,  and 
angular.  Convinced  at  last,  in  a  maze  of  joy 
and  fear,  I  closed  my  hand  upon  them,  and, 
stealing  on  tip-toe  to  the  trapdoor,  laid  first  my 
saddle  on  it,  and  then  my  bags,  and  over  all 
my  cloak,  breathing  fast  the  while. 

Then  I .  stole  back ;  and,  taking  up  the  light 
again,  began  to  search  the  floor,  patiently,  inch 


114  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

by  inch,  with  naked  feet,  every  sound  making 
me  tremble  as  I  crept  hither  and  thither  over 
the  creaking  boards.  And  never  was  search 
more  successful  or  better  paid.  In  the  frag- 
ments of  the  sachet  I  found  six  smaller  diamonds 
and  a  pair  of  rubies.  Eight  large  diamonds 
I  found  on  the  floor.  One,  the  largest  and 
last-found,  had  bounded  away,  and  lay  against 
the  wall  in  the  farthest  corner.  It  took  me  an 
hour  to  run  that  one  to  earth ;  but  afterwards 
I  spent  another  hour  on  my  hands  and  knees 
before  I  gave  up  the  search,  and,  satisfied  at 
last  that  I  had  collected  all,  sat  down  on  my 
saddle  on  the  trap-door,  and,  by  the  last  flicker 
ing  light  of  a  candle  which  I  had  taken  from 
my  bag,  gloated  over  my  treasure  —  a  treasure 
worthy  of  fabled  Golconda. 

Hardly  could  I  believe  in  its  reality,  even  now. 
Recalling  the  jewels  which  the  English  Duke  of 
Buckingham  wore  on  the  occasion  of  his  visit  to 
Paris  in  1625,  and  of  which  there  was  so  much 
talk,  I  took  these  to  be  as  fine,  though  less  in 
number.  They  should  be  worth  fifteen  thousand 
crowns,  more  or  less.  Fifteen  thousand  crowns! 


REVENGE.  115 

And  I  held  them  in  the  hollow  of  my  hand  — 
I  who  was  scarcely  worth  ten  thousand  sous. 

The  candle  going  out  cut  short  my  admiration. 
Left  in  the  dark  with  these  precious  atoms,  my 
first  thought  was  how  I  might  dispose  of  them 
safely ;  which  I  did,  for  the  time,  by  secreting 
them  in  the  lining  of  my  boot.  My  second 
thought  turned  on  the  question  how  they  had 
come  where  I  had  found  them,  among  the  pow- 
dered spice  and  perfumes  in  Mademoiselle  de 
Cocheforet's  sachet. 

A  minute's  reflection  enabled  me  to  come  very 
near  the  secret,  and  at  the  same  time  shed  a 
flood  of  light  on  several  dark  places.  What  Clon 
had  been  seeking  on  the  path  between  the  house 
and  the  village,  what  the  goodwife  of  the  inn 
had  sought  among  the  sweepings  of  yard  and 
floor,  I  knew  now,  —  the  sachet.  I  knew,  too, 
what  had  caused  the  marked  and  sudden  anxiety 
I  had  noticed  at  the  Chateau  —  the  loss  of  this 
sachet. 

And  there  for  a  while  I  came  to  a  check.  But 
one  step  more  up  the  ladder  of  thought  brought 
all  in  view.  In  a  flash  I  guessed  how  the  jewels 


Il6  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

had  come  to  be  in  the  sachet;  and  that  it  was 
not  Mademoiselle  but  M.  de  Cocheforet  who 
had  mislaid  them.  And  I  thought  the  discovery 
so  important  that  I  began  to  pace  the  room  softly, 
unable,  in  my  excitement,  to  remain  still. 

Doubtless  he  had  dropped  the  jewels  in  the 
hurry  of  his  start  from  the  inn  that  night! 
Doubtless,  too,  he  had  carried  them  in  that 
bizarre  hiding-place  for  the  sake  of  safety,  con- 
sidering it  unlikely  that  robbers,  if  he  fell  into 
their  hands,  would  take  the  sachet  from  him ; 
as  still  less  likely  that  they  would  suspect  it  to 
contain  anything  of  value.  Everywhere  it  would 
pass  for  a  love-gift,  the  work  of  his  mistress. 

Nor  did  my  penetration  stop  there.  Ten  to 
one  the  gems  were  family  property,  the  last  treas- 
ure of  the  house ;  and  M.  de  Cocheforet,  when  I 
saw  him  at  the  inn,  was  on  his  way  to  convey 
them  out  of  the  country;  either  to  secure  them 
from  seizure  by  the  Government,  or  to  raise 
money  by  selling  them  —  money  to  be  spent  in 
some  last  desperate  enterprise.  For  a  day  or 
two,  perhaps,  after  leaving  Cocheforet,  while  the 
mountain  road  and  its  chances  occupied  his 


REVENGE. 


thoughts,  he  had  not  discovered  his  loss.  Then 
he  had  searched  for  the  precious  sachet,  missed 
it,  and  returned  hot-foot  on  his  tracks. 

I  was  certain  that  I  had  hit  on  the  true  solu- 
tion ;  and  all  that  night  I  sat  wakeful  in  the 
darkness,  pondering  what  I  should  do.  The 
stones,  unset  as  they  were,  could  never  be  identi- 
fied, never  be  claimed.  The  channel  by  which 
they  had  come  to  my  hands  could  never  be 
:raced.  To  all  intents  they  were  mine  —  mine, 
to  do  with  as  I  pleased  !  Fifteen  thousand 
crowns  !  —  perhaps  twenty  thousand  crowns  !  — 
and  I  to  leave  at  six  in  the  morning,  whether 
I  would  or  no  !  I  might  leave  for  Spain  with 
the  jewels  in  my  pocket. 

I  confess  I  was  tempted.  The  gems  were  so 
fine  that  I  doubt  not  some  indifferently  honest 
men  would  have  sold  salvation  for  them.  But  a 
Berault  his  honour  ?  No  !  I  was  tempted,  but 
not  for  long.  Thank  God,  a  man  may  be  reduced 
to  living  by  the  fortunes  of  the  dice,  and  may 
even  be  called  by  a  woman  spy  and  coward 
without  becoming  a  thief.  The  temptation  soon 
•left  me  —  I  take  credit  for  it  —  and  I  fell  to 


Il8  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

thinking  of  this  and  that  plan  for  making  use 
of  them.  Once  it  occurred  to  me  to  take  the 
jewels  to  the  Cardinal  and  buy  my  pardon  with 
them ;  again,  to  use  them  as  a  trap  to  capture 
Cocheforet;  again  to  —  and  then  about  five  in 
the  morning,  as  I  sat  up  on  my  wretched  pallet, 
while  the  first  light  stole  slowly  in  through  the 
cobwebbed,  hay-stuffed  lattice,  there  came  to  me 
the  real  plan,  the  plan  of  plans,  on  which  I 
acted. 

It  charmed  me.  I  smacked  my  lips  over  it, 
and  hugged  myself,  and  felt  my  eyes  dilate  in 
the  darkness,  as  I  conned  it.  It  seemed  cruel, 
it  seemed  mean ;  I  cared  nothing.  Mademoiselle 
had  boasted  of  her  victory  over  me,  of  her 
woman's  wits  and  her  acuteness ;  and  of  my 
dulness.  She  had  said  her  grooms  should  flog 
me,  she  had  rated  me  as  if  I  had  been  a 
dog.  Very  well;  we  would  see  now  whose 
brains  were  the  better,  whose  was  the  master 
mind,  whose  should  be  the  whipping. 

The  one  thing  required  by  my  plan  was  that 
I  should  get  speech  with  her;  that  done,  I  could 
trust  myself,  and  my  new-found  weapon,  for  the 


REVENGE.  1 19 

rest.  But  that  was  absolutely  necessary ;  and 
seeing  that  there  might  be  some  difficulty  about 
it,  I  determined  to  descend  as  if  my  mind  were 
made  up  to  go ;  then,  on  pretence  of  saddling 
my  horse,  I  would  slip  away  on  foot,  and  lie  in 
wait  near  the  Chateau  until  I  saw  her  come  out. 
Or  if  I  could  not  effect  my  purpose  in  that  way 
—  either  by  reason  of  the  landlord's  vigilance, 
or  for  any  other  cause  —  my  course  was  still 
easy.  I  would  ride  away,  and  when  I  had 
proceeded  a  mile  or  so,  tie  up  my  horse  in  the 
forest  and  return  to  the  wooden  bridge.  Thence 
I  could  watch  the  garden  and  front  of  the 
Chateau  until  time  and  chance  gave  me  the  op- 
portunity I  sought. 

So  I  saw  my  way  quite  clearly ;  and  when 
the  fellow  below  called  me,  reminding  me  rudely 
that  I  must  be  going,  and  that  it  was  six  o'clock, 
I  was  ready  with  my  answer.  I  shouted  sulkily 
that  I  was  coming,  and,  after  a  decent  delay, 
I  took  up  my  saddle  and  bags  and  went  down. 

Viewed  by  the  cold  morning  light,  the  inn 
room  looked  more  smoky,  more  grimy,  more 
wretched  than  when  I  had  last  seen  it.  The 


120  UNDER  THE  RED  ROBE. 

goodwife  was  not  visible.  The  fire  was  not 
lighted.  No  provision,  not  so  much  as  a  stirrup- 
cup  or  bowl  of  porridge  cheered  the  heart.  I 
looked  round,  sniffing  the  stale  smell  of  last 
night's  lamp,  and  grunted.  "  Are  you  going  to 
send  me  out  fasting  ?  "  I  said,  affecting  a  worse 
humour  than  I  felt. 

The  landlord  was  standing  by  the  window, 
stooping  over  a  great  pair  of  frayed  and 
furrowed  thigh-boots,  which  he  was  labouring 
to  soften  with  copious  grease.  "  Mademoiselle 
ordered  no  breakfast,"  he  answered,  with  a  ma- 
licious grin. 

"Well,  it  does  not  much  matter,"  I  replied 
grandly.  "  I  shall  be  at  Auch  by  noon." 

'•  That  is  as  may  be,"  he  answered,  with  another 
grin.  I  did  not  understand  him,  but  I  had 
something  else  to  think  about,  and  I  opened 
the  door  and  stepped  out,  intending  to  go  to  the 
stable.  Then  in  a  second  I  comprehended.  The 
cold  air  laden  with  woodland  moisture  met  me 
and  went  to  my  bones ;  but  it  was  not  that  which 
made  me  shiver.  Outside  the  door,  in  the  road, 
sitting  on  horseback  in  silence,  were  two  men. 


REVENGE.  121 

One  was  Clon.  The  other,  who  held  a  spare 
horse  by  the  rein  —  my  horse  —  was  a  man  I 
had  seen  at  the  inn,  a  rough,  shock-headed,  hard- 
bitten fellow.  Both  were  armed,  and  Clon  was 
booted.  His  mate  rode  barefoot,  with  a  rusty 
spur  strapped  to  one  heel. 

The  moment  I  saw  them  a  sure  and  certain 
fear  crept  into  my  mind :  it  was  that  made  me 
shiver.  But  I  did  not  speak  to  them.  I  went 
in  again,  and  closed  the  door  behind  me.  The 
landlord  was  putting  on  the  boots.  "  What  does 
this  mean  ? "  I  said  hoarsely.  I  had  a  clear 
prescience  of  what  was  coming.  "  Why  are 
these  men  here?" 

"  Orders,"  he  answered  laconically. 

"Whose  orders?"  I  retorted. 

"Whose?"  he  answered  bluntly.  "Well, 
Monsieur,  that  is  my  business.  Enough  that  we 
mean  to  see  you  out  of  the  country,  and  out  of 
harm's  way." 

"  But  if  I  will  not  go  ? "  I  cried. 

"  Monsieur  will  go,"  he  answered  coolly. 
"There  are  no  strangers  in  the  village  to-day," 
he  added,  with  a  significant  smile. 


122  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  kidnap  me  ? "  I  replied,  in  a 
rage.  Behind  the  rage  was  something  —  I  will 
not  call  it  terror,  for  the  brave  feel  no  terror  — 
but  it  was  near  akin  to  it.  I  had  had  to  do 
with  rough  men  all  my  life,  but  there  was  a 
grimness  and  truculence  in  the  aspect  of  these 
three  that  shook  me.  When  I  thought  of  the  dark 
paths  and  narrow  lanes  and  cliff-sides  we  must 
traverse,  whichever  road  we  took,  I  trembled. 

"Kidnap  you,  Monsieur?"  he  answered,  with 
an  everyday  air.  "That  is  as  you  please  to  call 
it.  One  thing  is  certain,  however,"  he  continued, 
maliciously  touching  an  arquebuss  which  he  had 
produced  and  set  upright  against  a  chair  while 
I  was  at  the  door ;  "  if  you  attempt  the  slightest 
resistance,  we  shall  know  how  to  put  an  end  to 
it,  either  here  or  on  the  road." 

I  drew  a  deep  breath.  The  very  imminence  of 
the  danger  restored  me  to  the  use  of  my  faculties 
I  changed  my  tone  and  laughed  aloud.  "  So 
that  is  your  plan,  is  it  ? "  I  said.  "  The  sooner 
we  start  the  better,  then.  And  the  sooner  I  see 
Auch  and  your  back  turned,  the  more  I  shall  be 
pleased." 


REVENGE.  12* 

He  rose.     "  After  you,  Monsieur,"  he  said. 

I  could  not  restrain  a  slight  shiver.  His  new- 
born politeness  alarmed  me  more  than  his  threats. 
I  knew  the  man  and  his  ways,  and  I  was  sure 
that  it  boded  ill  for  me. 

But  I  had  no  pistols,  and  only  my  sword  and 
knife,  and  I  knew  that  resistance  at  this  point 
must  be  worse  than  vain.  I  went  out  jauntily, 
therefore,  the  landlord  coming  after  me  with  my 
saddle  and  bags. 

The  street  was  empty,  save  for  the  two  wait- 
ing horsemen  who  sat  in  their  saddles  looking 
doggedly  before  them.  The  sun  had  not  yet 
risen,  the  air  was  raw.  The  sky  was  grey, 
cloudy,  and  cold  My  thoughts  flew  back  to 
the  morning  on  which  I  had  found  the  sachet 
—  at  that  very  spot,  almost  at  that  very  hour ; 
and  for  a  moment  I  grew  warm  again  at  the 
thought  of  the  little  packet  I  carried  in  my 
boot.  But  the  landlord's  dry  manner,  the  sullen 
silence  of  his  two  companions,  whose  eyes  steadily 
refused  to  meet  mine,  chilled  me  again.  For  an 
instant  the  impulse  to  refuse  to  mount,  to  refuse 
to  go,  was  almost  irresistible ;  then,  knowing  the 


124  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

madness  of  such  a  course,  which  might,  and 
probably  would,  give  the  men  the  chance  they 
desired,  I  crushed  it  down  and  went  slowly  to 
my  stirrup. 

"  I  wonder  you  do  not  want  my  sword,"  I 
said  by  way  of  sarcasm,  as  I  swung  myself  up. 

"We  are  not  afraid  of  it,"  the  innkeeper 
answered  gravely.  "  You  may  keep  it  —  for  the 
present." 

I  made  no  answer  —  what  answer  had  I  to 
make  ?  —  and  we  rode  at  a  foot-pace  down  the 
street;  he  and  I  leading,  Glon  and  the  shock- 
headed  man  bringing  up  the  rear.  The  leisurely 
mode  of  our  departure,  the  absence  of  hurry 
or  even  haste,  the  men's  indifference  whether 
they  were  seen,  or  what  was  thought,  all  served 
to  sink  my  spirits,  and  deepen  my  sense  of 
peril.  I  felt  that  they  suspected  me,  that  they 
more  than  half  guessed  the  nature  of  my  errand 
at  Cocheforet,  and  that  they  were  not  minded 
to  be  bound  by  Mademoiselle's  orders.  In  par- 
ticular I  augured  the  worst  from  Clon's  appear- 
ance. His  lean  malevolent  face  and  sunken 
eyes,  his  very  dumbness  chilled  me.  Mercy  had 
no  place  there. 


REVENGE.  125 

We  rode  soberly,  so  that  nearly  half  an  hour 
elapsed  before  we  gained  the  brow  from  which 
I  had  taken  my  first  look  at  Cocheforet.  Among 
the  dwarf  oaks  whence  I  had  viewed  the  valley 
we  paused  to  breathe  our  horses,  and  the  strange 
feelings  with  which  I  looked  back  on  the  scene 
may  be  imagined.  But  I  had  short  time  for 
indulging  in  sentiment  or  recollections.  A  curt 
word,  and  we  were  moving  again. 

A  quarter  of  a  mile  farther  on  the  road  to 
Auch  dipped  into  the  valley.  When  we  were 
already  half-way  down  this  descent  the  inn- 
keeper suddenly  stretched  out  his  hand  and 
caught  my  rein.  "  This  way  !  "  he  said. 

I  saw  he  would  have  me  turn  into  a  by-path 
leading  south-westwards  —  a  mere  track,  faint 
and  little  trodden  and  encroached  on  by  trees, 
which  led  I  knew  not  whither.  I  checked  my 
horse.  "  Why  ? "  I  said  rebelliously.  "  Do  you 
think  I  do  not  know  the  road  ?  This  is  the  way 
to  Auch." 

"To  Auch  —  yes,"  he  answered  bluntly.  "  But 
we  are  not  going  to  Auch." 

"Whither  then?"  I  said  angrily. 


126  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

"  You  will  see  presently,"  he  replied,  with  an 
ugly  smile. 

"  Yes,  but  I  will  know  now !  "  I  retorted,  pas- 
sion getting  the  better  of  me.  "  I  have  come  so 
far  with  you.  You  will  find  it  more  easy  to 
take  me  farther,  if  you  tell  me  your  plans." 

"  You  are  a  fool ! "  he  cried,  with  a  snarl. 

"  Not  so,"  I  answered.  "  I  ask  only  to  know 
whither  I  am  going." 

"  Into  Spain,"  he  said.  "  Will  that  satisfy 
you?" 

"  And  what  will  you  do  with  me  there  ?  "  I 
asked,  my  heart  giving  a  great  bound. 

"  Hand  you  over  to  some  friends  of  ours,"  he 
answered  curtly,  "if  you  behave  yourself.  If 
not,  there  is  a  shorter  way,  and  one  that  will 
save  us  some  travelling.  Make  up  your  mind. 
Monsieur.  Which  shall  it  be?" 


CHAPTER  VI. 

UNDER   THE   PIC   DU   MIDI. 

So  that  was  their  plan.  Two  or  three  hours 
to  the  southward,  the  long  white  glittering  wall 
stretched  east  and  west  above  the  brown  woods. 
Beyond  that  lay  Spain.  Once  across  the  border, 
I  might  be  detained,  if  no  worse  happened  to  me, 
as  a  prisoner  of  war;  for  we  were  then  at  war 
with  Spain  on  the  Italian  side.  Or  I  might  be 
handed  over  to  one  of  the  savage  bands,  half 
smugglers,  half  brigands,  that  held  the  passes ;  or 
be  delivered  —  worst  fate  of  all  —  into  the  power 
of  the  French  exiles,  of  whom  some  would  be 
likely  to  recognize  me  and  cut  my  throat. 

"  It  is  a  long  way  into  Spain,"  I  muttered, 
watching  in  a  kind  of  fascination  Clon  handling 
his  pistols. 

"I  think  you  will  find  the  other  road  longer 
127 


128  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

still  !  "  the  landlord  answered  grimly.  "  But 
choose,  and  be  quick  about  it." 

They  were  three  to  one,  and  they  had  firearms. 
In  effect  I  had  no  choice.  "  Well,  if  I  must  I 
must !  "  I  cried,  making  up  my  mind  with  seeming 
recklessness.  "  Vogue  la  galore  /  Spain  be  it.  It 
will  not  be  the  first  time  I  have  heard  the  dons 
talk." 

The  men  nodded,  as  much  as  to  say  that  they 
had  known  what  the  end  would  be ;  the  landlord 
released  my  rein ;  and  in  a  trice  we  were  riding 
down  the  narrow  track,  with  our  faces  set  towards 
the  mountains. 

On  one  point  my  mind  was  now  more  easy. 
The  men  meant  fairly  by  me ;  and  I  had  no 
longer  to  fear,  as  I  had  feared,  a  pistol  shot  in  the 
back  at  the  first  convenient  ravine.  As  far  as 
that  went,  I  might  ride  in  peace.  On  the  other 
hand,  if  I  let  them  carry  me  across  the  border  my 
fate  was  sealed.  A  man  set  down  without  creden- 
tials or  guards  among  the  wild  desperadoes  who 
swarmed  in  war  time  in  the  Asturian  passes  might 
consider  himself  fortunate  if  an  easy  death  fell  to 
his  lot.  In  my  case  I  could  make  a  shrewd  guess 


UNDER   THE  PIC  DU  MIDI.  129 

what  would  happen.  A  single  nod  of  meaning, 
one  muttered  word,  dropped  among  the  savage 
men  with  whom  I  should  be  left,  and  the  dia- 
monds hidden  in  my  boot  would  go  neither  to  the 
Cardinal  nor  back  to  Mademoiselle  —  nor  would 
it  matter  to  me  whither  they  went. 

So  while  the  others  talked  in  their  taciturn 
fashion,  or  sometimes  grinned  at  my  gloomy  face, 
I  looked  out  over  the  brown  woods  with  eyes  that 
saw,  yet  did  not  see.  The  red  squirrel  swarming 
up  the  trunk,  the  startled  pigs  that  rushed  away 
grunting  from  their  feast  of  mast,  the  solitary 
rider  who  met  us,  armed  to  the  teeth,  and  passed 
northwards  after  whispering  with  the  landlord  — 
all  these  I  saw.  But  my  mind  was  not  with  them. 
It  was  groping  and  feeling  about  like  a  hunted 
mole  for  some  way  of  escape.  For  time  pressed. 
The  slope  we  were  on  was  growing  steeper.  By- 
and-bye  we  fell  into  a  southward  valley,  and  began 
to  follow  it  steadily  upwards,  crossing  and  recross- 
ing  a  swiftly  rushing  stream.  The  snow-peaks 
began  to  be  hidden  behind  the  rising  bulk  of  hills 
that  overhung  us ;  and  sometimes  we  could  see 
nothing  before  or  behind  but  the  wooded  walls 


130  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

of  our  valley  rising  sheer  and  green  a  thousand 
paces  on  either  hand,  with  grey  rocks  half  masked 
by  fern  and  ivy  getting  here  and  there  through 
the  firs  and  alders. 

It  was  a  wild  and  sombre  scene  even  at  that 
hour,  with  the  midday  sun  shining  on  the  rushing 
water  and  drawing  the  scent  out  of  the  pines ; 
but  I  knew  that  there  was  worse  to  come,  and 
sought  desperately  for  some  ruse  by  which  I 
might  at  least  separate  the  men.  Three  were  too 
many;  with  one  I  might  deal.  At  last,  when  I 
had  cudgelled  my  brain  for  an  hour,  and  almost 
resigned  myself  to  a  sudden  charge  on  the  men 
single-handed  —  a  last  desperate  resort  —  I  thought 
of  a  plan,  dangerous,  too,  and  almost  desperate, 
but  which  still  seemed  to  promise  something.  It 
came  of  my  fingers  resting  in  my  pocket  on  the 
fragments  of  the  orange  sachet,  which,  without 
having  any  particular  design  in  my  mind,  I  had 
taken  care  to  bring  with  me.  I  had  torn  the 
sachet  into  four  pieces  —  four  corners.  As  I 
played  mechanically  with  them,  one  of  my  fingers 
fitted  into  one,  as  into  a  glove ;  a  second  finger 
into  another.  And  the  plan  came. 


UNDER   THE  PIC  DU  MIDI.  131 

Still,  before  I  could  move  in  it,  I  had  to  wait 
antil  we  stopped  to  bait  the  flagging  horses,  which 
we  did  about  noon  at  the  head  of  the  valley. 
Then,  pretending  to  drink  from  the  stream,  I  man- 
aged to  secure  unseen  a  handful  of  pebbles,  slip- 
ping them  into  the  same  pocket  with  the  morsels 
of  stuff.  On  getting  to  horse  again,  I  carefully 
fitted  a  pebble,  not  too  tightly,  into  the  largest 
scrap,  and  made  ready  for  the  attempt. 

The  landlord  rode  on  my  left,  abreast  of  me; 
the  other  two  knaves  behind.  The  road  at  this 
stage  favoured  me,  for  the  valley,  which  drained 
the  bare  uplands  that  lay  between  the  lower  spurs 
and  the  base  of  the  real  mountains,  had  become 
wide  and  shallow.  Here  were  no  trees,  and  the 
path  was  a  mere  -sheep-track  covered  with  short 
crisp  grass,  and  running  sometimes  on  this  bank 
of  the  stream  and  sometimes  on  that. 

I  waited  until  the  ruffian  beside  me  turned  to 
speak  to  the  men  behind.  The  moment  he  did  so 
and  his  eyes  were  averted,  I  slipped  out  the  scrap 
of  satin  in  which  I  had  placed  the  pebble,  and 
balancing  it  carefully  on  my  right  thigh  as  I  rode, 
I  flipped  it  forward  with  all  the  strength  of  my 

K  2 


132  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

thumb  and  finger.  I  meant  it  to  fall  a  few  paces 
before  us  in  the  path,  where  it  could  be  seen. 
But  alas  for  my  hopes !  At  the  critical  moment 
my  horse  started,  my  finger  struck  the  scrap 
aslant,  the  pebble  flew  out,  and  the  bit  of  stuff 
fluttered  into  a  whin-bush  close  to  my  stirrup  — 
and  was  lost ! 

I  was  bitterly  disappointed,  for  the  same  thing 
might  happen  again,  and  I  had  now  only  three 
scraps  left.  But  fortune  favoured  me,  by  putting 
it  into  imy  neighbour's  head  to  plunge  into  a  hot 
debate  with  the  shock-headed  man  on  the  nature 
of  some  animals  seen  on  a  distant  brow ;  which  he 
said  were  izards,  while  the  other  maintained  that 
they  were  common  goats.  He  continued,  on  this 
account,  to  ride  with  his  face  turned  the  other 
way.  I  had  time  to  fit  another  pebble  into  the 
second  piece  of  stuff,  and  sliding  it  on  to  my 
thigh,  poised  it,  and  flipped  it. 

This  time  my  finger  struck  the  tiny  missile 
fairly  in  the  middle,  and  shot  it  so  far  and  so 
truly  that  it  dropped  exactly  in  the  path  ten  paces 
in  front  of  us.  The  moment  I  saw  it  fall  I  kicked 
my  neighbour's  nag  in  the  ribs ;  it  started,  and 


UNDER   THE  PIC  DU  MIDI.  133 

he,  turning  in  a  rage,  hit  it.  The  next  instant 
he  pulled  it  almost  on  to  its  haunches. 

"  Saint  Gris  !  "  he  cried  ;  and  sat  glaring  at  the 
bit  of  yellow  satin,  with  his  face  turned  purple 
and  his  jaw  fallen. 

"What  is  it?"  I  said,  staring  at  him  in  turn. 
"What  is  the  matter,  fool?" 

"Matter?"  he  blurted  out.     "MonDieu!" 

But  Clon's  excitement  surpassed  even  his.  The 
dumb  man  no  sooner  saw  what  had  attracted  his 
comrade's  attention,  than  he  uttered  an  inarticu- 
late and  horrible  noise,  and  tumbling  off  his  horse, 
more  like  a  beast  than  a  man,  threw  himself  bodily 
on  the  precious  morsel. 

The  innkeeper  was  not  far  behind  him.  An 
instant  and  he  was  down,  too,  peering  at  the 
thing;  and  for  an  instant  I  thought  that  they 
would  fight  over  it.  However,  though  their  jeal- 
ousy was  evident,  their  excitement  cooled  a  little 
when  they  discovered  that  the  scrap  of  stuff  was 
empty;  for,  fortunately,  the  pebble  had  fallen  out 
of  it.  Still,  it  threw  them  into  such  a  fever  of 
eagerness  as  it  was  wonderful  to  witness.  They 
nosed  the  ground  where  it  had  lain,  they  plucked 


134  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

up  the  grass  and  turf,  and  passed  it  through  their 
fingers,  they  ran  to  and  fro  like  dogs  on  a  trail; 
and,  glancing  askance  at  one  another,  came  back 
always  together  to  the  point  of  departure.  Neither 
in  his  jealousy  would  suffer  the  other  to  be  there 
alone. 

The  shock-headed  man  and  I  sat  our  horses 
and  looked  on ;  he  marvelling,  and  I  pretending 
to  marvel.  As  the  two  searched  up  and  down 
the  path,  we  moved  a  little  out  of  it  to  give  them 
space ;  and  presently,  when  all  their  heads  were 
turned  from  me,  I  let  a  second  morsel  drop  under 
a  gorse-bush.  The  shock-headed  man,  by-and-bye, 
found  this,  and  gave  it  to  Clon ;  and,  as  from  the 
circumstances  of  the  first  discovery  no  suspicion 
attached  to  me,  I  ventured  to  find  the  third  and 
last  scrap  myself.  I  did  not  pick  it  up,  but  I 
called  the  innkeeper,  and  he  pounced  on  it  as  I 
have  seen  a  hawk  pounce  on  a  chicken. 

They  hunted  for  the  fourth  morsel,  but,  of 
course,  in  vain,  and  in  the  end  they  desisted, 
and  fitted  the  three  they  had  together;  but 
neither  would  let  his  own  portion  out  of  his 
hands,  and  each  looked  at  the  other  across  the 


UNDER   THE  PIC  DU  MIDI.  1 35 

spoil  with  eyes  of  suspicion.  It  was  strange  to 
see  them  in  that  wide-stretching  valley,  whence 
grey  boar-backs  of  hills  swelled  up  into  the  silence 
of  the  snow  —  it  was  strange,  I  say,  in  that  .vast 
solitude  to  see  these  two,  mere  dots  on  its  bosom, 
circling  round  one  another  in  fierce  forgetfulness 
of  the  outside  world,  glaring  and  shifting  their 
ground  like  cocks  about  to  engage,  and  wholly 
engrossed  —  by  three  scraps  of  orange-colour, 
invisible  at  fifty  paces ! 

At  last  the  innkeeper  cried  with  an  oath :  "  I 
am  going  back.  This  must  be  known  down 
yonder.  Give  me  your  pieces,  man,  and  do  you 
go  with  Antoine.  It  will  be  all  right." 

But  Clon,  waving  a  scrap  in  either  hand  and 
thrusting  his  ghastly  mask  into  the  other's  face, 
shook  his  head  in  passionate  denial.  He  could 
not  speak,  but  he  made  it  clear  that  if  any  one 
went  back  with  the  news  he  was  the  man  to  go. 

"  Nonsense !  "  the  landlord  retorted  fiercely. 
"We  cannot  leave  Antoine  to  go  on  alone  with 
him.  Give  me  the  stuff.'* 

But  Clon  would  not.  He  had  no  thought  of 
resigning  the  credit  of  the  discovery,  and  I  began 


136  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

to  think  that  the  two  would  really  come  to  blows. 
But  there  was  an  alternative,  and  first  one  and 
then  the  other  looked  at  me.  It  was  a  moment 
of  peril,  and  I  knew  it.  My  stratagem  might 
react  on  myself,  and  the  two,  to  put  an  end  to 
this  difficulty,  agree  to  put  an  end  to  me.  But 
I  faced  them  so  coolly  and  showed  so  bold  a 
front,  and  the  ground  was  so  open,  that  the  idea 
took  no  root.  They  fell  to  wrangling  again  more 
viciously  than  before.  One  tapped  his  gun  and 
the  other  his  pistols.  The  landlord  scolded,  the 
dumb  man  gurgled.  At  last  their  difference 
ended  as  I  had  hoped  it  would. 

"  Very  well  then,  we  will  both  go  back !  "  the 
innkeeper  cried  in  a  rage.  "  And  Antoine  must 
see  him  on.  But  the  blame  be  on  your  head. 
Do  you  give  the  lad  your  pistols." 

Clon  took  one  pistol  and  gave  it  to  the  shock- 
headed  man. 

"  The  other ! "  the  innkeeper  said  impatiently. 

But  Clon  shook  his  head  with  a  grim  smile, 
and  pointed  to  the  arquebuss. 

By  a  sudden  movement  the  landlord  snatched 
the  pistol,  and  averted  Clon's  vengeance  by 


UNDER   THE  PIC  DU  MIDI.  137 

placing  both  it  and  the  gun  in  the  shock-headed 
man's  hands.  "  There !  "  he  said,  addressing  the 
fatter,  "  now  can  you  do  ?  If  Monsieur  tries  to 
escape  or  turn  back,  shoot  him !  But  four  hours' 
riding  should  bring  you  to  the  Roca  Blanca. 
You  will  find  the  men  there,  and  will  have  no 
more  to  do  with  it." 

Antoine  did  not  see  things  quite  in  that  light, 
however.  He  looked  at  me,  and  then  at  the 
wild  track  in  front  otf  us ;  and  he  muttered  an 
oath  and  said  he  would  die  if  he  would.  But 
the  landlord,  who  was  in  a  frenzy  of  impatience, 
drew  him  aside  and  talked  to  him,  and  in  the 
end  seemed  to  persuade  him ;  for  in  a  few 
minutes  the  matter  was  settled.  Antoine  came 
back  and  said  sullenly,  "  Forward,  Monsieur,"  the 
two  others  stood  on  one  side,  I  shrugged  my 
shoulders  and  kicked  up  my  horse,  and  in  a 
twinkling  we  two  were  riding  on  together  —  man 
to  man.  I  turned  once  or  twice  to  see  what 
those  we  had  left  behind  were  doing,  and  always 
found  them  standing  in  apparent  debate ;  but 
my  guard  showed  so  much  jealousy  of  these 
movements  that  I  presently  shrugged  my  shoul- 
ders again  and  desisted. 


138  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

•  I  had  racked  my  brains  to  bring  about  this 
state  of  things.  But,  strange  to  say,  now  I  had 
succeeded,  I  found  it'  less  satisfactory  than  I 
had  hoped.  I  had  reduced  the  odds  and  got  rid 
of  my  most  dangerous  antagonists ;  but  Antoine, 
left  to  himself,  proved  to  be  as  full  of  suspicion 
as  an  egg  of  meat.  He  rode  a  little  behind  me 
with  his  gun  across  his  saddle-bow,  and  a  pistol 
near  his  hand,  and  at  the  slightest  pause  on  my 
part,  or  if  I  turned  to  look  at  him,  he  muttered 
his  constant  "  Forward,  Monsieur!"  in  a  tone 
that  warned  me  that  his  finger  was  on  the  trigger. 
At  such  a  distance  he  could  not  miss ;  and  I 
saw  nothing  for  it  but  to  go  on  meekly  before 
him  —  to  the  Roca  Blanca  and  my  fate. 

What  was  to  be  done  ?  The  road  presently 
reached  the  end  of  the  valley  and  entered  a 
narrow  pine-clad  defile,  strewn  with  rocks  and 
boulders,  over  which  the  torrent  plunged  and 
eddied  with  a  deafening  roar.  In  front  the  white 
gleam  of  waterfalls  broke  the  sombre  ranks  of 
climbing  trunks.  The  snow-line  lay  less  than  half 
a  mile  away  on  either  hand;  and  crowning  all  — 
af  the  end  of  the  pass,  as  it  seemed  to  the  eye 


UNDER   THE  PIC  DU  MIDI.  139 

-w  rose  the  pure  white  pillar  of  the  Pic  du  Midi 
shooting  up  six  thousand  feet  into  the  blue  of 
heaven  Such  a  scene,  so  suddenly  disclosed,  was 
enough  to  drive  the  sense  of  danger  from  my 
mind  ;  and  for  a  moment  I  reined  in  my  horse. 
But  "  Forward,  Monsieur !  "  came  the  grating 
order.  I  fell  to  earth  again,  and  went  on.  What 
was  to  be  done  ? 

I  was  at  my  wit's  end  to  know.  The  man 
refused  to  talk,  refused  to  ride  abreast  of  me, 

would  have  no  dismounting,  no  halting,  no  com- 

\ 
munication;  at  all.     He  would  have  nothing  but 

this  silent,  lonely  procession  of  two,  with  the 
muzzle  of  his  gun  at  my  back.  And  meanwhile 
we  were  fast  climbing  the  pass.  We  had  left 
the  others  an  hour  —  nearly  two.  The  sun  was 
declining;  the  time,  I  supposed,  about  half-past 
three. 

If  he  would  only  let  me  come  within  reach 
of  him !  Or  if  anything  would  fall  out  to  take 
his  attention !  When  the  pass  presently  widened 
into  a  bare  and  dreary  valley,  strewn  with  huge 
boulders,  and  with  snow  lying  here  and  |  there 
in  the  hollows,  I  looked  desperately  before  me, 


140  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

and  scanned  even  the  vast  snow-fields  that 
overhung  us  and  stretched  away  to  the  base  of 
the  ice-peak.  But  I  saw  nothing.  No  bear 
swung  across  the  path,  no  izard  showed  itself 
on  the  cliffs.  The  keen  sharp  air  cut  our 
cheeks  and  warned  me  that  we  were  approach- 
ing the  summit  of  the  ridge.  On  all  sides  were 
silence  and  desolation. 

Man  Dieu !  And  the  ruffians  on  whose 
tender  mercies  I  was  to  be  thrown  might  come 
to  meet  us !  They  might  appear  at  any  mo- 
ment. In  my  despair  I  loosened  my  hat  on  my 
head,  and  let  the  first  gust  carry  it  to  the 
ground,  and  then  with  an  oath  of  annoyance 
tossed  my  feet  loose  to  go  after  it.  But  the 
rascal  roared  to  me  to  keep  my  seat. 

"  Forward,  Monsieur ! "  he  shouted  brutally. 
"  Go  on !  " 

"But  my  hat!"  I  cried.  " Mille  tonnerres, 
man!  I  must  —  " 

"  Forward,  Monsieur,  or  I  shoot ! "  he  replied 
inexorably,  raising  his  gun.  "One  —  two  —  " 

And  I  went  on.  But,  oh,  I  was  wrathful ! 
That  I,  Gil  de  Berault,  should  be  outwitted  and 


UNDER   THE  PIC  DU  MIDl.  141 

led  by  the  nose,  like  a  ringed  bull,  by  this 
Gascon  lout!  That  I,  whom  all  Paris  knew 
and  feared  —  if  it  did  not  love  —  the  terror  of 
Zaton's,  should  come  to  my  end  in  this  dismal 
waste  of  snow  and  rock,  done  to  death  by  some 
pitiful  smuggler  or  thief !  It  must  not  be ! 
Surely  in  the  last  resort  I  could  give  an  account 
of  one  man,  though  his  belt  were  stuffed  with 
pistols ! 

But  how?  Only,  it  seemed,  by  open  force. 
My  heart  began  to  flutter  as  I  planned  it;  and 
then  grew  steady  again.  A  hundred  paces 
before  us  a  gully  or  ravine  on  the  left  ran  up 
into  the  snow-field.  Opposite  its  mouth  a  jum- 
ble of  stones  and  broken  rocks  covered  the 
path.  I  marked  this  for  the  place.  The  knave 
would  need  both  his  hands  to  hold  up  his  nag 
over  the  stones,  and,  if  I  turned  on  him  sud- 
denly enough,  he  might  either  drop  his  gun,  or 
fire  it  harmlessly. 

But,  in  the  meantime,  something  happened ; 
as,  at  the  last  moment,  things  do  happen. 
While  we  were  still  fifty  yards  short  of  the 
place,  I  found  his  horse's  nose  creeping  for- 


142  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

ward  on  a  level  with  my  crupper;  and,  still 
advancing,  until  I  could  see  it  out  of  the  tail  of 
my  eye,  and  my  heart  gave  a  great  bound.  He 
was  coming  abreast  of  me :  he  was  going  to 
deliver  himself  into  my  hands !  To  cover  my 
excitement,  I  began  to  whistle. 

"  Hush ! "  he  muttered  fiercely :  his  voice 
sounding  strange  and  unnatural.  My  first 
thought  was  that  he  was  ill,  and  I  turned  to 
him.  But  he  only  said  again,  "  Hush !  Pass 
by  here  quietly,  Monsieur." 

"  Why  ? "  I  asked  mutinously,  curiosity  get- 
ting the  better  of  me.  For  had  I  been  wise  I 
had  taken  no  notice ;  every  second  his  horse 
was  coming  up  with  mine.  Its  nose  was  level 
with  my  stirrup  already. 

"  Hush,  man ! "  he  said  again.  This  time 
there  was  no  mistake  about  the  panic  in  his 
voice.  "  They  call  this  the  Devil's  Chapel. 
God  send  us  safe  by  it!  It  is  late  to  be  here. 
Look  at  those ! "  he  continued,  pointing  with 
a  finger  which  visibly  shook. 

I  looked.  At  the  mouth  of  the  gully,  in  a 
small  space  partly  cleared  of  stones  stood 


UNDER   THE  PIC  DU  MIDI.  143 

three  broken  shafts,  raised  on  rude  pedestals. 
"Well?"  I  said  in  a  low  voice.  The  sun 
which  was  near  setting  flushed  the  great  peak 
above  to  the  colour  of  blood;  but  the  valley 
was  growing  grey  and  each  moment  more 
dreary.  "Well,  what  of  those?"  I  said.  In 
spite  of  my  peril  and  the  excitement  of  the 
coming  struggle  I  felt  the  chill  of  his  fear. 
Never  had  I  seen  so  grim,  so  desolate,  so  God- 
forsaken a  place !  Involuntarily  I  shivered. 

"  They  were  crosses,"  he  muttered,  in  a  voice 
little  above  a  whisper,  while  his  eyes  roved  this 
way  and  that  in  terror.  "  The  Cure  of  Gabas 
blessed  the  place,  and  set  them  up.  But  next 
morning  they  were  as  you  see  them  now.  Come 
on,  Monsieur,  come  on ! "  he  continued,  pluck- 
ing at  my  arm.  "  It  is  not  safe  here  after  sun- 
set. Pray  God,  Satan  be  not  at  home !  " 

He  had  completely  forgotten  in  his  panic 
that  he  had  anything  to  fear  from  me.  His 
gun  dropped  loosely  across  his  saddle,  his  leg 
rubbed  mine.  I  saw  this,  and  I  changed  my 
plan  of  action.  As  our  horses  reached  the 
stones  I  stooped,  as  if  to  encourage  mine,  and 


144  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

by  a  sudden  clutch  snatched  the  gun  bodily 
from  his  hand;  at  the  same  time  I  backed  my 
horse  with  all  my  strength.  It  was  done  in  a 
moment!  A  second  and  I  had  him  at  the  end 
of  the  gun,  and  my  finger  was  on  the  trigger. 
Never  was  victory  more  easily  gained. 

He  looked  at  me  between  rage  and  terror, 
his  jaw  fallen.  "  Are  you  mad  ? "  he  cried,  his 
teeth  chattering  as  he  spoke.  Even  in  this 
strait  his  eyes  left  me  and  wandered  round  in 
alarm. 

"No,  sane!"  I  retorted  fiercely.  "But  I  do 
not  like  this  place  any  better  than  you  do!" 
Which  was  true  enough,  if  not  quite  true.  "  So, 
by  your  right,  quick  march ! "  I  continued  imper- 
atively. "Turn  your  horse,  my  friend,  or  take 
the  consequences." 

He  turned  like  a  lamb,  and  headed  down  the 
valley  again,  without  giving  a  thought  to  his 
pistols.  I  kept  close  to  him,  and  in  less  than 
a  minute  we  had  left  the  Devil's  Chapel  well 
behind  us,  and  were  moving  down  again  as  we 
had  come  up.  Only  now  I  held  the  gun. 

When  we   had   gone  half  a  mile  or  so  —  until 


UNDER   THE  PIC  DU  MIDL  H5 

then  I  did  not  feel  comfortable  myself,  and 
though  I  thanked  Heaven  the  place  existed, 
thanked  Heaven  also  that  I  was  out  of  it  — 
I  bade  him  halt.  "  Take  off  your  belt !  "  I  said 
curtly,  "  and  throw  it  down.  But,  mark  me,  if 
you  turn,  I  fire  !  " 

The  spirit  was  quite  gone  out  of  him.  He 
obeyed  mechanically.  I  jumped  down,  still  cov- 
ering him  with  the  gun,  and  picked  up  the  belt, 
pistols  and  all.  Then  I  remounted,  and  we  went 
on.  By-and-bye  he  asked  me  sullenly  what  I 
was  going  to  do. 

"  Go  back,"  I  said,  "  and  take  the  road  to 
Auch  when  I  come  to  it." 

"  It  will  be  dark  in  an  hour,"  he  answered 
sulkily. 

"  I  know  that,"  I  retorted.  "  We  must  camp 
and  do  the  best  we  can." 

And  as  I  said,  we  did.  The  daylight  held 
until  we  gained  the  skirts  of  the  pine-wood  at 
the  head  of  the  pass.  Here  I  chose  a  corner  a 
little  off  the  track,  and  well-sheltered  from  the 
wind,  and  bade  him  light  a  fire.  I  tethered  the 
horses  near  this  and  within  sight.  It  remained 


146  UNDER   THE   RED  ROBE. 

only  to  sup.  I  had  a  piece  of  bread ;  he  had 
another  and  an  onion.  We  ate  in  silence,  sitting 
on  opposite  sides  of  the  fire. 

But  after  supper  I  found  myself  in  a  dilemma ; 
I  did  not  see  how  I  was  to  sleep.  The  ruddy 
light  which  gleamed  on  the  knave's  swart  face 
and  sinewy  hands  showed  also  his  eyes,  black, 
sullen,  and  watchful.  I  knew  that  the  man  was 
plotting  revenge ;  that  he  would  not  hesitate  to 
plant  his  knife  between  my  ribs  should  I  give 
him  a  chance.  I  could  find  only  one  alternative 
to  remaining  awake.  Had  I  been  bloody-minded, 
I  should  have  chosen  it  and  solved  the  question 
at  once  and  in  my  favour  by  shooting  him  as 
he  sat. 

But  I  have  never  been  a  cruel  man,  and  I 
could  not  find  it  in  my  heart  to  do  this.  The 
silence  of  the  mountain  and  the  sky  -  -  which 
seemed  a  thing  apart  from  the  roar  of  the  tor- 
rent and  not  to  be  broken  by  it  —  awed  me. 
The  vastness  of  the  solitude  in  which  we  sat, 
the  dark  void  above  through  which  the  stars  kept 
shooting,  the  black  gulf  below  in  which  the  un- 
seen waters  boiled  and  surged,  the  absence  of 


UNDER   THE  PIC  DU  MIDI.  147 

other  human  company  or  other  signs  of  human 
existence  put  such  a  face  upon  the  deed  that  I 
gave  up  the  thought  of  it  with  a  shudder,  and 
resigned  myself,  instead,  to  watch  through  the 
night  —  the  long,  cold,  Pyrenean  night.  Pres- 
ently he  curled  himself  up  like  a  dog  and  slept 
in  the  blaze,  and  then  for  a  couple  of  hours  I 
sat  opposite  him,  thinking.  It  seemed  years 
since  I  had  seen  Zaton's  or  thrown  the  dice. 
The  old  life,  the  old  employments  —  should  I  ever 
go  back  to  them  ?  —  seemed  dim  and  distant. 
Would  Cocheforet,  the  forest  and  the  mountain, 
the  grey  Chateau  and  its  mistresses,  seem  one 
day  as  dim !  And  if  one  bit  of  life  could  fade 
so  quickly  at  the  unrolling  of  another,  and  seem 
in  a  moment  pale  and  colourless,  would  all  life 
some  day  and  somewhere,  and  all  the  things  we 
—  But  faugh  !  I  was  growing  foolish.  I  sprang 
up  and  kicked  the  wood  together,  and,  taking  up 
the  gun,  began  to  pace  to  and  fro  under  the  cliff. 
Strange  that  a  little  moonlight,  a  few  stars,  a 
breath  of  solitude  should  carry  a  man  back  to 
childhood  and  childish  things ! 


148  UNDER    THE  RED  ROBE. 

It  was  three  in  the  afternoon  of  the  next  day, 
and  the  sun  lay  hot  on  the  oak  groves,  and  the 
air  was  full  of  warmth  as  we  began  to  climb  the 
slope,  on  which  the  road  to  Auch  shoots  out  of 
the  track.  The  yellow  bracken  and  the  fallen 
leaves  underfoot  seemed  to  throw  up  light  of 
themselves,  and  here  and  there  a  patch  of  ruddy 
beech  lay  like  a  bloodstain  on  the  hillside.  In 
front  a  herd  of  pigs  routed  among  the  mast, 
and  grunted  lazily ;  and  high  above  us  a  boy 
lay  watching  them.  "We  part  here,"  I  said  to 
my  companion.  It  was  my  plan  to  ride  a  little 
way  on  the  road  to  Auch  so  as  to  blind  his  eyes ; 
then,  leaving  my  horse  in  the  forest,  I  would  go 
on  foot  to  the  Chateau. 

"  The  sooner  the  better ! "  he  answered,  with  a 
snarl.  "  And  I  hope  I  may  never  see  your  face 
again,  Monsieur!" 

But  when  we  came  to  the  wooden  cross  at  the 
fork  of  the  roads,  and  were  about  to  part,  the  boy 
we  had  seen  leapt  out  of  the  fern  and  came  to 
meet  us.  "Hollo!  "  he  cried,  in  a  sing-song  tone. 

"  Well !  "  my  companion  answered,  drawing 
rein  impatiently.  "  What  is  it  ?  " 


UNDER   THE  PIC  DU  MfDI.  1 49 

"  There  are  soldiers  in  the  village." 

"Soldiers?"    Antoine  cried  incredulously. 

"Ay,  devils  on  horseback!"  the  lad  answered, 
spitting  on  the  ground.  "  Three  score  of  them ! 
From  Audi!" 

Antoine  turned  to  me,  his  face  transformed 
with  fury.  "  Curse  you !  "  he  cried.  "  This  is 
some  of  your  work !  Now  we  are  all  undone ! 
And  my  mistresses!  Sacrt '!  if  I  had  that  gun 
I  would  shoot  you  like  a  rat ! " 

"  Steady,  fool ! "  I  answered  roughly.  "  I 
know  no  more  of  this  than  you  do !  " 

This  was  so  true  that  my  surprise  was  as  great 
as  his.  The  Cardinal,  who  rarely  made  a  change 
of  front,  had  sent  me  hither  that  he  might  not 
be  forced  to  send  soldiers,  and  run  the  risk  of 
all  that  might  arise  from  such  a  movement. 
What  of  this  invasion,  then,  than  which  nothing 
could  be  less  consistent  with  his  plans  ?  I  won- 
dered. It  was  possible,  of  course,  that  the  trav- 
elling merchants,  before  whom  I  had  played  at 
treason,  had  reported  the  facts ;  and  that  on 
this  the  Commandant  at  Auch  had  acted.  But 
it  seemed  unlikely.  He  had  had  his  orders,  too  I 


150  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

and,  under  the  Cardinal's  rule,  there  was  small 
place  for  individual  enterprise.  I  could  not 
understand  it. 

One  thing  was  clear,  however.  I  might  now 
enter  the  village  as  I  pleased.  "  I  am  going  on 
to  look  into  this,"  I  said  to  Antoine.  "  Come, 
my  man." 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  stood  still. 
"  Not  I !  "  he  answered,  with  an  oath.  "  No 
soldiers  for  me!  I  have  lain  out  one  night,  and 
I  can  He  out  another !  " 

I  nodded  indifferently,  for  I  no  longer  wanted 
him ;  and  we  parted.  After  this,  twenty  minutes' 
riding  brought  me  to  the  entrance  of  the  village ; 
and  here  the  change  was  great  indeed.  Not 
one  of  the  ordinary  dwellers  in  the  place  was 
to  be  seen :  either  they  had  shut  themselves  up 
in  their  hovels,  or,  like  Antoine,  they  had  fled  to 
the  woods.  Their  doors  were  closed,  their  win- 
dows shuttered.  But  lounging  about  the  street 
were  a  score  of  dragoons,  in  boots  and  breast- 
plates, whose  short-barrelled  muskets,  with  pouches 
and  bandoliers  attached,  were  piled  near  the  inn 
door.  In  an  open  space  where  there  was  a  gap 


UNDER    THE  PIC  DU  MIDI.  I$I 

in  the  street,  a  long  row  of  horses,  linked  head 
to  head,  stood  bending  their  muzzles  over  bundles 
of  rough  forage,  and.  on  all  sides  the  cheerful 
jingle  of  chains  and  bridles  and  the  sound  of 
coarse  jokes  and  laughter  filled  the  air. 

As  I  rode  up  to  the  inn  door  an  old  sergeant, 
with  squinting  eyes  and  his  tongue  in  his  cheeks, 
eyed  me  inquisitively,  and  started  to  cross  the 
street  to  challenge  me.  Fortunately,  at  that 
moment  the  two  knaves  whom  I  had  brought 
from  Paris  with  me,  and  whom  I  had  left  at 
Auch  to  await  my  orders,  came  up.  I  made 
them  a  sign  not  to  speak  to  me,  and  they  passed 
on ;  but  I  suppose  that  they  told  the  sergeant 
that  I  was  not  the  man  he  wanted,  for  I  saw  no 
more  of  him. 

After  picketing  my  horse  behind  the  inn  —  I 
could  find  no  better  stable,  every  place  being 
full  —  I  pushed  my  way  through  the  group  at 
the  door,  and  entered.  The  old  room,  with  the 
low  grimy  roof  and  the  reeking  floor,  was  half 
full  of  strange  figures,  and  for  a  few  minutes  I 
stood  unseen  in  the  smoke  and  confusion.  Then 
the  landlord  came  my  way,  and  as  he  passed 


152  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

me  I  caught  his  eye.  He  uttered  a  low  curse, 
dropped  the  pitcher  he  was  carrying,  and  stood 
glaring  at  me,  like  a  man  possessed. 

The  soldier  whose  wine  he  was  carrying  flung 
a  crust  in  his  face,  with,  "  Now,  greasy  fingers ! 
What  are  you  staring  at?" 

"  The  devil !  "  the  landlord  muttered,  beginning 
to  tremble. 

"  Then  let  me  look  at  him  ! "  the  man  retorted 
and  he  turned  on  his  stool. 

He  started,  finding  me  standing  over  him. 
"  At  your  service !  "  I  said  grimly.  "  A  little 
time  and  it  will  be  the  other  way,  my  friend." 


CHAPTER  VII. 

A    MASTER    STROKE. 

I  HAVE  a  way  with  me  which  commonly  com- 
mands respect ;  and  when  the  landlord's  first 
terror  was  over  and  he  would  serve  me,  I  managed 
to  get  my  supper  —  the  first  good  meal  I  had 
had  in  two  days  —  pretty  comfortably  in  spite 
of  the  soldiers'  presence.  The  crowd,  too,  which 
filled  the  room,  soon  began  to  melt.  The  men 
strayed  off  in  groups  to  water  their  horses,  or 
went  to  hunt  up  their  quarters,  until  only  two 
or  three  were  left.  Dusk  had  fallen  outside ; 
the  noise  in  the  street  grew  less.  The  firelight 
began  to  glow  and  flicker  on  the  walls,  and  the 
wretched  room  to  look  as  homely  as  it  was  in 
its  nature  to  look.  I  was  pondering  for  the 
twentieth  time  what  step  I  should  take  next  — 
under  these  new  circumstances  —  and  why  the 
soldiers  were  here,  and  whether  I  should  let 

t£I 


154  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

the  night  pass  before  I  moved,  when  the  door, 
which  had  been  turning  on  its  hinges  almost 
without  pause  for  an  hour,  opened  again,  and  a 
woman  came  in. 

She  paused  a  moment  on  the  threshold  look- 
ing round,  and  I  saw  that  she  had  a  shawl  on 
her  head  and  a  milk-pitcher  in  her  hand,  and 
that  her  feet  and  ankles  were  bare.  There  was 
a  great  rent  in  her  coarse  stuff  petticoat,  and 
the  hand  which  held  the  shawl  together  was 
brown  and  dirty.  More  I  did  not  see ;  supposing 
her  to  be  a  neighbour  stolen  in  now  that  the 
house  was  quiet  to  get  some  milk  for  her  child 
or  the  like,  I  took  no  further  heed  of  her.  I 
turned  to  the  fire  again  and  plunged  into  my 
thoughts. 

But  to  get  to  the  hearth  where  the  goodwife 
was  fidgeting,  the  woman  had  to  pass  in  front 
of  me  ;  and  as  she  passed  I  suppose  she  stole  a 
look  at  me  from  under  her  shawl.  For  just 
when  she  came  between  me  and  the  blaze  she 
uttered  a  low  cry  and  shrank  aside  —  so  quickly 
that  she  almost  stepped  on  the  hearth.  The 
next  moment  she  turned  her  back  to  me  and 


A  MASTER  STROKE.  155 

was  stooping,  whispering  in  the  housewife's  ear. 
A  stranger  might  have  thought  that  she  had 
merely  trodden  on  a  hot  ember. 

But  another  idea,  and  a  very  sharp  one,  came 
into  my  mind;  and  I  stood  up  silently.  The 
woman's  back  was  towards  me,  but  something 
in  her  height,  her  shape,  the  pose  of  her  head, 
hidden  as  it  was  by  her  shawl,  seemed  famil- 
iar. I  waited  while  she  hung  over  the  fire 
whispering,  and  while  the  goodwife  slowly  filled 
her  pitcher  out  of  the  great  black  pot.  But  when 
she  turned  to  go,  I  took  a  step  forward  so  as 
to  bar  her  way.  And  our  eyes  met. 

I  could  not  see  her  features;  they  were  lost 
in  the  shadow  of  the  hood.  But  I  saw  a  shiver 
run  through  her  from  head  to  foot.  And  I 
knew  then  that  I  had  made  no  mistake. 

"  That  is  too  heavy  for  you,  my  girl,"  I  said 
familiarly,  as  I  might  have  spoken  to  a  village 
wench.  "  I  will  carry  it  for  you." 

One  of  the  men,  who  remained  lolling  at  the 
table,  laughed,  and  the  other  began  to  sing  a 
low  song.  The  woman  trembled  in  rage  or  fear, 
but  she  kept  silence  and  let  me  take  the  jug 


1 56  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

from  her  hands.  And  when  I  went  to  the  door 
and  opened  it,  she  followed  mechanically.  An 
instant,  and  the  door  fell  to  behind  us,  shutting 
off  the  light  and  glow,  and  we  two  stood  together 
in  the  growing  dusk. 

"  It  is  late  for  you  to  be  out,  Mademoiselle," 
I  said  politely.  "  You  might  meet  with  some 
rudeness,  dressed  as  you  are.  Permit  me  to  see 
you  home." 

She  shuddered,  and  I  thought  I  heard  her  sob, 
but  she  did  not  answer.  Instead,  she  turned  and 
walked  quickly  through  the  village  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  Chateau,  keeping  in  the  shadow  of  the 
houses.  I  carried  the  pitcher  and  walked  beside 
her;  and  in  the  dark  I  smiled.  I  knew  how 
shame  and  impotent  rage  were  working  in  her. 
This  was  something  like  revenge ! 

Presently  I  spoke.  "  Well,  Mademoiselle,"  I 
said.  "  Where  are  your  grooms  ?  " 

She  gave  me  one  look,  her  eyes  blazing  with 
anger,  her  face  like  hate  itself ;  and  after  that 
I  said  no  more,  but  left  her  in  peace,  and  con- 
tented myself  with  walking  at  her  shoulder  until 
we  came  to  the  end  of  the  village,  where  the 


A  MASTER  STROKE.  1 57 

track  to  the  great  house  plunged  into  the  wood. 
There  she  stopped,  and  turned  on  me  like  a 
wild  creature  at  bay.  "  What  do  you  want  ? " 
she  cried  hoarsely,  breathing  as  if  she  had  been 
running. 

"  To  see  you  safe  to  the  house,"  I  answered 
coolly. 

"And  if  I  will  not?"  she  retorted. 

"  The  choice  does  not  lie  with  you,  Mademoi- 
selle," I  answered  sternly.  "  You  will  go  to  the 
house  with  me,  and  on  the  way  you  will  give 
me  an  interview  ;  but  not  here.  Here  we  are  not 
private  enough.  We  may  be  interrupted  at  any 
moment,  and  I  wish  to  speak  to  you  at  length." 

I  saw  her  shiver.  "  What  if  I  will  not  ? " 
she  said  again. 

"  I  might  call  to  the  nearest  soldiers  and  tell 
them  who  you  are,"  I  answered  coolly.  "  I 
might,  but  I  should  not.  That  were  a  clumsy 
way  of  punishing  you,  and  I  know  a  better  way. 
I  should  go  to  the  captain,  Mademoiselle,  and 
tell  him  whose  horse  is  locked  up  in  the  inn 
stable.  A  trooper  told  me  —  as  some  one  had 
told  him — that  it  belonged  to  one  of  his  officers; 


158  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

but  I  looked  through  the  crack,  and  I  knew  the 
horse  again." 

She  could  not  repress  a  groan.  I  waited.  Still 
she  did  not  speak.  "  Shall  I  go  to  the  captain  ?  " 
I  said  ruthlessly. 

She  shook  the  hood  back  from  her  face,  and 
looked  at  me.  "Oh,  you  coward!  you  coward!" 
she  hissed  through  her  teeth.  "  If  I  had  a 
knife ! " 

"  But  you  have  not,  Mademoiselle,"  I  answered, 
unmoved.  "  Be  good  enough,  therefore,  to  make  up 
your  mind  which  it  is  to  be.  Am  I  to  go  with  my 
news  to  the  captain,  or  am  I  to  come  with  you  ? " 

" Give  me  the  pitcher!  "  she  said  harshly. 

I  did  so,  wondering.  In  a  moment  she  flung 
it  with  a  savage  gesture  far  into  the  bushes. 
"Come!"  she  said,  "if  you  will.  But  some  day 
God  will  punish  you !  " 

Without  another  word  she  turned  and  entered 
the  path  through  the  trees,  and  I  followed  her. 
I  suppose  every  turn  in  its  course,  every  hollow 
and  broken  place  in  it  had  been  known  to  her 
from  childhood,  for  she  followed  it  swiftly  and 
unerringly,  barefoot  as  she  was.  I  had  to  walk 


A  MASTER  STROKE.  159 

fast  through  the  darkness  to  keep  up  with  her. 
The  wood  was  quiet,  but  the  frogs  were  beginning 
to  croak  in  the  pool,  and  their  persistent  chorus 
reminded  me  of  the  night  when  I  had  come  to 
the  house-door  hurt  and  worn  out,  and  Clon  had 
admitted  me,  and  she  had  stood  under  the  gallery 
in  the  hall.  Things  had  looked  dark  then.  I  had 
seen  but  a  very  little  way  ahead.  Now  all  was 
plain.  The  Commandant  might  be  here  with  all 
his  soldiers,  but  it  was  I  who  held  the  strings. 

We  came  to  the  little  wooden  bridge  and  saw 
beyond  the  dark  meadows  the  lights  of  the  house. 
All  the  windows  were  bright.  Doubtless  the 
troopers  were  making  merry.  "  Now,  Made- 
moiselle," I  said  quietly.  "  I  must  trouble  you 
to  stop  here,  and  give  me  your  attention  for  a 
few  minutes.  Afterwards  you  may  go  your  way." 

"  Speak !  "  she  said  defiantly.  "  And  be  quick ! 
I  cannot  breathe  the  air  where  you  are !  It  poi- 
sons me !" 

"  Ah  ! "  I  said  slowly.  "  Do  you  think  you 
make  things  better  by  such  speeches  as  those  ? " 

"  Oh !  "  she  cried  —  and  I  heard  her  teeth  click 
together.  "  Would  you  have  me  fawn  on  you  ?  " 


160  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

"  Perhaps  not,"  I  answered.  "  Still  you  make 
one  mistake." 

"What  is  it?"  she  panted. 

"  You  forget  that  I  am  to  be  feared  as  well 
as  —  loathed!"  I  answered  grimly.  "Ay,  Made- 
moiselle, to  be  feared  !  "  I  continued.  "  Do  you 
think  that  I  do  not  know  why  you  are  here  in  this 
guise  ?  Do  you  think  that  I  do  not  know  for 
whom  that  pitcher  of  broth  was  intended  ?  Or 
who  will  now  have  to  fast  to-night?  I  tell  you 
I  know  all  these  things.  Your  house  is  full  of 
soldiers ;  your  servants  were  watched  and  could 
not  leave.  You  had  to  come  yourself  and  get 
food  for  him  !  " 

She  clutched  at  the  hand-rail  of  the  bridge,  and 
for  an  instant  clung  to  it  for  support.  Her  face, 
from  which  the  shawl  had  fallen,  glimmered 
white  in  the  shadow  of  the  trees.  At  last  I  had 
shaken  her  pride.  At  last !  "  What  is  your 
price  ?  "  she  murmured  faintly. 

"  I  am  going  to  tell  you,"  I  replied,  speaking 
so  that  every  word  might  fall  distinctly  on  her 
ears,  and  sating  my  eyes  on  her  proud  face.  I 
had  never  dreamed  of  such  revenge  as  this ! 


A  MASTER  STROKE.  l6l 

"About  a  fortnight  ago,  M.  de  Cochefore't  left 
here  at  night  with  a  little  orange-coloured  sachet 
in  his  possession." 

She  uttered  a  stifled  cry,  and  drew  herself 
stiffly  erect. 

"  It  contained  —  but  there,  Mademoiselle,  you 
know  its  contents,"  I  went  on.  "Whatever  they 
were,  M.  de  Cocheforet  lost  it  and  them  at  start- 
ing. A  week  ago  he  came  back  —  unfortunately 
for  himself  —  to  seek  them." 

She  was  looking  full  in  my  face  now.  She 
seemed  scarcely  to  breathe  in  the  intensity  of  her 
surprise  and  expectation.  "You  had  a  search 
made,  Mademoiselle,"  I  continued  quietly.  "  Your 
servants  left  no  place  unexplored.  The  paths, 
the  roads,  the  very  woods  were  ransacked.  But 
in  vain,  because  all  the  while  the  orange  sachet 
lay  whole  and  unopened  in  my  pocket." 

"  No  !  "  she  cried  impetuously.  "  You  lie,  Sir ! 
The  sachet  was  found,  torn  open,  many  leagues 
from  this  place  !  " 

"Where  I  threw  it,  Mademoiselle,"  I  replied, 
"that  I  might  mislead  your  rascals  and  be  free 
to  return.  Oh !  believe  me,"  I  continued,  letting 


1 62  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

something  of  myself,  something  of  my  triumph, 
appear  at  last  in  my  voice.  "  You  have  made 
a  mistake !  You  would  have  done  better  had 
you  trusted  me.  I  am  no  bundle  of  sawdust, 
Mademoiselle,  but  a  man :  a  man  with  an  arm 
to  shield  and  a  brain  to  serve,  and  —  as  I  am 
going  to  teach  you  —  a  heart  also  !  " 

She  shivered. 

"  In  the  orange-coloured  sachet  that  you  lost  I 
believe  there  were  eighteen  stones  of  great  value?" 

She  made  no  answer,  but  she  looked  at  me 
as  if  I  fascinated  her.  Her  very  breath  seemed 
to  pause  and  wait  on  my  words.  She  was  so 
little  conscious  of  anything  else,  of  anything 
outside  ourselves,  that  a  score  of  men  might 
have  come  up  behind  her  unseen  and  unnoticed. 

I  took  from  my  breast  a  little  packet  wrapped 
in  soft  leather,  and  held  it  towards  her.  "Will 
you  open  this  ?  "  I  said.  "  I  believe  it  contains 
what  you  lost.  That  it  contains  all  I  will  not 
answer,  Mademoiselle,  because  I  spilled  the 
stones  on  the  floor  of  my  room,  and  I  may  have 
failed  to  find  some.  But  the  others  can  be  re- 
covered—  I  know  where  they  are." 


A  MASTER  STROKE.  163 

She  took  the  packet  slowly  and  began  to 
unroll  it,  her  fingers  shaking.  A  few  turns  and 
the  mild  lustre  of  the  stones  made  a  kind  of 
moonlight  in  her  hands  —  such  a  shimmering 
glory  of  imprisoned  light  as  has  ruined  many  a 
woman  and  robbed  many  a  man  of  his  honour. 
Morbleu !  as  I  looked  at  them  —  and  as  she 
stood  looking  at  them  in  dull,  entranced  per- 
plexity —  I  wondered  how  I  had  come  to  resist 
the  temptation. 

While  I  gazed  her  hands  began  to  waver.  "  I 
cannot  count,"  she  muttered  helplessly.  "How 
many  are  there  ?  " 

"  In  all,  eighteen.' 

"They  should  be  eighteen,"  she  said. 

She  closed  her  hand  on  them  with  that,  and 
opened  it  again,  and  did  so  twice,  as  if  to  re- 
assure herself  that  the  stones  were  real  and  that 
she  was  not  dreaming.  Then  she  turned  to 
me  with  sudden  fierceness,  and  I  saw  that  her 
beautiful  face,  sharpened  by  the  greed  of  pos- 
session, was  grown  as  keen  and  vicious  as  before. 
"Well?"  she  muttered  between  her  teeth.  "Your 
price,  man?  Your  price  ?  " 

M    2 


1 64  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

"  I  am  coming  to  it  now,  Mademoiselle,"  1 
said  gravely.  "  It  is  a  simple  matter.  You  re- 
member the  afternoon  when  I  followed  you  — 
clumsily  and  thoughtlessly  perhaps  —  through 
the  wood  to  restore  these  things  ?  It  seems 
about  a  month  ago.  I  believe  it  happened  the 
day  before  yesterday.  You  called  me  then  some 
very  harsh  names,  which  I  will  not  hurt  you 
by  repeating.  The  only  price  I  ask  for  restor- 
ing your  jewels  is  that  you  recall  those  names 

"  How  ?  "  she  muttered.    "  I  do  not  understand.' 

I  repeated  my  words  very  slowly.  "The  only 
price  or  reward  I  ask,  Mademoiselle,  is  that  you 
take  back  those  names,  and  say  that  they  were 
not  deserved." 

"And  the  jewels?"  she  exclaimed  hoarsely. 

"They  are  yours.  They  are  nothing  to  me. 
Take  them,  and  say  that  you  do  not  think  of 
me —  Nay,  I  cannot  say  the  words,  Made- 
moiselle." 

"But  there  is  something — else!  What  else?" 
she  cried,  her  head  thrown  back,  her  eyes,  bright 
as  any  wild  animal's,  searching  mine.  "Ha!  my 
brother?  What  of  him?  What  of  him,  Sir?" 


A  MASTER  STROKE.  l6$ 

"For  him,  Mademoiselle — I  would  prefer  that 
you  should  tell  me  no  more  than  I  know  al- 
ready," I  answered  in  a  low  voice.  "  I  do  not 
wish  to  be  in  that  affair.  But  yes,  there  is  one 
thing  I  have  not  mentioned.  You  are  right" 

She  sighed  so  deeply  that  I  caught  the  sound. 

"  It  is,"  I  continued  slowly,  "  that  you  will 
permit  me  to  remain  at  Cocheforet  for  a  few 
days,  while  the  soldiers  are  here.  I  am  told 
that  there  are  twenty  men  and  two  officers  quar- 
tered in  your  house.  Your  brother  is  away.  I 
ask  to  be  permitted,  Mademoiselle,  to  take  his 
place  for  the  time,  and  to  be  privileged  to  protect 
your  sister  and  yourself  from  insult.  That  is  all." 

She  raised  her  hand  to  her  head.  After  a 
long  pause  :  "  The  frogs !  "  she  muttered,  "  they 
croak!  I  cannot  hear." 

And  then,  to  my  surprise,  she  turned  suddenly 
on  her  heel,  and  walked  over  the  bridge,  leaving 
me  there.  For  a  moment  I  stood  aghast,  peering 
after  her  shadowy  figure,  and  wondering  what  had 
taken  her.  Then,  in  a  minute  or  less,  she  came 
quickly  back  to  me,  and  I  understood.  She  was 
crying. 


166  UNDER  THE  RED  ROBE. 

"  M.  de  Barthe,"  she  said,  in  a  trembling  voice, 
which  told  me  that  the  victory  was  won.  "  Is  there 
nothing  else  ?  Have  you  no  other  penance  for  me ? " 

"  None,  Mademoiselle." 

She  had  drawn  the  shawl  over  her  head,  and  I 
no  longer  saw  her  face.  "That  is  all  you  ask?" 
she  murmured. 

"  That  is  all  I  ask  —  now,"  I  answered. 

"  It  is  granted,"  she  said  slowly  and  firmly. 
"  Forgive  me  if  I  seem  to  speak  lightly  —  if  I 
seem  to  make  little  of  your  generosity  or  my 
shame;  but  I  can  say  no  rnore  now.  I  am  so 
deep  in  trouble  and  so  gnawed  by  terror  that  —  I 
cannot  feel  anything  much  to-night,  either  shame 
or  gratitude.  I  am  in  a  dream ;  God  grant  it 
may  pass  as  a  dream !  We  are  sunk  in  trouble. 
But  for  you  and  what  you  have  done,  M.  de 
Barthe  —  I — "  she  paused  and  I  heard  her 
fighting  with  the  sobs  which  choked  her  —  "for- 
give me.  ...  I  am  overwrought.  And  my  — 
my  feet  are  cold,"  she  added  suddenly  and  irrel& 
vantly.  "  Will  you  take  me  home  ?  " 

"Ah,  Mademoiselle,"  I  cried  remorsefully,  "I 
have  been  a  beast !  You  are  barefoot,  and  I 
have  kept  you  here." 


A  MASTER  STROKE.  167 

"  It  is  nothing,"  she  said  in  a  voice  which 
thrilled  me.  "My  heart  is  warm,  Monsieur  — 
thanks  to  you.  It  is  many  hours  since  it  has 
been  as  warm." 

She  stepped  out  of  the  shadow  as  she  spoke 
—  and  there,  the  thing  was  done.  As  I  had 
planned,  so  it  had  come  about.  Once  more  I 
was  crossing  the  meadow  in  the  dark  to  be  re> 
ceived  at  Cocheforet  a  welcome  guest.  The 
frogs  croaked  in  the  pool  and  a  bat  swooped 
round  us  in  circles ;  and  surely  never  —  never, 
I  thought,  with  a  kind  of  exultation  in  my 
breast  —  had  man  been  placed  in  a  stranger 
position. 

Somewhere  in  the  black  wood  behind  us — • 
probably  in  the  outskirts  of  the  village  —  lurked 
M.  de  Cocheforet.  In  the  great  house  before 
us,  outlined  by  a  score  of  lighted  windows,  were 
the  soldiers  come  from  Auch  to  take  him.  Be- 
tween the  two,  moving  side  by  side  in  the  dark- 
ness, in  a  silence  which  each  found  to  be  eloquent, 
were  Mademoiselle  and  I :  she  who  knew  so  much, 
I  who  knew  all — all  but  one  little  thing! 

We   reached  the   house,  and  I  suggested  that 


1 68  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

she  should  steal  in  first  by  the  way  she  had  come 
out,  and  that  I  should  wait  a  little  and  knock  at 
the  door  when  she  had  had  time  to  explain  mat- 
ters to  Clon. 

"  They  do  not  let  me  see  Clon,"  she  answered 
slowly. 

"  Then  your  woman  must  tell  him,"  I  rejoined. 
"  Or  he  may  say  something  and  betray  me." 

"  They  will  not  let  our  woman  come  to  us." 

"  What  ? "  I  cried,  astonished.  "  But  this  is 
infamous.  You  are  not  prisoners !  " 

Mademoiselle  laughed  harshly.  "Are  we  not? 
Well,  I  suppose  not;  for  if  we  wanted  company, 
Captain  Larolle  said  he  would  be  delighted  to 
see  us  —  in  the  parlour." 

"He  has  taken  your  parlour?"  I  said. 

"  He  and  his  lieutenant  sit  there.  But  I  sup- 
pose we  should  be  thankful,"  she  added  bitterly. 
"  We  have  still  our  bed-rooms  left  to  us." 

"Very  well,"  I  said.  "Then  I  must  deal  with 
Clon  as  I  can.  But  I  have  still  a  favour  to 
ask,  Mademoiselle.  It  is  only  that  you  and  your 
sister  will  descend  to-morrow  at  your  usual  time. 
I  shall  be  in  the  parlour." 


A  MASTER  STROKE.  169 

"  I  would  rather  not,"  she  said,  pausing  and 
speaking  in  a  troubled  voice. 

"  Are  you  afraid  ?  " 

"No,  Monsieur;  I  am  not  afraid,"  she  an- 
swered proudly.  "  But  —  " 

"  You  will  come  ?  "  I  said. 

She  sighed  before  she  spoke.  At  length,  "  Yes, 
I  will  come  —  if  you  wish  it,"  she  answered;  and 
the  next  moment  she  was  gone  round  the  corner 
of  the  house,  while  I  laughed  to  think  of  the 
excellent  watch  these  gallant  gentlemen  were 
keeping.  M.  de  Cocheforet  might  have  been 
with  her  in  the  garden,  might  have  talked  with 
her  as  I  had  talked,  might  have  entered  the  house 
even,  and  passed  under  their  noses  scot-free.  But 
that  is  the  way  of  soldiers.  They  are  always 
ready  for  the  enemy,  with  drums  beating  and 
flags  flying  —  at  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning. 
But  he  does  not  always  come  at  that  hour. 

I  waited  a  little,  and  then  I  groped  my  way  to 
the  door,  and  knocked  on  it  with  the  hilt  of  my 
sword.  The  dogs  began  to  bark  at  the  back,  and 
the  chorus  of  a  drinking-song,  which  came  fitfully 
from  the  east  wing,  ceased  altogether.  An  inner 


I/O  UNDER  THE  RED  ROBE. 

door  opened,  and  an  angry  voice,  apparently  ar, 
officer's,  began  to  rate  some  one  for  not  coming. 
Another  moment,  and  a  clamour  of  voices  and 
footsteps  seemed  to  pour  into  the  hall,  and  fill 
it.  I  heard  the  bar  jerked  away,  the  door  was 
flung  open,  and  in  a  twinkling  a  lanthorn,  behind 
which  a  dozen  flushed  visages  were  dimly  seen, 
was  thrust  into  my  face. 

"  Why,  who  the  fiend  is  this  ?  "  cried  one,  glar. 
ing  at  me  in  astonishment. 

"  Morbleu  !  It  is  the  man!"  another  shrieked. 
"  Seize  him !  " 

In  a  moment  half  a  dozen  hands  were  laid  on 
my  shoulders,  but  I  only  bowed  politely.  "  The 
officer,  my  friends,"  I  said,  "  M.  le  Capitaine 
Larolle.  Where  is  he  ?  " 

"  Diable  !  but  who  are  you,  first  ?  "  the  lanthorn- 
bearer  retorted  bluntly.  He  was  a  tall,  lanky 
sergeant,  with  a  sinister  face. 

"Well,  I  am  not  M.  de  Cocheforet,"  I  replied; 
"and  that  must  satisfy  you,  my  man.  For  the 
rest,  if  you  do  not  fetch  Captain  Larolle  at  once 
and  admit  me,  you  will  find  the  consequences 
inconvenient" 


A  MASTER  STROKE.  17 1 

"Ho!  ho!"  he  said,  with  a  sneer.  "You  can 
crow,  it  seems.  Well,  come  in." 

They  made  way,  and  I  walked  into  the  hall, 
keeping  my  hat  on.  On  the  great  hearth  a  fire 
had  been  kindled,  but  it  had  gone  out.  Three 
or  four  carbines  stood  against  one  wall,  and  beside 
them  lay  a  heap  of  haversacks  and  some  straw. 
A  shattered  stool,  broken  in  a  frolic,  and  half 
a  dozen  empty  wine-skins  strewed  the  floor,  and 
helped  to  give  the  place  an  air  of  untidiness  and 
disorder.  I  looked  round  with  eyes  of  disgust, 
and  my  gorge  rose.  They  had  spilled  oil,  and 
the  place  reeked  foully. 

"  Ventre  bleu!"  I  said.  "Is  this  conduct  in 
a  gentleman's  house,  you  rascals  ?  Ma  vie !  If 
I  had  you,  I  would  send  half  of  you  to  the 
wooden  horse ! " 

They  gazed  at  me  open-mouthed.  My  arro- 
gance startled  them.  The  sergeant  alone  scowled. 
When  he  could  find  his  voice  for  rage  — 

"  This  way ! "  he  said.  "  We  did  not  know 
a  general  officer  was  coming,  or  we  would  have 
been  better  prepared ! "  And  muttering  oaths 
under  his  breath,  he  led  me  down  the  well-known 


1/2  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

passage.  At  the  door  of  the  parlour  he  stopped. 
"Introduce  yourself!"  he  said  rudely.  "And  if 
you  find  the  air  warm,  don't  blame  me ! " 

I  raised  the  latch  and  went  in.  At  a  table  in 
front  of  the  hearth,  half  covered  with  glasses  and 
bottles,  sat  two  men  playing  hazard.  The  dice 
rang  sharply  as  I  entered,  and  he  who  had  just 
thrown  kept  the  box  over  them  while  he  turned, 
scowling,  to  see  who  came  in.  He  was  a  fair- 
haired,  blonde  man,  large-framed  and  florid.  He 
had  put  off  his  cuirass  and  boots,  and  his  doublet 
showed  frayed  and  stained  where  the  armour  had 
pressed  on  it.  But  otherwise  he  was  in  the 
extreme  of  last  year's  fashion.  His  deep  cravat, 
folded  over  so  that  the  laced  ends  drooped  a  little 
in  front,  was  of  the  finest ;  his  great  sash  of  blue 
and  silver  was  a  foot  wide.  He  had  a  little  jewel 
in  one  ear,  and  his  tiny  beard  was  peaked  a  F  Es- 
pagnole.  Probably  when  he  turned  he  expected 
to  see  the  sergeant,  for  at  sight  of  me  he  rose 
slowly,  leaving  the  dice  still  covered. 

"  What  folly  is  this  ? "  he  cried  wrathfully. 
"  Here,  Sergeant !  Sergeant !  —  without  there  f 
What  the  —  !  Who  are  you,  Sir  ? " 


A  MASTER  STROKE. 


"Captain  Larolle,"  I  said,  uncovering  politely, 
"I  believe?" 

"  Yes,  I  am  Captain  Larolle,"  he  retorted. 
"  But  who,  in  the  fiend's  name,  are  you  ?  You 
are  not  the  man  we  are  after  !  " 

"  I  am  not  M.  Cocheforet,"  I  said  coolly.  "  I 
am  merely  a  guest  in  the  house,  M.  le  Capitaine. 
I  have  been  enjoying  Madame  de  Cocheforet's 
hospitality  for  some  time,  but  by  an  evil  chance 
I  was  away  when  you  arrived."  And  with  that 
I  .walked  to  the  hearth,  and,  gently  pushing  aside 
his  great  boots  which  stood  there  drying,  kicked 
the  logs  into  a  blaze. 

"  Mille  diables!"  he  whispered.  And  never 
did  I  see  a  man  more  confounded.  But  I  affected 
to  be  taken  up  with  his  companion,  a  sturdy, 
white-mustachioed  old  veteran,  who  sat  back  in 
his  chair,  eyeing  me,  with  swollen  cheeks  and 
eyes  surcharged  with  surprise. 

"  Good  evening,  M.  le  Lieutenant,"  I  said,  bow- 
ing gravely.  "  It  is  a  fine  night" 

Then  the  storm  burst. 

"  Fine  night  !  "  the  captain  shrieked,  finding 
his  voice  again.  "  Mille  diables  !  Are  you  aware. 


1/4  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE, 

Sir,  that  I  am  in  possession  of  this  house,  and 
that  no  one  harbours  here  without  my  permis- 
sion ?  Guest!  Hospitality!  Lieutenant — call  the 
guard !  Call  the  guard  !  "  he  continued  passion- 
ately. "  Where  is  that  ape  of  a  sergeant  ? " 

The  lieutenant  rose  to  obey,  but  I  lifted  my  hand. 

"  Gently,  gently,  Captain,"  I  said.  "  Not  so 
fast !  You  seem  surprised  to  see  me  here.  Be- 
lieve me,  I  am  much  more  surprised  to  see  you." 

"  SacrSf"  he  cried,  recoiling  at  this  fresh  imper- 
tinence, while  the  lieutenant's  eyes  almost  jumped 
out  of  his  head. 

But  nothing  moved  me. 

"Is  the  door  closed?"  I  said  sweetly.  "Thank 
you ;  it  is,  I  see.  Then  permit  me  to  say  again, 
gentlemen,  that  I  am  much  more  surprised  to  see 
you  than  you  can  be  to  see  me.  When  Mon- 
seigneur  the  Cardinal  honoured  me  by  sending 
me  from  Paris  to  conduct  this  matter,  he  gave 
me  the  fullest  —  the  fullest  powers,  M.  le  Capi- 
taine  —  to  see  the  affair  to  an  end.  I  was  not 
led  to  expect  that  my  plans  would  be  spoiled  on 
the  eve  of  success  by  the  intrusion  of  half  the 
garrison  from  Auch  !  " 


A  MASTER  STROKE.  l?$ 

"  O  ho !  "  the  captain  said  softly  —  in  a  very 
different  tone  and  with  a  very  different  face.  "  So 
you  are  the  gentleman  I  heard  of  at  Auch  ? " 

"Very  likely,"  I  said  drily.  "But  I  am  from 
Paris,  not  Auch." 

"  To  be  sure,"  he  answered  thoughtfully.  "  Eh, 
Lieutenant?" 

"Yes,  M.  le  Capitaine,  no  doubt,"  the  inferior 
replied.  And  they  both  looked  at  one  another, 
and  then  at  me,  in  a  way  I  did  not  understand. 

"I  think,"  said  I,  to  clinch  the  matter,  "that 
you  have  made  a  mistake,  Captain;  or  the  Com- 
mandant has.  And  it  occurs  to  me  that  the 
Cardinal  will  not  be  best  pleased." 

"  I  hold  the  King's  commission,"  he  answered 
rather  stiffly. 

"To  be  sure,"  I  replied.  "But  you  see  the 
Cardinal  —  " 

"Ah,  but  the  Cardinal  —  "  he  rejoined  quickly; 
and  then  he  stopped  and  shrugged  his  shoulders. 
And  they  both  looked  at  me. 

"Well?"  I  said. 

"The  King,"  he  answered  slowly. 

"  Tut-tut ! "    I    exclaimed,    spreading    out    my 


UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 


hands.  "The  Cardinal.  Let  us  stick  to  him. 
You  were  saying  ?  " 

"Well,  the  Cardinal,  you  see  —  "  And  then 
again,  after  the  same  words,  he  stopped  —  stopped 
abruptly  and  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

I  began  to  suspect  something.  "  If  you  have 
anything  to  say  against  Monseigneur,"  I  answered, 
watching  him  narrowly,  "  say  it.  But  take  a  word 
of  advice.  Don't  let  it  go  beyond  the  door  of 
this  room,  my  friend,  and  it  will  do  you  no 
harm." 

"  Neither  here  nor  outside,"  he  retorted,  look- 
ing for  a  moment  at  his  comrade.  "  Only  I  hold 
the  King's  commission.  That  is  all.  And  I 
think  enough.  For  the  rest,  will  you  throw  a 
main  ?  Good  !  Lieutenant,  find  a  glass,  and  the 
gentleman  a  seat.  And  here,  for  my  part,  I  will 
give  you  a  toast.  The  Cardinal  —  whatever  be- 
tide !  " 

I  drank  it,  and  sat  down  to  play  with  him; 
I  had  not  heard  the  music  of  the  dice  for  a 
month,  and  the  temptation  was  irresistible.  But 
I  was  not  satisfied.  I  called  the  mains  and 
won  his  crowns,  —  he  was  a  mere  baby  at  the 


A  MASTER  STROKE.  177 

game,  —  but  half  my  mind  was  elsewhere.  There 
was  something  here  I  did  not  understand ;  some 
influence  at  work  on  which  I  had  not  counted ; 
something  moving  under  the  surface  as  unintel- 
ligible to  me  as  the  soldiers'  presence.  Had  the 
captain  repudiated  my  commission  altogether,  and 
put  me  to  the  door  or  sent  me  to  the  guard-house, 
I  could  have  followed  that.  But  these  dubious 
hints,  this  passive  resistance,  puzzled  me.  Had 
they  news  from  Paris,  I  wondered.  Was  the 
King  dead?  or  the  Cardinal  ill?  I  asked  them. 
But  they  said  no,  no,  no  to  all,  and  gave  me 
guarded  answers.  And  midnight  found  us  still 
playing ;  and  still  fencing. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

THE    QUESTION. 

"  SWEEP  the  room,  Monsieur  ?  And  remove 
this  medley  ?  But,  M.  le  Capitaine  —  " 

"The  captain  is  at  the  village,"  I  replied 
sternly.  "  And  do  you  move !  move,  man,  and 
the  thing  will  be  done  while  you  are  talking  about 
it.  Set  the  door  into  the  garden  open  —  so  ! '' 

"  Certainly,  it  is  a  fine  morning.  And  the 
tobacco  of  M.  le  Lieutenant  —  But  M.  le  Capi- 
taine did  not —  " 

"  Give  orders  ?  Well,  I  give  them ! "  I  an- 
swered. "  First  of  all,  remove  these  beds.  And 
bustle,  man,  bustle,  or  I  will  find  something  to 
quicken  you." 

In  a  moment —  "And  M.  le  Capitaine's  riding- 
boots?" 

"  Place  them  in  the  passage,"  I  replied. 
178 


THE  QUESTION.  179 

"  Oht!  In  the  passage  ? "  He  paused,  look- 
ing at  them  in  doubt. 

"  Yes,  booby ;    in  the  passage'." 

"And  the  cloaks,  Monsieur?" 

"There  is  a  bush  handy  outside  the  window. 
Let  them  air." 

"  O/i<f,  the  bush  ?  Well,  to  be  sure  they  are 
damp.  But  —  yes,  yes,  Monsieur,  it  is  done. 
And  the  holsters  ? " 

"  There  also  !  "  I  said  harshly.  "  Throw  them 
out.  Faugh !  The  place  reeks  of  leather.  Now, 
a  clean  hearth.  And  set  the  table  before  the  open 
door,  so  that  we  may  see  the  garden.  So.  And 
tell  the  cook  that  we  shall  dine  at  eleven,  and 
that  Madame  and  Mademoiselle  will  descend." 

"OhJ /  But  M.  le  Capitaine  ordered  the  dinner 
for  half  past  eleven  ?  " 

"  It  must  be  advanced,  then ;  and,  mark  you, 
my  friend,  if  it  is  not  ready  when  Madame  comes 
down,  you  will  suffer,  and  the  cook  too." 

When  he  was  gone  on  his  errand,  I  looked 
round.  What  else  was  lacking  ?  The  sun  shone 
cheerily  on  the  polished  floor;  the  air,  freshened 
by  the  rain  which  had  fallen  in  the  night,  entered 

N  2 


180  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

freely  through  the  open  doorway.  A  few  bees 
lingering  with  the  summer  hummed  outside.  The 
fire  crackled  bravely;  an  old  hound,  blind  and 
past  work,  lay  warming  its  hide  on  the  hearth. 
I  could  think  of  nothing  more,  and  I  stood  and 
watched  the  man  set  out  the  table  and  spread 
the  cloth.  "  For  how  many,  Monsieur  ? "  he 
asked,  in  a  scared  tone. 

"  For  five,"  I  answered ;  and  I  could  not  help 
'jmiling  at  myself.  What  would  Zaton's  say  could 
it  see  Berault  turned  housewife  ?  There  was  a 
white  glazed  cup  —  an  old-fashioned  piece  of  the 
second  Henry's  time  —  standing  on  a  shelf.  I 
took  it  down  and  put  some  late  flowers  in  it,  and 
set  it  in  the  middle  of  the  table,  and  stood  off 
myself  to  look  at  it.  But  a  moment  later,  think- 
ing I  heard  them  coming,  I  hurried  it  away  in  a 
kind  of  panic,  feeling  on  a  sudden  ashamed  of 
the  thing.  The  alarm  proved  to  be  false,  how- 
ever; and  then  again,  taking  another  turn,  I  set 
the  piece  back.  I  had  done  nothing  so  foolish 
for  —  for  more  years  than  I  liked  to  count. 

But  when  Madame  and  Mademoiselle  came, 
they  had  eyes  neither  for  the  flowers  nor  the 


THE  QUESTION.  l8l 

room.  They  had  heard  that  the  captain  was  out 
beating  the  village  and  the  woods  for  the  fugitive, 
and  where  I  had  looked  for  a  comedy  I  found 
a  tragedy.  Madame's  face  was  so  red  with  weep- 
ing that  all  her  beauty  was  gone.  She  started 
and  shook  at  the  slightest  sound,  and,  unable 
to  find  any  words  to  answer  my  greeting,  could 
only  sink  into  a  chair  and  sit  crying  silently. 

Mademoiselle  was  in  a  mood  scarcely  more 
cheerful.  She  did  not  weep,  but  her  manner 
was  hard  and  fierce.  She  spoke  absently  and 
answered  fretfully.  Her  eyes  glittered,  and  she 
had  the  air  of  straining  her  ears  continually  to 
catch'  some  dreaded  sound.  "  There  is  no  news, 
Monsieur  ? "  she  said,  as  she  took  her  seat.  And 
she  shot  a  swift  look  at  me. 

"  None,  Mademoiselle." 

"  They  are  searching  the  village  ? " 

"  I  believe  so." 

"  Where  is  Clon  ? "  This  in  a  lower  voice, 
and  with  a  kind  of  shrinking  in  her  face. 

I  shook  my  head.  "  I  believe  they  have  him 
confined  somewhere.  And  Louis,  too,"  I  said, 
"  But  I  have  not  seen  either  of  them." 


1 82  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

"  And  where  are  —  ?  I  thought  these  people 
would  be  here,"  she  muttered.  And  she  glanced 
askance  at  the  two  vacant  places.  The  servant 
had  brought  in  the  meal. 

"  They  will  be  here  presently,"  I  said  coolly. 
"Let  us  make  the  most  of  the  time.  A  little 
wine  and  food  will  do  Madame  good." 

She  smiled  rather  sadly.  "  I  think  we  have 
changed  places,"  she  said ;  "  and  that  you  have- 
turned  host,  and  we  guests." 

"  Let  it  be  so,"  I  said  cheerfully.  "  I  recom- 
mend some  of  this  ragout.  Come,  Mademoiselle ; 
fasting  can  aid  no  one.  A  full  meal  has  saved 
many  a  man's  life." 

It  was  clumsily  said  perhaps,  for  she  shud- 
dered and  looked  at  me  with  a  ghastly  smile. 
But  she  persuaded  her  sister  to  taste  something ; 
and  she  took  something  on  her  own  plate  and 
raised  her  fork  to  her  lips.  But  in  a  moment 
she  laid  it  down  again.  "I  cannot,"  she  mur- 
mured. "  I  cannot  swallow.  Oh,  my  God,  at 
this  moment  they  may  be  taking  him  ! " 

I  thought  that  she  was  about  to  burst  into 
a  passion  of  tears,  and  I  repented  that  I  had 


THE  QUESTION.  183 

induced  her  to  descend.  But  her  self-control 
was  not  yet  exhausted.  By  an  effort  painful 
to  see,  she  recovered  her  composure.  She  took 
up  her  fork,  and  ate  a  few  mouthfuls.  Then 
she  looked  at  me  with  a  fierce  under-look.  "  I 
want  to  see  Clon,"  she  whispered  feverishly. 
The  man  who  waited  on  us  had  left  the  room. 

"  He  knows  ?  "  I  said. 

She  nodded,  her  beautiful  face  strangely  dis- 
figured. Her  closed  teeth  showed  between  her 
lips.  Two  red  spots  burned  in  her  white  cheeks, 
and  she  breathed  quickly.  I  felt,  as  I  looked 
at  her,  a  sudden  pain  at  my  heart;  and  a  shud- 
dering fear,  such  as  a  man  awaking  to  find  him- 
self falling  over  a  precipice,  might  feel.  How 
these  women  loved  the  man ! 

For  a  moment  I  could  not  speak.  When  I 
found  my  voice  it  sounded  dry  and  husky.  "  He 
is  a  safe  confidant,"  I  muttered.  "  He  can 
neither  speak  nor  write,  Mademoiselle." 

"No,  but  — "  and  then  her  face  became  fixed. 
"They  are  coming,"  she  whispered.  "Hush!" 
She  rose  stiffly,  and  stood  supporting  herself  by 
the  table.  "  Have  they  —  have  they  —  found 


1 84  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

him  ? "  she  muttered.  The  woman  by  her  side 
wept  on,  unconscious  what  was  impending. 

I  heard  the  captain  stumble  far  down  the 
passage,  and  swear  loudly;  and  I  touched 
Mademoiselle's  hand.  "  They  have  not ! "  I 
whispered.  "All  is  well,  Mademoiselle.  Pray, 
pray  calm  yourself.  Sit  down,  and  meet  them 
as  if  nothing  were  the  matter.  And  your  sister! 
Madame,  Madame,"  I  cried,  almost  harshly, 
"compose  yourself.  Remember  that  you  have 
a  part  to  play." 

My  appeal  did  something.  Madame  stifled 
her  sobs.  Mademoiselle  drew  a  deep  breath 
and  sat  down ;  and  though  she  was  still  pale 
and  still  trembled,  the  worst  was  past. 

And  just  in  time.  The  door  flew  open  with 
a  crash.  The  captain  stumbled  into  the  room, 
swearing  afresh.  "  Sacrt  now  du  Diable ! "  he 
cried,  his  face  crimson  with  rage.  "  What  fool 
placed  these  things  here?  My  boots?  My  — " 

His  jaw  fell.  He  stopped  on  the  word, 
stricken  silent  by  the  new  aspect  of  the  room, 
by  the  sight  of  the  little  party  at  the  table, 
by  all  the  changes  I  had  worked.  "  Saint 


THE  QUESTION.  185 

Siege!'1  he  muttered.  "What  is  this?"  The 
lieutenant's  grizzled  face  peering  over  his  shoul- 
der completed  the  picture. 

"You  are  rather  late,  M.  le  Capitaine,"  I  said 
cheerfully.  "  Madame's  hour  is  eleven.  But 
come,  here  are  your  seats  waiting  for  you." 

"  Mille  tonnerres ! "  he  muttered,  advancing 
into  the  room,  and  glaring  at  us. 

"  I  am  afraid  the  ragout  is  cold,"  I  continued, 
peering  into  the  dish  and  affecting  to  see  noth- 
ing. "  The  soup,  however,  has  been  kept  hot  by 
che  fire.  But  I  think  you  do  not  see  Madame." 

He  opened  his  mouth  to  swear,  but  for  the 
moment  thought  better  of  it.  "  Who  —  who  put 
my  boots  in  the  passage  ? "  he  asked,  his  voice 
thick  with  rage.  He  did  not  bow  to  the  ladies, 
or  take  any  notice  of  their  presence. 

"  One  of  the  men,  I  suppose,"  I  said  indiffer- 
ently. "Is  anything  missing?" 

He'  glared  at  me.  Then  his  cloak,  spread 
outside,  caught  his  eye  He  strode  through  the 
door,  saw  his  holsters  lying  on  the  grass,  and 
other  things  strewn  about.  He  came  back. 
"Whose  monkey  game  is  this?"  he  snarled,  and 


1 86  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

his  face  was  very  ugly.  "  Who  is  at  the  bottom 
of  this?  Speak,  Sir,  or  I—" 

"  Tut-tut !  the  ladies  !  "  I  said.  "  You  forget 
yourself,  Monsieur." 

"  Forget  myself  ? "  he  hissed,  and  this  time 
he  did  not  check  his  oath.  "  Don't  talk  to  me 
of  the  ladies !  Madame  ?  Bah  !  Do  you  think, 
fool,  that  we  are  put  into  rebels'  houses  to  bow 
and  smile  and  take  dancing  lessons  ? " 

"  In  this  case  a  lesson  in  politeness  were  more 
to  the  point,  Monsieur,"  I  said  sternly.  And  I 
rose. 

"  Was  it  by  your  orders  that  this  was  done  ? " 
he  retorted,  his  brow  black  with  passion.  "An- 
swer, will  you  ? " 

"  It  was  !  "  I  replied  outright. 

"  Then  take  that ! "  he  cried,  dashing  his  hat 
violently  in  my  face.  "And  come  outside." 

"With  pleasure,  Monsieur,"  I  answered,  bow- 
ing. "  In  one  moment.  Permit  me  to  find  my 
sword.  I  think  it  is  in  the  passage." 

I  went  thither  to  get  it.  When  I  returned  I 
found  that  the  two  men  were  waiting  for  me  in 
the  garden,  while  the  ladies  had  risen  from  the 


THE  QUESTION.  1 87 

table  and  were  standing  near  it  with  blanched 
faces.  "  You  had  better  take  your  sister  upstairs, 
Mademoiselle,"  I  said  gently,  pausing  a  moment 
beside  them.  "  Have  no  fear.  All  will  be  well." 

"  But  what  is  it  ? ''  she  answered,  looking 
troubled.  "  It  was  so  sudden.  I  am  —  I  did  not 
understand.  You  quarrelled  so  quickly." 

"  It  is  very  simple,"  I  answered,  smiling. 
"  M.  le  Capitaine  insulted  you  yesterday ;  he  will 
pay  for  it  to-day.  That  is  all.  Or,  not  quite  all," 
I  continued,  dropping  my  voice  and  speaking  in 
a  different  tone.  "  His  removal  may  help  you, 
Mademoiselle.  Do  you  understand  ?  I  think 
that  there  will  be  no  more  searching  to-day." 

She  uttered  an  exclamation,  grasping  my  arm 
and  peering  into  my  face.  "  You  will  kill  him  ? " 
she  muttered. 

I  nodded.     "Why  not?"  I  said. 

She  caught  her  breath  and  stood  with  one  hand 
clasped  to  her  bosom,  gazing  at  me  with  parted 
lips,  the  blood  mounting  to  her  cheeks.  Gradually 
the  flush  melted  into  a  fierce  smile.  "  Yes,  yes, 
why  not?"  she  repeated,  between  her  teeth. 
"Why  not?"  She  had  her  hand  on  my  arm. 


1 88  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

and  I  felt  her  fingers  tighten  until  I  could  have 
winced.  "  Why  not  ?  So  you  planned  this  —  for 
us,  Monsieur?" 

I  nodded. 

"  But  can  you  ? " 

"  Safely,"  I  said ;  then,  muttering  to  her  to  take 
her  sister  upstairs,  I  turned  towards  the  garden. 
My  foot  was  already  on  the  threshold,  and  I  was 
composing  my  face  to  meet  the  enemy,  when  I 
heard  a  movement  behind  me.  The  next  mo- 
ment her  hand  was  on  my  arm.  "  Wait !  Wait 
a  moment !  Come  back !  "  she  panted.  I  turned. 
The  smile  and  flush  had  vanished ;  her  face  was 
pale.  "  No  !  "  she  said  abruptly.  "  I  was  wrong  ! 
I  will  not  have  it.  I  will  have  no  part  in  it ! 
You  planned  it  last  night,  M.  de  Barthe.  It  is 
murder." 

"  Mademoiselle  !  "  I  exclaimed,  wondering. 
"Murder?  Why?  It  is  a  duel." 

"  It  is  murder,"  she  answered  persistently. 
"  You  planned  it  last  night.  You  said  so." 

"  But  I  risk  my  own  life,"  I  replied  sharply. 

"  Nevertheless  —  I  will  have  no  part  in  it," 
she  answered  more  faintly.  "  It  will  bring  no 


THE  QUESTION".  189 

good."  She  was  trembling  with  agitation.  Her 
eyes  avoided  mine. 

"On  my  shoulders  be  it  then!";-I  replied 
stoutly.  "  It  is  too  late,  Mademoiselle,  to  go 
back.  They  are  waiting  for  me.  Only,  before 
I  go,  let  me  beg  of  you  to  retire." 

And  I  turned  from  her,  and  went  out,  won- 
dering and  thinking.  First,  that  women  were 
strange  things.  Secondly  —  murder?  Merely 
because  I  had  planned  the  duel  and  provoked 
the  quarrel !  Never  had  I  heard  anything  so 
preposterous.  Grant  it,  and  dub  every  man  who 
kept  his  honour  with  his  hands  a  Cain  —  and  a 
good  many  branded  faces  would  be  seen  in  some 
streets.  I  laughed  at  the  fancy,  as  I  strode  down 
the  garden  walk. 

And  yet,  perhaps,  I  was  going  to  do  a  foolish 
thing.  The  lieutenant  would  still  be  here  :  a  hard, 
bitter  man,  of  stiffer  stuff  than  his  captain.  And 
the  troopers.  What  if,-  when  I  had  killed  their 
leader,  they  made  the  place  too  hot  for  me,  Mon- 
seigneur's  commission  notwithstanding  ?  I  should 
look  silly,  indeed,  if  on  the  eve  of  success  I  T::cre 
driven  from  the  place  by  a  parcel  of  jack-boots. 


190  UNDER  THE  RED  ROBE. 

I  liked  the  thought  so  little  that  I  hesitated 
Yet  it  seemed  too  late  to  retreat.  The  captain 
and  the  lieutenant  were  waiting  in  a  little  open 
space  fhv'y  yards  from  the  house,  where  a  nar- 
rower path  crossed  the  broad  walk,  down  which 
I  had  first  seen  Mademoiselle  and  her  sister  pac- 
ing. The  captain  had  removed  his  doublet,  and 
stood  in  his  shirt  leaning  against  the  sundial,  his 
head  bare  and  his  sinewy  throat  uncovered.  He 
had  drawn  his  rapier  and  stood  pricking  the 
ground  impatiently.  I  marked  his  strong  and 
nervous  frame  and  his  sanguine  air :  and  twenty 
years  earlier  the  sight  might  have  damped  me. 
But  no  thought  of  the  kind  entered  my  head  now, 
and  though  I  felt  with  each  moment  greater 
reluctance  to  engage,  doubt  of  the  issue  had  no 
place  in  my  calculations. 

I  made  ready  slowly,  and  would  gladly,  to  gain 
time,  have  found  some  fault  with  the  place.  But 
the  sun  was  sufficiently  high  to  give  no  advantage 
to  either.  The  ground  was  good,  the  spot  well 
chosen.  I  could  find  no  excuse  to  put  off  the 
man.  and  I  was  about  to  salute  him  and  fall  to 
vork,  when  a  thought  crossed  my  mind. 


THE  QUESTION1.  IQI 

"  One  moment !  "  I  said.  "  Supposing  I  kill 
you,  M.  le  Capitaine,  what  becomes  of  your 
errand  here?" 

"  Don't  trouble  yourself,"  he  answered,  with  a 
sneer — he  had  misread  my  slowness  and  hesita- 
tion. "  It  will  not  happen,  Monsieur.  And  in 
any  case  the  thought  need  not  harass  you.  I 
have  a  lieutenant." 

"  Yes,  but  what  of  my  mission  ? "  I  replied 
bluntly.  "  I  have  no  lieutenant." 

"You  should  have  thought  of  that  before  you 
interfered  with  my  boots,"  he  retorted,  with  con- 
tempt. 

"  True,"  I  said,  overlooking  his  manner.  "  But 
better  late  than  never.  I  am  not  sure,  now  I 
think  of  it,  that  my  duty  to  Monseigneur  will  let 
me  fight." 

"You  will  swallow  the  blow?"  he  cried,  spit- 
ting on  the  ground  offensively.  "  Diable  /"  And 
the  lieutenant,  standing  on  one  side  with  his  hands 
behind  him  and  his  shoulders  squared,  laughed 
grimly. 

"  I  have  not  made  up  my  mind,"  I  answered 
irresolutely. 


UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 


"Well,  nom  de  Dieu  !  make  it  up,"  the  captain 
replied,  with  an  ugly  sneer.  He  took  a  swagger- 
ing step  this  way  and  that,  playing  his  weapon. 
"  I  am  afraid,  Lieutenant,  there  will  be  no  sport 
to-day,"  he  continued,  in  a  loud  aside.  "  Our  cock 
has  but  a  chicken  heart." 

"  Well  !  "  I  said  coolly,  "  I  do  not  know  what  to 
do.  Certainly  it  is  a  fine  day,  and  a  fair  piece  of 
ground.  And  the  sun  stands  well.  But  I  have 
not  much  to  gain  by  killing  you,  M.  le  Capitaine, 
and  it  might  get  me  into  an  awkward  fix.  On 
the  other  hand,  it  would  not  hurt  me  to  let  you 

go-" 

"  Indeed  ?  "  he  said  contemptuously,  looking  at 
me  as  I  should  look  at  a  lacquey. 

"  No  !  "  I  replied.  "  For  if  you  were  to  say 
that  you  had  struck  Gil  de  Berault,  and  left  the 
ground  with  a  whole  skin,  no  one  would  believe 
you." 

"  Gil  de  Berault  !  "    he  exclaimed,  frowning. 

"  Yes,  Monsieur,"  I  replied  suavely.  "  At  your 
service.  You  did  not  know  my  name  ?  " 

"  I  thought  your  name  was  De  Barthe,"  he 
said.  His  voice  sounded  queerly  ;  and  he  waited 


J-HE  QUESTION.  IQ3 

for  the  answer  with  parted  lips,  and  a  shadow  in 
his  eyes  which  I  had  seen  in  men's  eyes  before. 

"No,"  I  said.  "That  was  my  mother's  name, 
I  took  it  for  this  occasion  only." 

His  florid  cheek  lost  a  shade  of  its  colour,  and 
he  bit  his  lips  as  he  glanced  at  the  lieutenant, 
trouble  in  his  eyes.  I  had  seen  these  signs  before, 
and  knew  them,  and  I  might  have  cried  "  Chicken- 
heart  !  "  in  my  turn ;  but  I  had  not  made  a  way 
of  escape  for  him — before  I  declared  myself  — 
for  nothing,  and  I  held  to  my  purpose.  "  I  think 
you  will  allow  now,"  I  said  grimly,  "that  it  will 
not  harm  me  even  if  I  put  up  with  a  blow !  " 

"  M.  de  Berault's  courage  is  known,"  he  mut- 
tered. 

"And  with  reason,"  I  said.  "That  being  so, 
suppose  we  say  this  day  three  months,  M.  le  Capi- 
taine  ?  The  postponement  to  be  for  my  conven- 
ience." 

He  caught  the  lieutenant's  eye,  and  looked 
down  sullenly,  the  conflict  in  his  mind  as  plain  as 
daylight.  He  had  only  to  insist,  and  I  must  fight; 
and  if  by  luck  or  skill  he  could  master  me,  his 
fame  as  a  duellist  would  run,  like  a  ripple  over 


194  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

water,  through  every  garrison  town  in  France  and 
make  him  a  name  even  in  Paris.  On  the  other 
side  were  the  imminent  peril  of  death,  the  gleam 
of  cold  steel  already  in  fancy  at  his  breast,  the 
loss  of  life  and  sunshine,  and  the  possibility  of  a 
retreat  with  honour,  if  without  glory.  I  read  his 
face,  and  knew  before  he  spoke  what  he  would 
do. 

"  It  appears  to  me  that  the  burden  is  with 
you,"  he  said  huskily ;  "  but  for  my  part,  I  am 
satisfied." 

"Very  well,"  I  said,  "I  take  the  burden.  Per- 
mit me  to  apologize  for  having  caused  you  to  strip 
unnecessarily.  Fortunately  the  sun  is  shining." 

"  Yes,"  he  said  gloomily.  And  he  took  his 
clothes  from  the  sundial,  and  began  to  put  them 
on.  He  had  expressed  himself  satisfied ;  but  I 
knew  that  he  was  feeling  very  ill-satisfied  with 
himself,  and  I  was  not  surprised  when  he  pres- 
ently said  abruptly  and  almost  rudely,  "  There  is 
one  thing  I  think  we  must  settle  here." 

"What  is  that?"    I  asked. 

"  Our  positions,"  he  blurted  out.  "  Or  we  shalJ 
cross  one  another  again  within  the  hour." 


THE  QUESTION.  195 

"  Umph !  I  am  not  quite  sure  that  I  under- 
stand," I  said. 

"  That  is  precisely  what  I  don't  do  —  under- 
stand ! "  he  retorted,  in  a  tone  of  surly  triumph. 
"  Before  I  came  on  this  duty,  I  was  told  that 
there  was  a  gentleman  here,  bearing  sealed  orders 
from  the  Cardinal  to  arrest  M.  de  Cocheforet ; 
and  I  was  instructed  to  avoid  collision  with  him 
so  far  as  might  be  possible.  At  first  I  took 
you  for  the  gentleman.  But  the  plague  take 
me  if  I  understand  the  matter  now." 

"Why  not?"    I  said  coldly. 

"Because  —  well,  the  matter  is  in  a  nutshell!" 
he  answered  impetuously.  "  Are  you  here  on 
behalf  of  Madame  de  Cocheforet  to  shield  her 
husband  ?  Or  are  you  here  to  arrest  him  ?  That 
is  what  I  don't  understand,  M.  de  Berault." 

"If  you  mean,  am  I  the  Cardinal's  agent  — 
I  am ! "  I  answered  sternly. 

"To  arrest  M.  de  Cocheforet?" 

"To  arrest  M.  de  Cocheforet." 

"  Well  —  you  surprise  me,"  he  said. 

Only  that;  but  he  spoke  so  drily  that  I  felt 
the  blood  rush  to  my  face.  "Take  care,  Mon- 

o  2 


196  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

sieur,"  I  said  severely.  "  Do  not  presume  too 
far  on  the  inconvenience  to  which  your  death 
might  put  me." 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  No  offence !  " 
he  said.  "  But  you  do  not  seem,  M.  de  Berault, 
to  comprehend  the  difficulty.  If  we  do  not  set- 
tle things  now,  we  shall  be  bickering  twenty 
times  a  day  !  " 

"  Well,  what  do  you  want  ? "  I  asked  impa- 
tiently. 

"  Simply  to  know  how  you  are  going  to  pro- 
ceed. So  that  our  plans  may  not  clash." 

"  But  surely,  M.  le  Capitaine,  that  is  my 
affair !  "  I  replied. 

"  The  clashing  ?  "  he  answered  bitterly.  Then 
he  waved  aside  my  wrath.  "  Pardon,"  he  said, 
"  the  point  is  simply  this :  How  do  you  propose 
to  find  him  if  he  is  here  ? " 

"That  again  is  my  affair,"  I  answered. 

He  threw  up  his  hands  in  despair;  but  in  a 
moment  his  place  was  taken  by  an  unexpected 
disputant.  The  lieutenant,  who  had  stood  by 
all  the  time,  listening  and  tugging  at  his  grey 
moustache,  suddenly  spoke.  "  Look  here,  M. 


THE  QUESTION,  197 

de  Berault,"  he  said,  confronting  me  roughly, 
"I  do  not  fight  duels.  I  am  from  the  ranks.  I 
proved  my  courage  at  Montauban  in  '21,  and 
my  honour  is  good  enough  to  take  care  of  itself. 
So  I  say  what  I  like,  and  I  ask  you  plainly 
what  M.  le  Capitaine  doubtless  has  in  his  mind 
but  does  not  ask :  Are  you  running  with  the 
hare  and  hunting  with  the  hounds  in  this  mat- 
ter? In  other  words,  have  you  thrown  up  Mon- 
seigneur's  commission  in  all  but  name  and  become 
Madame's  ally ;  or  —  it  is  the  only  other  alter- 
native—  are  you  getting  at  the  man  through  the 
women  ? " 

"  You  villain ! "  I  cried,  glaring  at  him  in  such 
a  rage  and  fury  I  could  scarcely  get  the  words 
out.  This  was  plain  speaking  with  a  vengeance ! 
"How  dare  you !  How  dare  you  say  that  I  am 
false  to  the  hand  that  pays  me  ? " 

I  thought  he  would  blench,  but  he  did  not. 
He  stood  up  stiff  as  a  poker.  "  I  do  not  say ; 
I  ask ! "  he  replied,  facing  me  squarely,  and 
slapping  his  fist  into  his  open  hand  to  drive 
home  his  words  the  better.  "  I  ask  you  whether 
you  are  playing  the  traitor  to  the  Cardinal? 


198  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

Or  to  these  two  women  ?  It  is  a  simple  ques- 
tion." 

I  fairly  choked.  "  You  impudent  scoundrel," 
I  said. 

"  Steady,  steady  !  "  he  replied.  "  Pitch  sticks 
where  it  belongs.  But  that  is  enough.  I  see 
which  it  is,  M.  le  Capitaine ;  this  way  a  moment, 
by  your  leave." 

And  in  a  very  cavalier  way  he  took  his  officer 
by  the  arm,  and  drew  him  into  a  side-walk, 
leaving  me  to  stand  in  the  sun,  bursting  with 
anger  and  spleen.  The  gutter-bred  rascal !  That 
such  a  man  should  insult  me,  and  with  impunity! 
In  Paris  I  might  have  made  him  fight,  but  here 
it  was  impossible.  I  was  still  foaming  with  rage 
when  they  returned. 

"We  have  come  to  a  determination,"  the  lieu- 
tenant said,  tugging  his  grey  mustachios  and 
standing  like  a  ramrod.  "  We  shall  leave  you 
the  house  and  Madame,  and  you  can  take  your 
line  to  find  the  man.  For  ourselves,  we  shall 
draw  off  our  men  to  the  village,  and  we  shall 
take  our  line.  That  is  all,  M.  le  Capitaine,  is 
it  not?" 


THE  QUESTION.  199 

"  I  think  so,"  the  captain  muttered,  looking 
anywhere  but  at  me. 

"  Then  we  bid  you  good-day,  Monsieur,'  the 
lieutenant  added.  And  in  a  moment  he  turned 
his  companion  round,  and  the  two  retired  up  the 
walk  to  the  house,  leaving  me  to  look  after  them 
in  a  black  fit  of  rage  and  incredulity.  -At  the 
first  flush  there  was  something  so  offensive  in 
the  manner  of  their  going  that  anger  had  the 
upper  hand.  I  thought  of  the  lieutenant's  words, 
and  I  cursed  him  to  hell  with  a  sickening  con- 
sciousness that  I  should  not  forget  them  in  a 
hurry  :  "  Was  I  playing  the  traitor  to  the  Car- 
dinal or  to  these  women  —  which  ?  "  Mon  Dieu  ! 
if  ever  question  —  but  .there !  some  day  I  would 
punish  him.  And  the  captain  ?  I  could  put 
an  end  to  his  amusement,  at  any  rate ;  and  I 
would.  Doubtless  among  the  country  bucks  of 
Auch  he  lorded  it  as  a  chief  provincial  bully, 
but  I  would  cut  his  comb  for  him  some  fine 
morning  behind  the  barracks. 

And  then,  as  I  grew  cooler  I  began  to  wondev 
why  they  were  going,  and  what  they  were  going 
to  d<?-  They  might  be  already  on  the  track,  or 


200,  UNDER    THE  RED  ROBE, 

have  the  information  they  required  under  hand ; 
in  that  case  I  could  understand  the  movement. 
But  if  they  were  still  searching  vaguely,  uncer- 
tain whether  their  quarry  were  in  the  neighbour- 
hood or  not,  and  uncertain  how  long  they  might 
have  to  stay,  it  seemed  incredible  that  soldiers 
should  move  from  good  quarters  to  bad  without 
motive. 

I  wandered  down  the  garden  thinking  sullenly 
of  this,  and  pettishly  cutting  off  the  heads  of  the 
flowers  with  my  sheathed  sword.  After  all,  if 
they  found  and  arrested  the  man,  what  then  ? 
I  should  have  to  make  my  peace  with  the  Cardi- 
nal as  I  best  might.  He  would  have  gained  his 
point,  but  not  through  me,  and  I  should  have  to 
look  to  myself.  On  the  other  hand,  if  I  antici- 
pated them  —  and,  as  a  fact,  I  felt  that  I  could 
lay  my  hand  on  the  fugitive  within  a  few  hours 
—  there  would  come  a  time  when  I  must  face 
Mademoiselle. 

A  little  while  back  that  had  not  seemed  so 
difficult  a  thing.  From  the  day  of  our  first 
meeting  —  and  in  a  higher  degree  since  that 
afternoon  when  she  had  lashed  me  with  her 


THE  QUESTION.  2OI 

scorn  —  my  views  of  her,  and  my  feelings  towards 
her,  had  been  strangely  made  up  of  antagonism 
and  sympathy ;  of  repulsion,  because  in  her  past 
and  present  she  was  so  different  from  me;  of 
yearning,  because  she  was  a  woman  and  friend- 
less. Then  I  had  duped  her  and  bought  her 
confidence  by  returning  the  jewels,  and  in  a 
measure  I  had  sated  my  vengeance ;  and  then, 
as  a  consequence,  sympathy  had  again  begun  to 
get  the  better,  until  now  I  hardly  knew  my  own 
mind  or  what  I  intended.  /  did  not  know,  in  fact, 
what  I  intended.  I  stood  there  in  the  garden 
with  that  conviction  suddenly  new-born  in  my 
mind ;  and  then,  in  a  moment,  I  heard  her  step 
and  turned  to  find  her  behind  me. 

Her  face  was  like  April,  smiles  breaking 
through  her  tears.  As  she  stood'  with  a  tall 
hedge  of  sunflowers  behind  her,  I  started  to  see 
how  beautiful  she  was.  "  I  am  here  in  search  of 
you,  M.  de  Barthe,"  she  said,  colouring  slightly, 
perhaps  because  my  eyes  betrayed  my  thought, 
"to  thank  you.  You  have  not  fought,  and  yet 
you  have  conquered.  My  woman  has  just  been 
with  me,  and  she  tells  me  that  they  are  going !  " 


202  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE, 

"Going?"  I.  said.  "Yes,  Mademoiselle,  they 
are  leaving  the  house." 

She  did  not  understand  my  reservation. 
"  What  magic  have  you  used  ? "  she  said,  almost 
gaily  —  it  was  wonderful  how  hope  had  changed 
her.  "  Moreover,  I  am  curious  to  learn  how 
you  managed  to  avoid  fighting." 

"After  taking  a  blow?"    I  said  bitterly. 

"  Monsieur,  I  did  not  mean  that,"  she  said  re- 
proachfully. But  her  face  clouded.  I  saw  that, 
viewed  in  this  light  —  in  which  I  suppose  she  had 
not  seen  it  —  the  matter  perplexed  her  still  more. 

I  took  a  sudden  resolution.  "  Have  you  ever 
heard,  Mademoiselle,"  I  said  gravely,  plucking 
off  while  I  spoke  the  dead  leaves  from  a  plant 
beside  me,  "  of  a  gentleman  by  name  De  Berault  ? 
Known  in  Paris,  so  I  have  heard,  by  the  sobri- 
quet of  the  Black  Death?" 

"  The  duellist  ? "  she  answered,  in  wonder. 
"Yes,  I  have  heard  of  him.  He  killed  a  young 
gentleman  of  this  province  at  Nancy  two  years 
back.  It  was  a  sad  story,"  she  continued,  shud- 
dering, "of  a  dreadful  man.  God  keep  our 
friends  from  such  !  " 


THE  QUESTION:  203 

"  Amen ! "  I  said  quietly.  But,  in  spite  of 
myself,  I  could  not  meet  her  eyes. 

"  Why  ? "  she  answered,  quickly  taking  alarm 
at  my  silence.  "  What  of  him,  M.  de  Barthe  ? 
Why  have  you  mentioned  him  ?  " 

"  Because  he  is  here,  Mademoiselle." 

•'  Here  ?  "    she  exclaimed. 

"Yes,  Mademoiselle,"  I  answered  soberly. 
"  I  am  he.  ' 


CHAPTER    IX. 

CLON. 

"  You !  "  she  cried,  in  a  voice  which  pierced  me, 
"  You  —  M.  de  Berault  ?  Impossible  !  "  But, 
glancing  askance  at  her.  —  I  could  not  face  her, 

—  I  saw  that  the  blood  had  left  her  cheeks, 
"yes,    Mademoiselle,"    I    answered,   in    a    low 

voice.  "  De  Barthe  was  my  mother's  name. 
When  I  came  here,  a  stranger,  I  took  it  that  I 
might  not  be  known;  that  I  might  again  speak 
to  a  good  woman  and  not  see  her  shrink.  That 

—  but   why   trouble   you  with   all   this  ? "   I   con- 
tinued proudly,  rebelling  against  her  silence,  her 
turned  shoulder,  her  averted  face.     "  You  asked 
me,  Mademoiselle,  how  1  could  take  a  blow  and 
let  the  striker  go.     I  have  answered.     It  is  the 
one  privilege  M.  de  Berault  possesses." 

"Then,"  she  replied  quickly,  but  almost  in  a 

20A 


CLON.  205 

whisper,  "  if  I  were  M.  de  Berault,  I  would  use  it, 
and  never  fight  again." 

"  In  that  event,  Mademoiselle,"  I  answered  cyni- 
cally, "  I  should  lose  my  men  friends  as  well  as 
my  women  friends.  Like  Monseigneur,  the  Cardi- 
nal, I  rule  by  fe^r  " 

She  shuddered,  either  at  the  name  or  at  the 
idea  my  words  called  up,  and,  for  a  moment,  we 
stood  awkwardly  silent.  The  shadow  of  the 
sundial  fell  between  us ;  the  garden  was  still ; 
here  and  there  a  leaf  fluttered  slowly  down, 
or  a  seed  fell.  With  each  instant  of  silence  I 
felt  the  gulf  between  us  growing  wider,  I  felt 
myself  growing  harder ;  I  mocked  at  her  past, 
which  was  so  unlike  mine;  I  mocked  at  mine, 
and  called  it  fate.  I  was  on  the  point  of  turn- 
ing from  her  with  a  bow  —  and  a  furnace  in  my 
breast  —  when  she  spoke. 

"  There  is  a  late  rose  lingering  there,"  she 
said,  a  slight  tremor  in  her  voice.  "  I  cannot 
reach  it.  Will  you  pluck  it  for  me,  M.  de 
Berault?" 

I  obeyed  her,  my  hand  trembling,  my  face 
^n  fire.  She  took  the  rose  from  me,  and  placed 


206  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

it  in  the  bosom  of  her  dress.  And  I  saw  that 
her  hand  trembled  too,  and  that  her  cheek  was 
dark  with  blushes. 

She  turned  at  once,  and  began  to  walk  toward.' 
the  house.  Presently  she  spoke.  "  Heaven  for- 
bid that  I  should  misjudge  you  a  second  time  i '' 
she  said,  in  a  low  voice.  "  And,  after  all,  who 
am  I  that  I  should  judge  you  at  all  ?  An  hour 
ago,  I  would  have  killed  that  man  had  I  pos- 
sessed the  power." 

"  You  repented,  Mademoiselle,"  I  said  huskily 
I  could  scarcely  speak. 

"  Do  you  never  repent  ? '' 

"Yes.     But  too  late,  Mademoiselle." 

"  Perhaps  it  is  never  too  late,"  she  answered 
softly. 

"Alas,  when  a  man  is  dead  — " 

"  You  may  rob  a  man  of  more  than  life ! "  she 
replied  with  energy,  stopping  me  by  a  gesture. 
"  If  you  have  never  robbed  a  man  —  or  a  woman- 
—  of  honour  !  If  you  have  never  ruined  boy  or 
girl,  M.  de  Berault !  If  you  have  never  pushed 
another  into  the  pit  and  gone  by  it  yourself ! 
If  —  but  for  murder  ?  Listen.  You  may  be  a 


CLOW.  207 

Romanist,  but  I  am  a  Huguenot,  and  have  read. 
'  Thou  shalt  not  kill ! '  it  is  written ;  and  the  pen- 
alty, 'By  man  shall  thy  blood  be  shed!'  But, 
'  If  you  cause  one  of  these  little  ones  to  offend,  it 
were  better  for  you  that  a  mill-stone  were  hanged 
about  your  neck,  and  that  you  were  cast  into  the 
depths  of  the  sea.' ' 

"  Mademoiselle,  you  are  too  merciful,"  I 
muttered. 

"  I  need  mercy  myself,"  she  answered,  sighing. 
"And  I  have  had  few  temptations.  How  do  I 
know  what  you  have  suffered  ? " 

"  Or  done !  "  I  said,  almost  rudely. 

"  Where  a  man  has  not  lied,  nor  betrayed,  nor 
sold  himself  or  others,"  she  answered  firmly,  but 
in  a  low  tone,  "  I  think  I  can  forgive  all  else. 
I  can  better  put  up  with  force,"  she  added, 
smiling  sadly,  "  than  with  fraud." 

Ah,  Dieu !  I  turned  away  my  face  that  she 
might  not  see  how  it  paled,  how  I  winced ;  that 
she  might  not  guess  how  her  words,  meant  in 
mercy,  stabbed  me  to  the  heart.  And  yet,  then, 
for  the  first  time,  while  viewing  in  all  its  depth 
and  width  the  gulf  which  separated  us,  I  was 


208  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

not  hardened ;  I  was  not  cast  back  on  myself. 
Her  gentleness,  her  pity,  her  humility,  softened 
me,  while  they  convicted  me.  My  God !  How 
could  I  do  that  which  I  had  come  to  do  ? 
How  could  I  stab  her  in  the  tenderest  part,  how 
could  I  inflict  on  her  that  rending  pang,  how 
could  I  meet  her  eyes,  and  stand  before  her, 
a  Caliban,  a  Judas,  the  vilest,  lowest,  basest 
thing  she  could  conceive  ? 

I  stood,  a  moment,  speechless  and  disordered ; 
stunned  by  her  words,  by  my  thoughts  —  as  I 
have  seen  a  man  stand  when  he  has  lost  his 
all,  his  last,  at  the  tables.  •  Then  I  turned  to 
her;  and  for  an  instant  I  thought  that  my  tale 
was  told  already.  I  thought  that  she  had  pierced 
my  disguise,  for  her  face  was  aghast,  stricken 
with  sudden  fear.  Then  I  saw  that  she  was  not 
looking  at  me,  but  beyond  me,  and  I  turned 
quickly  and  saw  a  servant  hurrying  from  the 
house  to  us.  It  was  Louis.  His  face,  it  was, 
had  frightened  her.  His  eyes  were  staring,  his 
hair  waved,  his  cheeks  were  flabby  with  dismay. 
He  breathed  as  if  he  had  been  running. 

"What  is   it?"    Mademoiselle  cried,  while   he 


CLOW.  209 

was  still  some  way  off.  "  Speak,  man.  My 
sister?  Is  she  —  " 

"Clon,"  he  gasped. 

The  name  changed  her  to  stone.  "  Clon  ? " 
she  muttered.  "What  of  him?" 

"  In  the  village ! "  Louis  panted,  his  tongue 
stuttering  with  terror.  "  They  are  flogging  him  ! 
They  are  killing  him,  Mademoiselle!  To  make 
him  tell ! " 

Mademoiselle  grasped  the  sundial  and  leant 
against  it,  her  face  colourless,  and,  for  an  in- 
stant, I  thought  that  she  was  fainting.  "Tell?" 
I  said  mechanically.  "  But  he  cannot  tell.  He 
is  dumb,  man." 

"They  will  make  him  guide  them,"  Louis 
groaned,  covering  his  ears  with  his  shaking 
hands,  his  face  like  paper.  "  And  his  cries ! 
Oh,  Monsieur,  go ! "  he  continued,  suddenly  ap- 
pealing to  me,  in  a  thrilling  tone.  "  Save  him. 
All  through  the  wood  I  heard  them.  It  was 
horrible!  horrible!" 

Mademoiselle  uttered  a  low  moan,  and  I  turned 
to  support  her,  thinking  each  second  to  see  her 
fall.  But  with  a  sudden  movement  she  straight- 


210  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

ened  herself,  and,  slipping  by  me,  with  eyes 
which  seemed  to  see  nothing,  she  started  swiftly 
down  the  walk  towards  the  meadow  gate. 

I  ran  after  her,  but,  taken  by  surprise  as  I 
was,  it  was  only  by  a  great  effort  I  reached  the 
gate  before  her,  and,  thrusting  myself  in  the  road, 
barred  the  way.  "  Let  me  pass !  "  she  panted 
fiercely,  striving  to  thrust  me  on  one  side.  "  Out 
of  my  way,  Sir !  I  am  going  to  the  village." 

"You  are  not  going  to  the  village,"  I  said 
sternly.  "  Go  back  to  the  house,  Mademoiselle, 
and  at  once."  ' 

"  My  servant! "  she  wailed.  "  Let  me  go  !  Oh, 
let  me  go !  Do  you  think  I  can  rest  here  while 
they  torture  him  ?  He  cannot  speak,  and  they 
—  they  —  " 

"  Go  back,  Mademoiselle,"  I  said,  cutting  her 
short,  with  decision.  "  You  would  only  make 
matters  worse !  I  will  go  myself,  and  what  one 
man  can  do  against  many,  I  will !  Louis,  give 
your  mistress  your  arm  and  take  her  to  the 
house.  Take  her  to  Madame." 

"  But  you  will  go  ? "  she  cried.  Before  I  could 
stay  her  —  I  swear  I  would  have  done  so  if  I 


CLON.  211 

could  —  she  raised  my  hand  and  carried  it  to 
her  trembling  lips.  "You  will  go!  Go  and  stop 
them!  Stop  them,"  she  continued,  in  a  tone 
which  stirred  my  heart,  "  and  Heaven  reward 
you,  Monsieur !  " 

I  did  not  answer;  nor  did  I  once  look  back, 
as  I  crossed  the  meadow ;  but  I  did  not  look 
forward  either.  Doubtless  it  was  grass  I  trod ; 
doubtless  the  wood  was  before  me  with  the  sun 
shining  aslant  on  it,  and  behind  me  the  house 
with  a  flame  here  and  there  on  the  windows.  But 
I  went  in  a  dream,  among  shadows ;  with  a  racing 
pulse,  in  a  glow  from  head  to  heel ;  conscious  of 
nothing  but  the  touch  of  Mademoiselle's  warm 
lips,  seeing  neither  meadows  nor  house,  nor  even 
the  dark  fringe  of  wood  before  me,  but  only 
Mademoiselle's  passionate  face.  For  the  moment 
I  was  drunk :  drunk  with  that  to  which  I  had 
been  so  long  a  stranger,  with  that  which  a  man  may 
scorn  for  years,  to  find  it  at  last  beyond  his  reach 
—  drunk  with  the  touch  of  a  good  woman's  lips. 

I  passed  the  bridge  in  this  state ;  and  my  feet 
were  among  the  brushwood  before  the  heat  and 
fervour  in  which  I  moved  found  on  a  sudden 


212  UNDER    THE  RED  ROBE. 

their  direction.  Something  began  to  penetrate 
to  my  veiled  senses  —  a  hoarse  inarticulate  cry, 
now  deep,  now  shrilling  horribly,  which  seemed 
to  fill  the  wood.  It  came  at  intervals  of  half  a 
minute  or  so,  and  made  the  flesh  creep,  it  was 
so  full  of  dumb  pain,  of  impotent  wrestling,  of 
unspeakable  agony.  I  am  a  man  and  have  seen 
things.  I  saw  the  Concini  beheaded,  and  Chalais 
ten  years  later  —  they  gave  him  thirty-four  blows  ; 
and  when  I  was  a  boy  I  escaped  from  the  college 
and  viewed  from  a  great  distance  Ravaillac  torn 
by  horses  —  that  was  in  the  year  ten.  But  the 
horrible  cries  I  now  heard  filled  me,  perhaps  be- 
cause I  was  alone  and  fresh  from  the  sight  of 
Mademoiselle,  with  loathing  that  was  intense.  The 
very  wood,  though  the  sun  wanted  an  hour  of  set- 
ting, seemed  to  grow  dark.  I  ran  on  through  it, 
cursing,  until  the  hovels  of  the  village  at  length 
came  in  sight.  Again  the  shriek  rose,  a  pulsing 
horror,  and  this  time  I  could  hear  the  lash  fall 
on  the  sodden  flesh,  I  could  see  in  fancy  the 
strong  man,  trembling,  quivering,  straining  against 
his  bonds.  And  then,  in  a  moment,  I  was  in 
the  street,  and,  as  the  scream  once  more  tore 


CLON.  213 

the  air,  I  dashed  round  the  corner  by  the  inn, 
and  came  upon  them. 

I  did  not  look  at  him.  I  saw  Captain  Larolle 
and  the  lieutenant,  and  a  ring  of  troopers,  and 
one  man,  bare-armed,  teasing  out  with  his  fingers 
the  thongs  of  a  whip.  The  thongs  dripped  blood, 
and  the  sight  fired  the  mine.  The  rage  I  had 
suppressed  when  the  lieutenant  bearded  me  ear- 
lier in  the  afternoon,  the  passion  with  which 
Mademoiselle's  distress  had  filled  my  breast,  at 
last  found  vent.  I  sprang  through  the  line  of 
soldiers,  and  striking  the  man  with  the  whip  a 
buffet  between  the  shoulders,  which  hurled  him 
breathless  to  the  ground,  I  turned  on  the  leaders. 
"  You  devils !  "  I  cried.  "  Shame  on  you !  The 
man ,  is  dumb !  I  tell  you,  if  I  had  ten  men  with 
me,  I  would  sweep  you  and  your  scum  out  of  the 
village  with  broomsticks.  Lay  on  another  lash," 
I  continued  recklessly,  "and  I  will  see  if  you  or 
the  Cardinal  be  the  stronger." 

The  lieutenant  glared  at  me,  his  grey  moustache 
bristling,  his  eyes  almost  starting  from  his  head. 
Some  of  the  troopers  laid  their  hands  on  their 
swords,  but  no  one  moved,  and  only  the  captain 


214  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

spoke.  " Mille  diables!"  he  swore.  "What  is 
all  this  about  ?  Are  you  mad,  Sir  ? " 

"  Mad  or  sane  !  "  I  cried,  still  in  a  fury.  "  Lay 
on  another  lash,  and  you  shall  repent  it" 

"  I  ? " 

"  Yes,  you !  " 

For  an  instant  there  was  a  pause  of  astonish- 
ment. Then  to  my  surprise  the  captain  laughed 
—  laughed  loudly.  "Very  heroic!"  he  said. 
"Quite  magnificent,  M.  le  Chevalier-errant.  But 
you  see,  unfortunately,  you  come  too  late  !  " 

"  Too  late  !  "    I  said  incredulously. 

"Yes,  too  late,"  he  replied,  with  a  mocking 
smile.  And  the  lieutenant  grinned  too.  "You 
see  the  man  has  just  confessed.  We  have  only 
been  giving  him  an  extra  touch  or  two,  to  impress 
his  memory,  and  save  us  the  trouble  of  tying  him 
up  again." 

"  I  don't  believe  it,"  I  said  bluntly  —  but  I  felt 
the  check,  and  fell  to  earth.  "The  man  cannot 
speak." 

"  No,  but  he  has  managed  to  tell  us  that  he 
will  guide  us  to  the  place  we  want,"  the  captain 
answered  drily.  "The  whip,  if  it  cannot  find  a 


CLON",  215 

man  a  tongue,  can  find  him  wits.  What  is  more, 
I  think,  he  will  keep  his  word,"  he  continued,  with 
a  hideous  smile.  "  For  I  warn  him  that  if  he  does 
not,  all  your  heroics  shall  not  save  him !  He  is  a 
rebel  dog,  and  known  to  us  of  old,  and  I  will  flay 
his  back  to  the  bones  —  ay,  until  we  can  see  his 
heart  beating  through  his  ribs  —  but  I  will  have 
what  I  want  —  in  your  teeth,  too,  you  d — d  med- 
dler." 

"  Steady,  steady ! "  I  said,  somewhat  sobered. 
I  saw  that  he  was  telling  me  the  truth.  "He  is 
going  to  take  you  to  M.  de  Cocheforet's  hiding- 
place,  is  he  ?  " 

"  Yes,  he  is !  "  the  captain  retorted  offensively. 
"  Have  you  any  objection  to  make  to  that,  Master 
Spy?" 

"  None,"  I  replied.  "  But  I  shall  go  with  you. 
And  if  you  live  three  months,  I  shall  kill  you  for 
that  name  —  behind  the  barracks  at  Auch,  M.  le 
Capitaine." 

He  changed  colour,  but  he  answered  me  boldly 
enough.  "  I  don't  know  that  you  will  go  with  us 
That  is  as  we  please,"  he  continued,  with  a  snarl. 

"  I  have  the  Cardinal's  orders,"  I  said  sternly. 


2l6  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE, 

"  The  Cardinal  ? "  he  exclaimed,  stung  to  fury 
by  this  repetition  of  the  name.  "The  Cardinal 
be  —  " 

But  the  lieutenant  laid  his  hands  on  his  lips, 
and  stopped  him.  "  Hush  ! "  he  said.  Then  more 
quietly,  "  Your  pardon,  M.  le  Capitaine.  Shall  I 
give  orders  to  the  men  to  fall  in  ? " 

The  captain  nodded  sullenly. 

"  Take  him  down !  "  the  lieutenant  ordered,  in 
his  harsh,  monotonous  voice.  "Throw  his  blouse 
over  him,  and  tie  his  hands.  And  do  you  two, 
Paul  and  Lebrun,  guard  him.  Michel,  bring  the 
whip,  or  he  may  forget  how  it  tastes.  Sergeant, 
choose  four  good  men  and  dismiss  the  rest  to  their 
quarters." 

"  Shall  we  need  the  horses  ? "  the  sergeant 
asked. 

"  I  don't  know,"  the  captain  answered  peev- 
ishly. "  What  does  the  rogue  say  ?  " 

The  lieutenant  stepped  up  to  him.  "  Listen  !  " 
he  said  grimly.  "  Nod  if  you  mean  yes,  and  shake 
your  head  if  you  mean  no.  And  have  a  care  you 
answer  truly.  Is  it  more  than  a  mile  to  this 
place ?  The  place  you  know  of? " 


CLOW.  21? 

They  had  loosened  the  poor  wretch's  fasten- 
ings, and  covered  his  back.  He  stood  leaning 
against  the  wall,  his  mouth  still  panting,  the 
sweat  running  down  his  hollow  cheeks ;  his 
sunken  eyes  were  closed ;  a  quiver  now  and 
again  ran  through  his  frame.  The  lieutenant 
repeated  his  question,  and,  getting  no  answer, 
looked  round  for  orders.  The  captain  met  the 
look,  and  crying  savagely,  "  Answer,  will  you,  you 
mute!"  struck  the  half -swooning  miserable  across 
the  back  with  his  switch.  The  effect  was  magi- 
cal. Covered,  as  his  shoulders  were,  the  man 
sprang  erect  with  a  shriek  of  pain,  raising  his 
chin,  and  hollowing  his  back ;  and  in  that  attitude 
stood  an  instant  with  starting  eyes,  gasping  for 
breath.  Then  he  sank  back  against  the  wall, 
moving  his  mouth  spasmodically.  His  face  was 
the  colour  of  lead. 

"  Diable  /  I  think  we  have  gone  too  far  with 
him  !  "  the  captain  muttered. 

"  Bring  some  wine ! "  the  lieutenant  replied. 
"  Quick  with  it !  " 

I  looked  on,  burning  with  indignation,  and 
wondering  besides  what  would  come  of  this.  If 


2l8  UNDER    THE  RED  ROBE. 

the  man  took  them  to  the  place,  and  they  suc- 
ceeded in  seizing,  Cocheforet,  there  was  an  end 
of  the  matter  as  far  as  I  was  concerned.  It  was 
off  my  shoulders,  and  I  might  leave  the  village 
when  I  pleased ;  nor  was  it  likely  —  since  he 
would  have  his  man,  though  not  through  me  — 
that  the  Cardinal  would  refuse  me  an  amnesty. 
On  the  whole,  I  thought  that  I  would  prefer  that 
things  should  take  that  course  ;  and  assuming  the 
issue,  I  began  to  wonder  whether  in  that  event  it 
would  be  necessary  that  Madame  should  know  the 
truth.  I  had  a  kind  of  a  vision  of  a  reformed 
Berault,  dead  to  play  and  purging  himself  at  a 
distance  from  Zaton's,  winning,  perhaps,  a  name 
In  the  Italian  war,  and  finally  —  but,  pshaw !  I 
was  a  fool. 

However,  be  that  as  it  might,  it  was  essential 
that  I  should  see  the  arrest  made ;  and  I  waited 
patiently  while  they  revived  the  tortured  man, 
and  made  their  dispositions.  These  took  some 
time ;  so  that  the  sun  was  down,  and  it  was  grow- 
ing dusk,  when  we  marched  out,  Clon  going  first, 
supported  by  his  two  guards,  the  captain  and  I 
following,  —  abreast,  and  eyeing  one  another  sus- 


CLON.  219 

pidously, — the  lieutenant,  with  the  sergeant  and 
five  troopers,  bringing  up  the  rear.  Clon  moved 
slowly,  moaning  from  time  to  time,  and  but  for 
the  aid  given  him  by  the  two  men  with  him, 
must  have  sunk  down  again  and  again. 

He  went  out  between  two  houses  close  to  the 
inn,  and  struck  a  narrow  track,  scarcely  discern- 
ible, which  ran  benind  other  houses,  and  then 
plunged  into  the  thickest  part  of  the  wood.  A 
single  person,  traversing  the  covert,  might  have 
made  such  a  track  ;  or  pigs,  or  children.  But  it 
was  the  first  idea  that  occurred  to  us,  and  it  put 
us  all  on  the  alert.  The  captain  carried  a  cocked 
pistol,  I  held  my  sword  drawn,  and  kept  a  watch- 
ful eye  on  him ;  and  the  deeper  the  dusk  fell 
in  the  wood,  the  more  cautiously  we  went,  until 
at  last  we  came  out  with  a  sort  of  jump  into  a 
wider  and  lighter  path. 

I  looked  up  and  down  it,  and  saw  before  me 
a  wooden  bridge,  and  an  open  meadow,  lying 
cold  and  grey  in  the  twilight;  and  I  stood  in 
astonishment.  It  was  the  old  path  to  the  Cha- 
teau !  I  shivered  at  the  thought  that  he  was 
going  to  take  us  there,  to  the  house  —  to  Made- 
moiselle ! 


220  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

The  captain  also  recognised  the  place,  and 
swore  aloud.  But  the  dumb  man  went  on  un- 
heeding, until  he  reached  the  wooden  bridge. 
There  he  paused  as  if  in  doubt,  and  looked 
towards  the  dark  outline  of  the  building,  which 
was  just  visible,  one  faint  light  twinkling  sadly  in 
the  west  wing.  As  the  captain  and  I  pressed  up 
behind  him,  he  raised  his  hands  and  seemed  to 
wring  them  towards  the  house. 

"  Have  a  care  !  "  the  captain  growled.  "  Play 
me  no  tricks,  or  —  "  But  he  did  not  finish  the 
sentence ;  for  Clon  turned  back  from  the  bridge, 
and,  entering  the  wood  on  the  left  hand,  began 
to  ascend  the  bank  of  the  stream.  We  had  not 
gone  a  hundred  yards  before  the  ground  grew 
rough,  and  the  undergrowth  thick;  and  yet 
through  all  ran  a  kind  of  path  which  enabled 
us  to  advance,  dark  as  it  was  growing.  Very 
soon  the  bank  on  which  we  moved  began  to 
rise  above  the  water,  and  grew  steep  and  rugged. 
We  turned  a  shoulder,  where  the  stream  swept 
round  a  curve,  and  saw  we  were  in  the  mouth 
of  a  small  ravine,  dark  and  steep-walled.  The 
water  brawled  along  the  bottom,  over  boulders 


CLON.  221 

and  through  chasms.  In  front,  the  slope  on 
which  we  stood  shaped  itself  into  a  low  cliff; 
but  half-way  between  its  summit  and  the  water, 
a  ledge,  or  narrow  terrace,  running  along  the 
face,  was  dimly  visible. 

"  Ten  to  one,  a  cave ! "  the  captain  muttered. 
"It  is  a  likely  place." 

"  And  an  ugly  one  !  "  I  sneered.  "  Which  one 
to  ten  might  safely  hold  for  hours ! " 

"  If  the  ten  had  no  pistols  —  yes !  "  he 
answered  viciously.  "  But  you  see  we  have. 
Is  he  going  that  way?" 

He  was.  "  Lieutenant,"  Larolle  said,  turning 
and  speaking  in  a  low  voice,  though  the  chafing 
of  the  stream  below  us  covered  ordinary  sounds, 
"  shall  we  light  the  lanthorns,  or  press  on  while 
there  is  still  a  glimmering  of  day  ? " 

"  On,  I  should  say,  M.  le  Capitaine,"  the  lieu- 
tenant answered.  "  Prick  him  in  the  back  if  he 
falters.  I  will  warrant  he  has  a  tender  place  or 
two ! "  the  brute  added,  with  a  chuckle. 

The  captain  gave  the  word,  and  we  moved 
forward ;  it  being  very  evident  now  that  the 
cliff-path  was  our  destination.  It  was  possible 


222  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

for  the  eye  to  follow  the  track  all  the  way  to  it 
through  rough  stones  and  brushwood ;  and  though 
Clon  climbed  feebly  and  with  many  groans,  two 
minutes  saw  us  step  on  to  it.  It  did  not  turn 
out  to  be  the  perilous  place  it  looked  at  a  dis- 
tance. The  ledge,  grassy  and  terrace-like,  sloped 
slightly  downwards  and  outwards,  and  in  parts 
was  slippery ;  but  it  was  as  wide  as  a  highway, 
and  the  fall  to  the  water  did  not  exceed  thirty 
feet.  Even  in  such  a  dim  light  as  now  displayed 
it  to  us,  and  by  increasing  the  depth  and  unseen 
dangers  of  the  gorge,  gave  a  kind  of  impressive- 
ness  to  our  movements,  a  nervous  woman  need 
not  have  feared  to  breast  it.  I  wondered  how 
often  Mademoiselle  had  passed  along  it  with  her 
milk-pitcher. 

"  I  think  we  have  him  now !  "  Captain  Larolle 
muttered,  twisting  his  mustachios,  and  looking 
round  to  make  his  last  dispositions.  "  Paul  and 
Lebrun,  see  that  your  man  makes  no  noise.  Ser- 
geant, come  forward  with  your  carbine,  but  do 
not  fire  without  orders.  Now,  silence,  all,  and 
close  up,  Lieutenant.  Forward  !  " 

We  advanced  about  a  hundred  paces,  keeping 


CLON.  223 

the  cliff  on  our  left,  then  turned  a  shoulder,  and 
saw,  a  few  paces  in  front  of  us,  a  black  blotch 
standing  out  from  the  grey  duskiness  of  the  cliff- 
side.  The  prisoner  stopped,  and  raising  his 
bound  hands  pointed  to  it. 

"  There  ? "  the  captain  whispered,  pressing  for- 
ward. "Is  that  the  place?" 

Clon  nodded.  The  captain's  voice  shook  with 
excitement.  "  You  two  remain  here  with  him  !  " 
he  muttered,  in  a  low  tone.  "  Sergeant,  come 
forward  with  me.  Now,  are  you  ready?  For. 
ward ! " 

He  and  the  sergeant  passed  quickly,  one  on 
either  side  of  Clon  and  his  guards.  The  path 
was  narrow  here,  and  the  captain  passed  outside. 
The  eyes  of  all  but  one  were  on  the  black 
blotch,  the  hollow  in  the  cliff-side,  and  no  one 
saw  exactly  what  happened.  But  somehow,  as 
the  captain  passed  abreast  of  him,  the  prisoner 
thrust  back  his  guards,  and  springing  sideways, 
flung  his  unbound  arms  round  Larolle's  body, 
and  in  an  instant  swept  him,  shouting,  to  the 
verge  of  the  precipice. 

It  was  done  in  a  moment.     By  the  time  the 


224  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

lieutenant's  startled  wits  and  eyes  were  back, 
the  two  were  already  tottering  on  the  edge,  look' 
ing  in  the  gloom  like  one  dark  form.  The  ser- 
geant, who  was  the  first  to  find  his  head,  levelled 
his  carbine ;  but  as  the  wrestlers  twirled  and 
twisted,  the  captain  shrieking  out  oaths  and 
threats,  the  mute  silent  as  death,  it  was  impos- 
sible to  see  which  was  which ;  and  the  sergeant 
lowered  his  gun  again,  while  the  men  held  back 
nervously.  The  ledge  sloped  steeply  there ;  the 
edge  was  vague ;  already  the  two  seemed  to  be 
wrestling  in  mid-air,  —  and  the  mute  was  a  man 
beyond  hope  or  fear. 

That  moment  of  hesitation  was  fatal.  Clon's 
long  arms  were  round  the  other's  arms,  crushing 
them  into  his  ribs ;  Clon's  skull-like  face  grinned 
hate  into  the  other's  eyes ;  his  long  limbs  curled 
round  him  like  the  folds  of  a  snake.  Suddenly 
Larolle's  strength  gave  way.  "  Damn  you  all ! 
Why  don't  you  —  Mercy  !  mercy !  "  came  in  a 
last  scream  from  his  lips ;  and  then,  as  the  lieu- 
tenant, taken  aback  before,  sprang  forward  to 
his  aid,  the  two  toppled  over  the  edge,  and  in  a 
second  hurtled  out  of  sight. 


CLON.  225 

"  Mon  Dieu!"  the  lieutenant  cried,  in  horror. 
The  answer  was  a  dull  splash  in  the  depths 
below. 

He  flung  up  his  arms.  "  Water ! "  he  said. 
"  Quick,  men,  get  down  !  We  may  save  him  yet ! 
They  have  fallen  into  water ! " 

But  there  was  no  path,  and  night  was  come, 
and  the  men's  nerves  were  shaken.  The  Ian- 
thorns  had  to  be  lit,  and  the  way  to  be  retraced ; 
and  by  the  time  we  reached  the  dark  pool  which 
lay  below,  the  last  bubbles  were  gone  from  the 
surface,  the  last  ripples  had  beaten  themselves 
out  against  the  banks.  True,  the  pool  still  rocked 
sullenly,  and  the  yellow  light  showed  a  man's 
hat  floating,  and  near  it  a  glove  three  parts 
submerged.  But  that  was  all.  The  mute's  dying 
grip  had  known  no  loosening,  nor  his  hate  any 
fear.  Later,  I  heard  that  when  they  dragged 
the  two  out  next  day,  his  fingers  were  in  the 
other's  eye-sockets,  his  teeth  in  his  throat.  If 
ever  man  found  death  sweet,  it  was  he. 

As  we  turned  slowly  from  the  black  water, 
some  shuddering,  some  crossing  themselves,  the 
lieutenant  looked  vengefully  at  me.  "Curse 

r 


226  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

you !  "  he  said,  in  sudden  fury.  "  I  believe  you 
are  glad !  " 

"  He  deserved  his  fate,"  I  answered  coldly. 
"  Why  should  I  pretend  to  be  sorry  ?  It  was 
now  or  in  three  months.  And  for  the  other  poor 
devil's  sake  I  am  glad." 

He  glared  at  me  a  moment,  in  speechless  anger. 
At  last,  "  I  should  like  to  have  you  tied  up ! " 
he  said,  between  his  teeth. 

"  I  should  have  thought  that  you  had  had 
enough  of  tying  up  for  one  day ! "  I  retorted. 
"  But  there ;  it  comes  of  making  officers  out  of 
the  canaille.  Dogs  love  blood.  The  teamster 
must  still  lash  something,  if  he  can  no  longer 
lash  his  horses." 

We  were  back,  a  sombre  little  procession,  at 
the  wooden  bridge,  when  I  said  this.  He  stopped 
suddenly.  "  Very  well,"  he  replied,  nodding 
viciously,  "  That  decides  me.  Sergeant,  light 
me  this  way  with  a  lanthorn.  The  rest  of  you 
to  the  village.  Now,  Master  Spy,"  he  continued, 
glancing  at  me  with  gloomy  spite,  "  your  road  is 
my  road.  I  think  I  know  how  to  cook  your  goose." 

I   shrugged   my  shoulders   in   disdain,  and   to- 


CLOW.  227 

gether,  the  sergeant  leading  the  way  with  the 
light,  we  crossed  the  meadow,  and  passed  through 
the  gate  where  Mademoiselle  had  kissed  my 
hand,  and  up  the  ghostly  walk  between  the  rose- 
bushes. I  wondered  uneasily  what  the  lieu- 
tenant would  be  at,  and  what  he  intended ;  but 
the  lanthorn  light  which  now  fell  on  the  ground 
at  our  feet,  and  now  showed  one  of  us  to  the 
other,  high-lit  in  a  frame  of  blackness,  discov- 
ered nothing  in  his  grizzled  face  but  settled  hos- 
tility. He  wheeled  at  the  end  of  the  walk  to 
go  to  the  main  door;  but  as  he  did  so,  I  saw 
the  flutter  of  a  white  skirt  by  the  stone  seat 
against  the  house,  and  I  stepped  that  way. 
"  Mademoiselle,"  I  said  softly,  "  is  it  you  ? " 

"  Clon  ? "  she  muttered,  her  voice  quivering. 
"What  of  him?" 

"  He  is  past  pain,"  I  answered  gently.  "  He 
is  dead,  but  in  his  own  way.  Take  comfort, 
Mademoiselle."  And  then  before  I  could  say 
more,  the  lieutenant  with  his  sergeant  and  light 
were  at  my  elbow.  He  saluted  Mademoiselle 
roughly.  She  looked  at  him  with  shuddering 
abhorrence. 


228  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

"  Are  you  come  to  flog  me,  Sir  ? "  she  said 
icily.  "  Is  it  not  enough  that  you  have  murdered 
my  servant  ? " 

"  On  the  contrary,  it  was  he  killed  my  captain," 
the  lieutenant  answered,  in  another  tone  than 
I  had  expected.  "  If  your  servant  is  dead,  so 
is  my  comrade." 

She  looked  with  startled  eyes,  not  at  him,  but 
at  me.  "What!  Captain  Larolle  ?"  she  muttered. 

I  nodded. 

"  How  ?  "    she  asked. 

"  Clon  flung  the  captain  and  himself  into  the 
river-pool,"  I  explained,  in  a  low  voice.  "  The 
pool  above  the  bridge." 

She  uttered  an  exclamation  of  awe,  and  stood 
silent.  But  her  lips  moved ;  I  think  she  was 
praying  for  Clon,  though  she  was  a  Huguenot. 
Meanwhile  I  had  a  fright.  The  lanthorn,  swing- 
ing in  the  sergeant's  hand,  and  now  throwing  its 
smoky  light  on  the  stone  seat,  now  on  the  rough 
wall  above  it,  showed  me  something  else.  On 
the  seat,  doubtless  where  Mademoiselle's  hand 
had  lain,  as  she  sat  in  the  dark,  listening  and 
watching,  stood  a  pitcher  of  food.  Beside  her,  in 


CLON.  229 

that  place,  it  was  damning  evidence.  I  trembled 
lest  the  lieutenant's  eye  should  fall  upon  it, 
lest  the  sergeant  should  see  it;  I  thought  what 
I  could  do  to  hide  it;  and  then  in  a  moment 
I  forgot  all  about  it.  The  lieutenant  was  speak- 
ing, and  his  voice  was  like  doom.  My  throat 
grew  dry  as  I  listened.  My  tongue  stuck  to  my 
mouth;  I  tried  to  look  at  Mademoiselle,  but  I 
could  not. 

"  It  is  true,  the  captain  is  gone,"  he  said  stiffly. 
"  But  others  are  alive,  and  about  one  of  them,  a 
word  with  you,  —  by  your  leave,  Mademoiselle. 
I  have  listened  to  a  good  deal  of  talk  from  this 
fine  gentleman  friend  of  yours.  He  has  spent 
the  last  twenty-four  hours  saying,  '  You  shall ! ' 
and  '  You  shall  not ! '  He  came  from  you,  and 
took  a  very  high  tone  because  we  laid  a  little 
whip-lash  about  that  dumb  devil  of  yours.  He 
called  us  brutes  and  beasts,  and  but  for  him 
I  am  not  sure  that  my  friend  would  not  be 
alive.  But  when  he  said  a  few  minutes  ago 
that  he  was  glad, — glad  of  it,  damn  him  !  — then 
I  fixed  it  in  my  mind  that  I  would  be  even  with 
him.  And  I  am  going  to  be !  " 


230  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  Mademoiselle  asked, 
wearily  interrupting  him.  "  If  you  think  you 
can  prejudice  me  against  that  gentleman  —  " 

"  That  is  precisely  what  I  do  think !  And  I 
am  going  to  do  it.  And  a  little  more  than 
that !  " 

"You  will  be. only  wasting  your  breath!"  she 
answered  proudly. 

"  Wait !  wait,  Mademoiselle,  until  you  have 
heard ! "  he  said.  "  If  ever  a  black-hearted 
scoundrel,  a  dastardly,  sneaking  spy,  trod  the 
earth,  it  is  this  fellow !  This  friend  of  yours ! 
And  I  am  going  to  expose  him.  Your  own  eyes 
and  your  own  ears  shall  persuade  you.  Why, 
I  would  not  eat,  I  would  not  drink,  I  would  not 
sit  down  with  him !  I  would  not !  I  would 
rather  be  beholden  to  the  meanest  trooper  in 
my  squadron  than  to  him !  Ay,  I  would,  so 
help  me  Heaven !  "  And  the  lieutenant,  turning 
squarely  on  his  heels,  spat  on  the  ground. 


CHAPTER   X. 

THE    ARREST. 

So  it  had  come !  And  come  in  such  a  fashion 
that  I  saw  no  way  of  escape.  The  sergeant  was 
between  us,  and  I  could  not  strike  him.  And 
I  found  no  words.  A  score  of  times  I  had 
thought  with  shrinking  how  I  should  reveal  my 
secret  to  Mademoiselle,  what  I  should  say,  and 
how  she  would  take  it.  But  in  my  mind  it  had 
always  been  a  voluntary  act,  this  disclosure.  It 
had  been  always  I  who  had  unmasked  myself, 
and  she  who  listened  —  alone ;  and  in  this  volun- 
tariness  and  this  privacy  there  had  been  some- 
thing which  seemed  to  take  from  the  shame 
of  anticipation.  But  here  —  here  was  no  volun- 
tary act  on  my  part,  no  privacy,  nothing  but 
shame.  I  stood  mute,  convicted,  speechless  — 
like  the  thing  I  was. 

Vet  if  anything  could  have  braced  me,  it  was 
231 


232  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

Mademoiselle's  voice,  when  she  answered  him. 
"  Go  on,  Monsieur,"  she  said,  with  the  perfect 
calmness  of  scorn.  "You  will  have  done  the 
sooner." 

"  You  do  not  believe  me  ?  "  he  replied  hotly. 
"  Then,  I  say,  look  at  him !  Look  at  him !  If 
ever  shame  —  " 

"  Monsieur  !  "  she  said  abruptly  —  she  did  not 
look  at  me.  "  I  am  ashamed  myself !  " 

"  Why,  his  very  name  is  not  his  own  !  "  the 
lieutenant  rejoined  jerkily.  "  He  is  no  Barthe  at 
all.  He  is  Berault  the  gambler,  the  duellist,  the 
bully  —  " 

Again  she  interrupted  him.  "  I  know  it,"  she 
said  coldly.  "  I  know  it  all.  And  if  you  have 
nothing  more  to  tell  me,  go,  Monsieur.  Go ! " 
she  continued,  in  a  tone  of  infinite  scorn. 
"  Enough  that  you  have  earned  my  contempt  as 
well  as  my  abhorrence  !  " 

He  looked  for  a  moment  taken  aback.  Then, 
"  Ay,  but  I  have  more ! "  he  cried,  his  voice 
stubbornly  triumphant.  "  I  forgot  that  you  would 
think  little  of  that !  I  forgot  that  a  swordsman 
has  always  the  ladies'  hearts.  But  I  have  more. 


THE  ARREST.  233 

Do  you  knoiv,  too,  that  he  is  in  the  Cardinal's 
pay  ?  Do  you  know  that  he  is  here  on  the 
same  errand  which  brings  us  here,  —  to  arrest 
M.  de  Cocheforet  ?  Do  you  know  that  while  we 
go  about  the  business  openly  and  in  soldier 
fashion,  it  is  his  part  to  worm  himself  into  your 
confidence,  to  sneak  into  Madame's  intimacy,  to 
listen  at  your  door,  to  follow  your  footsteps,  to 
hang  on  your  lips,  to  track  you  —  track  you 
until  you  betray  yourselves  and  the  man  ?  Do 
you  know  this,  and  that  all  his  sympathy  is  a 
lie,  Mademoiselle  ?  His  help,  so  much  bait  to 
catch  the  secret  ?  His  aim,  blood-money  —  blood- 
money  ?  Why,  morbleu!"  the  lieutenant  con- 
tinued, pointing  his  finger  at  me,  and  so  carried 
away  by  passion,  so  lifted  out  of  himself  by 
wrath  and  indignation,  that  in  spite  of  myself 
I  shrank  before  him,  —  "  you  talk,  lady,  of  con- 
tempt and  abhorrence  in  the  same  breath  with 
me !  But  what  have  you  for  him  ?  What  have 
you  for  him,  the  spy,  the  informer,  the  hired 
traitor?  And  if  you  doubt,  if  you  want  evi- 
dence, look  at  him.  Only  look  at  him,  I  say!' 
And  he  might  well  say  it !  For  I  stood  silent 


234  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

still ;  cowering  and  despairing,  white  with  rage 
and  hate.  But  Mademoiselle  did  not  look.  She 
gazed  straight  at  the  lieutenant.  "  Have  you 
done  ?  "  she  said. 

"  Done  ?  "  he  stammered.  Her  words,  her  air, 
brought  him  to  earth  again.  "  Done  ?  Yes,  if 
you  believe  me." 

"  I  do  not,"  she  answered  proudly.  "  If  that  be 
all,  be  satisfied,  Monsieur.  I  do  not  believe  you." 

"Then  tell  me,"  he  retorted,  after  a  moment  of 
stunned  surprise,  "  why,  if  he  was  not  on  our 
side,  do  you  think  we  let  him  remain  here  ? 
Why  did  we  suffer  him  to  stay  in  a  suspected 
house  bullying  us,  and  taking  your  part  from 
hour  to  hour  ?  " 

"  He  has  a  sword,  Monsieur,"  she  answered, 
with  fine  contempt. 

"  Mille  diables  !  "  he  cried,  snapping  his  fingers 
in  a  rage.  "  That  for  his  sword !  No.  It  was 
because  he  held  the  Cardinal's  commission ;  be- 
cause he  had  equal  authority  with  us ;  because 
we  had  no  choice." 

"And  that  being  so,  Monsieur,  why  are  you 
now  betraying  him  ? "  she  asked  keenly. 


THE  ARREST.  23$ 

He  swore  at  that,  feeling  the  stroke  go  home. 
"You  must  be  mad,"  he  said,  glaring  at  her. 
•'  Mad,  if  you  cannot  see  that  the  man  is  what 
I  tell  you  he  is.  Look  at  him !  Listen  to  him  \ 
Has  he  a  word  to  say  for  himself  ? " 

Still  she  did  not  look.  "It  is  late,"  she 
replied,  coldly  and  irrelevantly.  "  And  I  am 
not  very  well.  If  you  have  quite  done,  perhaps 
you  will  leave  me,  Monsieur." 

"  Mon  Dieu  / "  he  exclaimed,  shrugging  his 
shoulders ;  "  you  are  mad !  I  have  told  you  the 
truth,  and  you  will  not  believe  it.  Well,  on 
your  head  be  it  then,  Mademoiselle.  I  have  no 
more  to  say.  But  you  will  see." 

He  looked  at  her  for  a  moment  as  if  he 
thought  that  she  might  still  give  way;  then  he 
saluted  her  roughly,  gave  the  word  to  the  ser- 
geant, turned,  and  went  down  the  path.  The 
sergeant  went  after  him,  the  lanthorn  swaying 
in  his  hand.  We  two  were  left  alone  in  the 
gloom.  The  frogs  were  croaking  in  the  pool; 
the  house,  the  garden,  the  wood,  —  all  lay  quiet 
under  the  darkness,  as  on  the  night  when  I 
first  came  to  the  Chateau. 


236  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

And  would  to  Heaven  I  had  never  come  I 
That  was  the  cry  in  my  heart.  Would  to  Heaven 
I  had  never  seen  this  woman,  whose  nobility 
and  faith  and  singleness  were  a  continual 
shame  to  me ;  a  reproach,  branding  me  every 
hour  I  stood  in  her  presence,  with  all  vile  and 
hateful  names.  The  man  just  gone,  coarse,  low- 
bred, brutal  soldier  as  he  was,  man-flogger,  and 
drilling-block,  had  yet  found  heart  to  feel  my 
baseness,  and  words  in  which  to  denounce  it 
What,  then,  would  she  say  when  the  truth  some 
day  came  home  to  her?  What  shape  should  I 
take  in  her  eyes  then  ?  How  should  I  be  remem- 
bered through  all  the  years  —  then  ? 

Then  ?  But  now  ?  What  was  she  thinking, 
now,  as  she  stood,  silent  and  absorbed,  by  the 
stone  seat,  a  shadowy  figure  with  face  turned 
from  me  ?  Was  she  recalling  the  man's  words, 
fitting  them  to  the  facts  and  the  past,  adding 
this  and  that  circumstance  ?  Was  she,  though 
she  had  rebuffed  him  in  the  body,  collating,  now 
he  was  gone,  all  he  had  said,  and  out  of  these 
scraps  piecing  together  the  damning  truth  ? 
The  thought  ,t  irtured  me.  I  could  brook  un~ 


THE  ARREST. 


certainty  no  longer.  I  went  nearer  to  her  and 
touched  her  sleeve.  "  Mademoiselle,"  I  said,  in 
a  voice  which  sounded  hoarse  and  forced  even 
in  my  own  ears,  "  do  you  believe  this  of  me  ?  " 

She  started  violently  and  turned.  "  Pardon, 
Monsieur,"  she  answered.  "  I  had  forgotten 
that  you  were  here.  Do  I  believe  —  what?" 

"What  that  man  said  of  me,"  I  muttered. 

"  That  !  "  she  exclaimed  ;  and  she  stood  a 
moment  gazing  at  me  in  a  strange  fashion. 
"  Do  I  believe  what  he  said,  Monsieur  !  But 
come,  come,"  she  continued,  "and  I  will  show 
you  if  I  believe  it.  But  not  here." 

She  led  the  way  on  the  instant  into  the  house, 
going  in  through  the  parlour  door,  which  stood 
half  open.  The  room  inside  was  pitch  dark, 
but  she  took  me  fearlessly  by  the  hand,  and  led 
me  quickly  through  it,  and  along  the  passage, 
until  we  came  to  the  cheerful  lighted  hall,  where 
a  great  fire  burned  on  the  hearth.  All  traces 
of  the  soldiers'  occupation  had  been  swept  away. 
But  the  room  was  empty. 

She  led  me  to  the  fire,  and  there,  in  the  full 
light,  no  longer  a  shadowy  creature,  but  red- 


238  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

lipped,  brilliant,  throbbing  with  life,  she  stood 
opposite  me,  her  eyes  shining,  her  colour  high, 
her  breast  heaving.  "  Do  I  believe  it  ?  "  she  said. 
"  I  will  tell  you.  M.  de  Cocheforet's  hiding-place 
is  in  the  hut  behind  the  fern-stack,  two  furlongs 
beyond  the  village,  on  the  road  to  Auch.  You 
know  now  what  no  one  else  knows,  he  and  I  and 
Madame  excepted.  You  hold  in  your  hands  his 
life  and  my  honour ;  and  you  know  also,  M.  de 
Berault,  whether  I  believed  that  tale." 

"  My  God ! "  I  cried.  And  I  stood  looking 
at  her,  until  something  of  the  horror  in  my  eyes 
crept  into  hers,  and  she  shuddered  and  stepped 
back. 

"What  is  it?  What  is  it?"  she  whispered, 
clasping  her  hands.  And  with  all  the  colour 
gone  from  her  cheeks  she  peered  trembling  into 
the  corners  and  towards  the  door.  "  There  is 
no  one  here.  Is  there  any  one  —  listening?" 

I  forced  myself  to  speak,  though  I  shook  all 
over,  like  a  man  in  an  ague.  "  No,  Mademoiselle, 
there  is  no  one  here,"  I  muttered.  And  then  I 
let  my  head  fall  on  my  breast,  and  I  stood  before 
her,  the  statue  of  despair.  Had  she  felt  a 


THE  ARREST.  239 

grain  of  suspicion,  a  grain  of  doubt,  my  bearing 
must  have  opened  her  eyes.  But  her  mind  was 
cast  in  so  noble  a  mould,  that  having  once 
thought  ill  of  me  and  been  converted,  she  could 
feel  no  doubt  again.  It  was  her  nature  to  trust 
all  in  all.  So,  a  little  recovered  from  her  fright, 
she  stood  looking  at  me  in  great  wonder ;  and 
at  last  she  had  a  thought. 

"You  are  not  well?"  she  said  suddenly.-  "It 
is  your  old  wound,  Monsieur." 

"  Yes,  Mademoiselle,"  I  muttered  faintly.  "  It 
is  my  old  wound." 

"  I  will  call  Clon ! "  she  cried  impetuously. 
And  then,  with  a  sob,  "  Ah. !  poor  Clon !  He 
is  gone.  But  there  is  Louis.  I  will  call  him, 
and  he  will  get  you  something." 

She  was  gone  from  the  room  before  I  could 
stop  her;  and  I  was  left  leaning  against  the 
table,  possessor  at  last  of  the  great  secret  which 
I  had  come  so  far  to  win.  Possessor  of  that 
secret,  and  able  in  a  momen'  to  open  the  door, 
and  go  out  into  the  night,  and  make  use  of  it  — 
and  yet  the  most  unhappy  of  men.  The  sweat 
stood  on  my  brow,  my  eyes  wandered  round  the 


240  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

room ;  I  even  turned  towards  the  door,  with  some 
mad  thought  of  flight  —  flight  from  her,  from 
the  house,  from  everything.  And  God  knows 
if  I  might  not  have  chosen  that  course ;  for  I  still 
stood  doubting,  when  on  the  door,  that  door, 
there  came  a  sudden  hurried  knocking  which 
jarred  every  nerve  in  my  body.  I  started.  I 
stood  in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  gazing  at  the 
door,  as  at  a  ghost.  Then  glad  of  action,  glad 
of  anything  that  might  relieve  the  tension  of 
my  feelings,  I  strode  to  it,  and  pulled  it  sharply 
open. 

On  the  threshold,  his  flushed  face  lit  up  by 
the  light  behind  me,  stood  one  of  the  knaves  I 
had  brought  with  me  to  Auch.  He  had  been 
running,  and  panted  heavily,  but  he  had  kept  his 
wits.  He  grasped  my  sleeve  instantly.  "  Ah ! 
Monsieur,  the  very  man ! "  he  cried,  tugging  at 
me.  "  Quick !  come  this  instant,  and  you  may  yet 
be  first.  They  have  the  secret.  They  have 
found  Monsieur." 

"Found  whom?'  I  echoed.  "  M.  de  Coche- 
foret?" 

"  No ;    but   the  place   where   he   lies.     It  was 


THE  ARREST.  241 

found  by  accident.  The  lieutenant  was  gather- 
ing his  men  to  go  to  it  when  I  came  away. 
If  we  are  quick,  we  may  be  there  first" 

"  But  the  place  ?  "    I  said. 

"  I  could  not  hear  where  it  was,"  he  answered 
bluntly.  "We  can  hang  on  their  skirts,  and  at 
the  last  moment  strike  in." 

The  pair  of  pistols  I  had  taken  from  the 
shock-headed  man  lay  on  a  chest  by  the  door. 
I  snatched  them  up,  and  my  hat,  and  joined  him 
without  another  word ;  and  in  a  moment  we  were 
running  down  the  garden.  I  looked  back  once 
before  we  passed  the  gate,  and  I  saw  the  light 
streaming  out  through  the  door  which  I  had 
left  open ;  and  I  fancied  that  for  an  instant  a 
figure  darkened  the  gap.  But  the  fancy  only 
strengthened  the  one  single  iron  purpose  which 
had  taken  possession  of  me  and  all  my  thoughts. 
I  must  be  first.  I  must  anticipate  the  lieu- 
tenant, and  make  the  arrest  myself.  I  ran  on 
only  the  faster. 

We  seemed  to  be  across  the  meadow  and  in 
the  wood  in  a  moment.  There,  instead  of  keep- 
ing along  the  common  path,  I  boldly  singled  out 


242  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

—  my  senses  seemed  preternaturally  keen  —  the 
smaller  track  by  which  Clon  had  brought  us,  and 
ran  unfaltering  along  it,  avoiding  logs  and  pitfalls 
as  by  instinct,  and  following  all  its  turns  and 
twists,  until  it  brought  us  to  the  back  of  the  inn, 
and  we  could  hear  the  murmur  of  subdued  voices 
in  the  village  street,  the  sharp  low  words  of  com- 
mand, and  even  the  clink  of  weapons ;  and  could 
see,  above  and  between  the  houses,  the  dull  glare 
of  lanthorns  and  torches. 

I  grasped  my  man's  arm  and  crouched  down, 
listening.  "  Where  is  your  mate  ?  "  I  said,  in  his 
ear. 

"With  them,"  he  muttered. 

"Then  come,"  I  whispered,  rising.  "I  have 
seen  enough.  Let  us  go." 

But  he  caught  me  by  the  arm  and  detained 
me.  "  You  don't  know  the  way ! "  he  hissed. 
"  Steady,  steady,  Monsieur.  You  go  too  fast. 
They  are  just  moving.  Let  us  join  them,  and 
strike  in  when  the  time  comes.  We  must  let 
them  guide  us." 

"  Fool ! "  I  said,  shaking  off  his  hand.  "  1 
tell  you,  I  know  where  he  is !  I  know  where 


THE  ARREST.  243 

they  are  going.  Come ;  lose  not  a  moment,  and 
we  will  pluck  the  fruit  while  they  are  on  the 
road  to  it." 

His  only  answer  was  an  exclamation  of  sur- 
prise; at  that  moment  the  lights  began  to  move. 
The  lieutenant  was  starting.  The  moon  was  not 
yet  up  ;  the  sky  was  grey  and  cloudy  ;  to  advance 
where  we  were  was  to  step  into  a  wall  of  black- 
ness. But  we  had  lost  too  much  time  already, 
and  I  did  not  hesitate.  Bidding  my  companion 
follow  me,  and  use  his  legs,  I  sprang  through 
a  low  fence  which  rose  before  us,  and  stumbling 
blindly  over  some  broken  ground  in  the  rear  of 
the  houses,  came,  with  a  fall  or  two,  *t>  a  little 
watercourse  with  steep  sides.  Through  this  I 
plunged  recklessly,  and  up  the  farther  side,  and, 
breathless  and  panting,  gained  the  road  just  be- 
yond the  village,  and  fifty  yards  in  advance  of 
the  lieutenant's  troop. 

They  had  only  two  lanthorns  burning  now,  and 
we  were  beyond  the  circle  of  light  these  cast ; 
while  the  steady  tramp  of  so  many  footsteps 
covered  the  noise  we  made.  We  were  unnoticed. 
In  a  twinkling  we  turned  our  backs,  and  as  fast 

B    ? 


244  UNDER    THE  RED  ROBE. 

as  we  could  ran  down  the  road.  Fortunately, 
they  were  thinking  more  of  secrecy  than  speed, 
and  in  a  minute  we  had  doubled  the  distance 
between  us ;  in  two  minutes  their  lights  were 
mere  sparks  shining  in  the  gloom  behind  us.  We 
lost,  at  last,  even  the  tramp  of  their  feet.  Then 
I  began  to  look  out  and  go  more  slowly ;  peering 
into  the  shadows  on  either  side  for  the  fern-stack. 

On  one  hand  the  hill  rose  steeply;  on  the 
other  it  fell  away  to  the  stream.  On  neither  side 
was  close  wood,  —  or  my  difficulties  had  been  im- 
mensely increased,  —  but  scattered  oak-trees  stood 
here  and  there  among  gorse  and  bracken.  This 
helped  me,  and  in  a  moment,  on  the  upper  side,  I 
came  upon  the  dense  substance  of  the  stack  loom- 
ing black  against  the  lighter  hill. 

My  heart  beat  fast,  but  it  was  no  time  for 
thought.  Bidding  the  man  in  a  whisper  to  follow 
me  and  be  ready  to  back  me  up,  I  climbed  the 
bank  softly,  and  with  a  pistol  in  my  hand,  felt 
my  way  to  the  rear  of  the  stack ;  thinking  to  find 
a  hut  there,  set  against  the  fern,  and  M.  de  Coche- 
fordt  in  it.  But  I  found  no  hut.  There  was 
none;  and  all  was  so  dark  that  it  came  upon  r\e 


THE  ARREST.  245 

suddenly  as  I  stood  between  the  hill  and  the  stack 
that  I  had  undertaken  a  very  difficult  thing.  The 
hut  behind  the  fern-stack  ?  But  how  far  behind  ? 
How  far  from  it?  The  dark  slope  stretched 
above  us,  infinite,  immeasurable,  shrouded  in  night. 
To  begin  to  climb  it  in  search  of  a  tiny  hut, 
probably  well-hidden  and  hard  to  find  in  day- 
light, seemed  a  task  as  impossible  as  to  meet 
with  the  needle  in  the  hay!  And  now,  while  I 
stood,  chilled  and  doubting,  the  steps  of  the 
troop  in  the  road  began  to  grow  audible,  began 
to  come  nearer. 

"  Well,  M.  le  Capitaine  ? "  the  man  beside  me 
muttered  —  in  wonder  why  I  stood.  "  Which 
way  ?  Or  they  will  be  before  us  yet." 

I  tried  to  think,  to  reason  it  out;  to  consider 
where  the  hut  would  be ;  while  the  wind  sighed 
through  the  oaks,  and  here  and  there  I  could 
hear  an  acorn  fall.  But  the  thing  pressed  too 
close  on  me :  my  thoughts  would  not  be  hur- 
ried, and  at  last  I  said  at  a  venture,  "  Up  the 
hill!  Straight  from  the  stack." 

He  did  not  demur,  and  we  plunged  at  the 
ascent,  knee  deep  in  bracken  and  furze,  sweat- 


246  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

ing  at  every  pore  with  our  exertions,  and  hearing 
the  troop  come  every  moment  nearer  on  the 
road  below.  Doubtless  they  knew  exactly  whither 
to  go !  Forced  to  stop  and  take  breath  when 
we  had  scrambled  up  fifty  yards  or  so,  I  saw 
their  lanthorns  shining  like  moving  glow-worms ; 
and  could  even  hear  the  clink  of  steel.  For  all 
I  could  tell,  the  hut  might  be  down  there,  and 
we  two  be  moving  from  it!  But  it  was  too  late 
to  go  back  now ;  they  were  close  to  the  fern- 
stack  :  and  in  despair  I  turned  to  the  hill  again. 
A  dozen  steps,  and  I  stumbled.  I  rose  and 
plunged  on  again ;  again  I  stumbled.  Then  I 
found  that  I  was  no  longer  ascending.  I  was 
treading  level  earth.  And  —  was  it  water  I  saw 
before  me,  below  me,  a  little  in  front  of  my  feet, 
or  some  mirage  of  the  sky  ? 

Neither ;  and  I  gripped  my  fellow's  arm,  as  he 
came  abreast  of  me,  and  stopped  him  sharply. 
Below  us,  in  the  centre  of  a  steep  hollow,  a  pit 
in  the  hill-side,  a  light  shone  out  through  some 
aperture  and  quivered  on  the  mist,  like  the  pale 
lamp  of  a  moorland  hobgoblin.  It  made  itself 
visible,  displaying  nothing  else ;  a  wisp  of  light 
in  the  bottom  of  a  bla^k  bowl. 


THE  ARREST.  247 

Yet  my  spirits  rose  with  a  great  bound  at  sight 
of  it,  for  I  knew  that  I  had  stumbled  on  the  place 
I  sought.  In  the  common  run  of  things  I  should 
have  weighed  my  next  step  carefully,  and  gone 
about  it  slowly.  But  here  was  no  place  for 
thought,  nor  room  for  delay,  and  I  slid  down 
the  side  of  the  hollow,  and  the  moment  my  feet 
touched  the  bottom,  sprang  to  the  door  of  the 
little  hut  whence  the  light  issued.  A  stone 
turned  under  my  foot  in  my  rush,  and  I  fell  on  my 
knees  on  the  threshold ;  but  the  fall  only  brought 
'ny  face  to  a  level  with  the  startled  eyes  of  the 
man  who  lay  inside  on  a  bed  of  fern.  He  had 
been  reading.  At  the  sound  I  made  he  dropped 
his  book,  and  stretched  out  his  hand  for  a 
weapon.  But  the  muzzle  of  my  pistol  covered 
him  before  he  could  reach  his;  he  was  not  in  a 
posture  from  which  he  could  spring,  and  at  a 
sharp  word  from  me  he  dropped  his  hand.  The 
tigerish  glare  which  had  flickered  for  an  instant 
in  his  eyes,  gave  place  to  a  languid  smile ;  and 
he  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "Eh,  bien?"  he 
said,  with  marvellous  composure.  "Taken  at 
last!  Well,  I  was  tired  of  it." 


248  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

"  You  are  my  prisoner,  M.  de  Cocheforet,"  I 
answered. 

"  It  seems  so,"  he  said. 

"  Move  a  hand,  and  I  kill  you,"  I  answered. 
"  But  you  have  still  a  choice." 

"  Truly  ? "  he  said,  raising  his  eyebrows. 

"Yes.  My  orders  are  to  take  you  to  Paris 
alive  or  dead.  Give  me  your  parole  that  you 
will  make  no  attempt  to  escape,  and  you  shall 
go  thither  at  your  ease  and  as  a  gentleman. 
Refuse,  and  I  shall  disarm  and  bind  you,  and 
you  will  go  as  a  prisoner." 

"  What  force  have  you  ? "  he  asked  curtly. 
He  had  not  moved.  He  still  lay  on  his  elbow, 
his  cloak  covering  him,  the  little  Marot  in  which 
he  had  been  reading  close  to  his  hand.  But  his 
quick,  black  eyes,  which  looked  the  keener  for 
the  pallor  and  thinness  of  his  face,  roved  cease- 
lessly over  me,  probed  the  darkness  behind  me, 
took  note  of  everything. 

"  Enough  to  compel  you,  Monsieur,"  I  replied 
sternly.  "  But  that  is  not  all.  There  are  thirty 
dragoons  coming  up  the  hill  to  secure  you,  and 
they  will  make  you  no  such  offer.  Surrender 


THE  ARREST.  249 

to  me  before  they  come  and  give  me  your  parole, 
and  I  will  do  all  for  your  comfort.  Delay,  and 
you  will  fall  into  their  hands.  There  can  be 
no  escape." 

"You  will  take  my  word,"  he  said  slowly. 

"  Give  it,  and  you  may  keep  your  pistols,  M.  de 
Cocheforet,"  I  replied. 

"  Tell  me  at  least  that  you  are  not  alone." 

"  I  am  not  alone." 

"  Then  I  give  it,"  he  said,  with  a  sigh.  "  And 
for  Heaven's  sake  get  me  something  to  eat  and 
a  bed.  I  am  tired  of  this  pig-sty  —  and  this  life 
Arnidieu  !  it  is  a  fortnight  since  I  slept  between 
sheets." 

"  You  shall  sleep  to-night  in  your  own  house 
if  you  please,"  I  answered  hurriedly.  "  But 
here  they  come.  Be  good  enough  to  stay  where 
you  are  a  moment,  and  I  will  meet  them." 

I  stepped  out  into  the  darkness,  in  the  nick 
of  time.  The  lieutenant,  after  posting  his  men 
round  the  hollow,  had  just  slid  down  with  a 
couple  of  sergeants  to  make  the  arrest.  The 
place  round  the  open  door  was  pitch  dark. 
He  had  not  espied  my  knave,  who  had  lodged 


250  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

himself  in  the  deepest  shadow  of  the  hut;  and 
when  he  saw  me  come  out  across  the  light,  he 
took  me  for  Cocheforet  In  a  twinkling  he 
thrust  a  pistol  into  my  face,  and  cried  trium- 
phantly, "  You  are  my  prisoner !  "  At  the  same 
instant  one  of  the  sergeants  raised  a  lanthorn 
and  threw  its  light  into  my  eyes. 

"  What  folly  is  this  ?  "  I  said  savagely. 

The  lieutenant's  jaw  fell,  and  he  stood  for 
half  a  minute,  paralyzed  with  astonishment. 
Less  than  an  hour  before  he  had  left  me  at 
the  Chateau.  Thence  he  had  come  hither  with 
the  briefest  delay ;  and  yet  he  found  me  here  be- 
fore him  !  He  swore  fearfully,  his  face  dark,  his 
mustachios  stiff  with  rage.  "  What  is  this  ?  What 
is  it?"  he  cried  at  last.  "Where  is  the  man?" 

"  What  man  ?  "  I  said. 

"  This  Cocheforet !  "  he  roared,  carried  away 
by  his  passion.  "  Don't  lie  to  me !  He  is  here, 
and  I  will  have  him !  " 

"You  will  not.  You  are  too  late!"  I  said, 
watching  him  heedfully.  "  M.  de  Cocheforet  is 
here,  but  he  has  already  surrendered  to  me,  and 
he  is  my  prisoner." 


THE  ARREST.  25 1 

"  Your  prisoner  ? " 

"  Yes,  my  prisoner !  "  I  answered  facing  the 
man  with  all  the  harshness  I  could  muster.  "  I 
have  arrested  him  by  virtue  of  the  Cardinal's 
special  commission  granted  to  me.  And  by 
virtue  of  the  same  I  shall  keep  him  !  " 

He  glared  at  me  for  a  moment  in  utter  rage 
and  perplexity.  Then  on  a  sudden  I  saw  his  face 
lighten.  "  It  is  a  d — d  ruse  !  "  he  shouted,  bran- 
dishing his  pistol  like  a  madman.  "  It  is  a  cheat 
and  a  fraud  !  And  by  G — d  you  have  no  commis- 
sion !  I  see  through  it !  I  see  through  it  all ! 
You  have  come  here,  and  you  have  hocussed  us ! 
You  are  of  their  side,  and  this  is  your  last  shift 
to  save  him  !  " 

"  What  folly  is  this  ? "    I  exclaimed. 

"  No  folly  at  all ! "  he  answered,  conviction  in 
his  tone.  "  You  have  played  upon  us !  You 
have  fooled  us !  But  I  see  through  it  now ! 
An  hour  ago  I  exposed  you  to  that  fine  Madame 
at  the  house  there,  and  I  thought  it  a  marvel 
that  she  did  not  believe  me.  I  thought  it  a 
marvel  that  she  did  not  see  through  you,  when 
you  stood  there  before  her,  confounded,  tongue- 


2$2  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

tied,  a  rogue  convicted !  But  I  understand  it 

now.  She  knew  you  !  By ,  she  knew  you ! 

She  was  in  the  plot,  and  you  were  in  the  plot; 
and  I,  who  thought  I  was  opening  her  eyes, 
was  the  only  one  fooled !  But  it  is  my  turn 
now.  You  have  played  a  bold  part,  and  a  clever 
one,  and  I  congratulate  you !  But,"  he  continued, 
a  sinister  light  in  his  little  eyes,  "it  is  at  an 
end  now,  Monsieur !  You  took  us  in  finely  with 
your  tale  of  Monseigneur,  and  his  commission, 
and  your  commission,  and  the  rest.  But  I  am 
not  to  be  blinded  any  longer,  or  bullied !  You 
have  arrested  him,  have  you  ?  You  have  arrested 
him !  Well,  by  G — d,  I  shall  arrest  him,  and  I 
shall  arrest  you  too !  " 

"You  are  mad!"  I  said,  staggered  as  much 
by  this  new  view  of  the  matter  as  by  his  perfect 
conviction  of  its  truth.  "Mad,  Lieutenant!" 

"  I  was  !  "  he  snarled  drily.  "But  I  am  sane 
now.  I  was  mad  when  you  imposed  upon  us  ; 
when  you  persuaded  me  that  you  were  fooling  the 
women  to  get  the  secret  out  of  them,  while  all 
the  time  you  were  sheltering  them,  protecting 
them,  aiding  them,  and  hiding  him — then  I  was 


THE  ARREST.  253 

mad  !  But  not  now.  However,  I  ask  your  par- 
don, M.  de  Barthe,  or  M.  de  Berault,  or  whatever 
your  name  really  is.  I  ask  your  pardon.  I 
thought  you  the  cleverest  sneak  and  the  dirtiest 
hound  heaven  ever  made,  or  hell  refused !  I  find 
that  you  were  cleverer  than  I  thought,  and  an 
honest  traitor.  Your  pardon." 

One  of  the  men  who  stood  about  the  rim  of 
the  bowl  above  us  laughed.  I  looked  at  the 
lieutenant,  and  could  willingly  have  killed  him. 
"  Mon  Dieu  !  "  I  said,  so  furious  in  my  turn  that 
I  could  scarcely  speak.  "  Do  you  say  that  I  am 
an  impostor  —  that  I  do  not  hold  the  Cardinal's 
commission  ? " 

"  I  do  say  that !  "  he  answered  coolly.  "  And 
shall  abide  by  it." 

"And  that  I  belong  to  the  rebel  party?" 

"  I  do,"  he  replied,  in  the  same  tone.  "  In 
fact,"  with  a  grin,  "  I  say  that  you  are  an  honest 
man  on  the  wrong  side,  M.  de  Berault.  And  you 
say  that  you  are  a  scoundrel  on  the  right.  The 
advantage,  however,  is  with  me,  and  I  shall  back 
my  opinion  by  arresting  you." 

A   ripple   of    coarse    laughter   ran    round    the 


254  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

hollow..  The  sergeant  who  held  the  lanthorn 
grinned,  and  a  trooper  at  a  distance  called  out 
of  the  darkness,  "A  bon  chat  bon  rat  1 '"  This 
brought  a  fresh  burst  of  laughter,  while  I  stood 
speechless,  confounded  by  the  stubbornness,  the 
crassness,  the  insolence,  of  the  man.  "You  fool!" 
I  cried  at  last,  "  you  fool !  "  And  then  M.  de 
Cocheforet,  who  had  come  out  of  the  hut,  and 
taken  his  stand  at  my  elbow,  interrupted  me. 

"  Pardon  me  one  moment,"  he  said  airily,  look- 
ing at  the  lieutenant,  with  raised  eyebrows,  and 
pointing  to  me  with  his  thumb.  "  But  I  am 
puzzled  between  you.  This  gentleman's  name? 
Is  it  de  Berault  or  de  Barthe  ?  " 

"I  am  M.  de  Berault,"  I  said  brusquely, 
answering  for  myself. 

"Of  Paris?" 

"  Yes,  Monsieur,  of  Paris." 

"  You  are  not  then  the  gentleman  who  has  been 
honouring  my  poor  house  with  his  presence?  " 

"  Oh,  yes !  "  the  lieutenant  struck  in,  grinning. 
"  He  is  that  gentleman,  too  !  " 

"  But  I  thought  —  I  understood  that  that  was 
M.  de  Barthe." 


THE  ARREST.  2$$ 

"I  am  M.  de  Barthe,  also,"  I  retorted  impa- 
tiently. "What  of  that,  Monsieur?  It  was  my 
mother's  name.  I  took  it  when  I  came  down 
here." 

"  To  —  er,  to  arrest  me,  may  I  ask  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  answered  doggedly.  "  To  arrest  you. 
What  of  that?" 

"  Nothing,"  he  replied  slowly  and  with  a  steady 
look  at  me,  a  look  I  could  not  meet.  "  Except 
that,  had  I  known  this  before,  M.  de  Berault,  I 
should  have  thought  long  before  I  surrendered 
to  you." 

The  lieutenant  laughed,  and  I  felt  my  cheek 
burn.  But  I  affected  to  see  nothing,  and  turned 
to  him  again.  "  Now,  Monsieur,"  I  said  sternly, 
"are  you  satisfied?" 

"  No  !  "  he  answered  point  blank.  "  I  am  not. 
You  two  gentlemen  may  have  rehearsed  this 
pretty  scene  a  dozen  times.  The  only  word  it 
seems  to  me,  is,  Quick  March,  back  to  Quarters." 

I  found  myself  driven  to  play  my  last  card  — 
much  against  my  will.  "  Not  so,"  I  said ;  "  I 
have  my  commission." 

"  Produce  it ! "  he  replied  brusquely. 


256  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

"Do  you  think  that  I  carry  it  with  me?"  I 
said,  in  scorn.  "  Do  you  think  that  when  I  came 
here,  alone,  and  not  with  fifty  dragoons  at  my 
back,  I  carried  the  Cardinal's  seal  in  my  pocket 
for  the  first  lackey  to  find  ?  But  you  shall  have 
it.  Where  is  that  knave  of  mine  ? " 

The  words  were  scarcely  out  of  my  mouth 
before  his  ready  hand  thrust  a  paper  into  my 
fingers.  I  opened  it  slowly,  glanced  at  it,  and 
amid  a  pause  of  surprise  gave  it  to  the  lieuten- 
ant. He  looked  for  a  moment  confounded.  He 
stared  at  it,  with  his  jaw  fallen.  Then  with  a 
last  instinct  of  suspicion  he  bade  the  sergeant 
hold  up  the  lanthorn,  and  by  its  light  proceeded 
to  spell  out  the  document. 

"  Umph ! "  he  ejaculated,  after  a  moment's 
silence ;  and  he  cast  an  ugly  look  at  me.  "  I 
see."  And  he  read  it  aloud. 

"By  these  presents  I  command  and  empower  Gilles  de 
Berault,  sieitr  de  Berault,  to  seek  for,  hold,  arrest,  and  deliver 
to  the  Governor  of  the  Bastile  the  body  of  Henri  de  Cocheforet, 
and  to  do  all  such  acts  and  things  as  shall  be  necessary  to 
effect  such  arrest  and  delivery,  for  which  these  shall  be  his 
warrant. 

"  (Signed}  RICHELIEU,  Lieut.-Gen." 


THE  ARREST. 


When  he  had  done,  —  and  he  read  the  signature 
with  a  peculiar  intonation,  —  some  one  said  softly, 
"  Vive  le  roi  !  "  and  there  was  a  moment's  silence. 
The  sergeant  lowered  his  lanthorn.  "  Is  it 
enough  ?  "  I  said  hoarsely,  glaring  from  face 
to  face. 

The  lieutenant  bowed  stiffly.  "For  me?" 
he  said.  "  Quite,  Monsieur.  I  beg  your  pardon 
again.  I  find  that  my  first  impressions  were  the- 
correct  ones.  Sergeant,  give  the  gentleman  his 
paper."  And  turning  his  shoulder  rudely,  he 
tossed  the  commission  towards  the  sergeant,  who 
picked  it  up,  and  gave  it  to  me,  grinning. 

I  knew  that  the  clown  would  not  fight,  and 
he  had  his  men  round  him;  and  I  had  no  choice 
but  to  swallow  the  insult.  As  I  put  the  paper 
in  my  breast,  with  as  much  indifference  as  I 
could  assume,  he  gave  a  sharp  order.  The 
troopers  began  to  form  on  the  edge  above,  the 
men  who  had  descended,  to  climb  the  bank.  As 
the  group  behind  him  began  to  open  and  melt 
away,  I  caught  sight  of  a  white  robe  in  the 
middle  of  it.  The  next  moment,  appearing  with 
a  suddenness  which  was  like  a  blow  on  the  cheek 


258  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

to  me,  Mademoiselle  de  Cocheforet  glided  for- 
ward, and  came  towards  me.  She  had  a  hood 
on  her  head,  drawn  low ;  and  for  a  moment  I 
could  not  see  her  face.  I  forgot  her  brother's 
presence  at  my  elbow ;  from  habit  and  impulse 
rather  than  calculation,  I  took  a  step  forward 
to  meet  her- — though  my  tongue  cleaved  to  the 
roof  of  my  mouth,  and  I  was  dumb  and  trem- 
bling. 

But  she  recoiled  with  such  a  look  of  white 
hate,  of  staring,  frozen-eyed  loathing,  that  I 
stepped  back  as  if  she  had  indeed  struck  me.  It 
did  not  need  the  words  which  accompanied  the 
look,  the  "  Do  not  touch  me ! "  which  she  hissed 
at  me  as  she  drew  her  skirts  together,  to  drive 
me  to  the  farther  edge  of  the  hollow ;  there  to 
stand  with  clenched  teeth  and  nails  driven  into 
the  flesh  while  she  hung,  sobbing  tearless  sobs, 
on  her  brother's  neck. 


CHAPTER   XL 

THE   ROAD   TO    PARIS. 

2  REMEMBER  hearing  Marshal  Bassompierre, 
who,  of  all  men  within  my  knowledge,  had  the 
widest  experience,  say  that  not  dangers,  but  disr 
comforts,  prove  a  man,  and  show  what  he  is; 
and  that  the  worst  sores  in  life  are  caused  by 
crumpled  rose-leaves  and  not  by  thorns. 

I  am  inclined  to  agree  with  this.  For  I  remem- 
ber that  when  I  came  from  my  room  on  the 
morning  after  the  arrest,  and  found  hall  and 
parlour  and  passage  empty,  and  all  the  common 
rooms  of  the  house  deserted,  and  no  meal  laid, 
and  when  I  divined  anew  from  this  discovery 
the  feeling  of  the  house  towards  me,  —  however 
natural  and  to  be  expected,  —  I  felt  as  sharp  a 
pang  as  when,  the  night  before,  I  had  had  to 
face  discovery  and  open  rage  and  scorn.  I  stood 
in  the  silent,  empty  parlour,  and  looked  round 
259  f  j 


260  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

me  with  a  sense  of  desolation ;  of  something  lost 
and  gone,  which  I  could  not  replace.  The  morn- 
ing was  grey  and  cloudy,  the  air  sharp ;  a  shower 
was  falling.  The  rose-bushes  at  the  window 
swayed  in  the  wind,  and  where  I  could  remember 
the  hot  sunshine  lying  on  floor  and  table,  the 
rain  beat  in  and  stained  the  boards.  The  main 
door  flapped  and  creaked  to  and  fro.  I  thought 
of  other  days  and  meals  I  had  taken  there,  and 
of  the  scent  of  flowers,  and  I  fled  to  the  hall 
in  despair. 

But  here,  too,  was  no  sign  of  life  or  company, 
no  comfort,  no  attendance.  The  ashes  of  the 
logs,  by  whose  blaze  Mademoiselle  had  told  me 
the  secret,  lay  on  the  hearth  white  and  cold ; 
and  now  and  then  a  drop  of  moisture,  sliding 
down  the  great  chimney,  pattered  among  them. 
The  great  door  stood  open  as  if  the  house  had 
no  longer  anything  to  guard.  The  only  living 
thing  to  be  seen  was  a  hound  which  roamed 
about  restlessly,  now  gazing  at  the  empty  hearth, 
now  lying  down  with  pricked  ears  and  watchful 
eyes.  Some  leaves  which  had  been  blown  in 
rustled  in  a  corner. 


THE  ROAD   TO  PARIS.  26 1 

I  went  out  moodily  into  the  garden,  and  wan- 
dered down  one  path,  and  up  another,  looking 
at  the  dripping  woods  and  remembering  things, 
until  I  came  to  the  stone  seat.  On  it,  against 
the  wall,  trickling  with  rain-drops,  arid  with  a  dead 
leaf  half  filling  its  narrow  neck,  stood  the  pitcher 
of  food.  I  thought  how  much  had  happened 
since  Mademoiselle  took  her  hand  off  it  and 
the  sergeant's  lanthorn  disclosed  it  to  me.  And 
sighing  grimly,  I  went  in  again  through  the  par- 
lour door. 

A  woman  was  on  her  knees,  kindling  the  be- 
lated fire.  I  stood  a  moment,  looking  at  her 
doubtfully,  wondering  how  she  would  bear  her- 
self, and  what  she  would  say  to  me:  and  then 
she  turned,  an.d  I  cried  out  her  name  in  horror ; 
for  it  was  Madame  ! 

She  was  very  plainly  dressed ;  her  childish 
face  was  wan,  and  piteous  with  weeping.  But 
either  the  night  had  worn  out  her  passion  and 
drained  her  tears,  or  this  great  exigency  gave 
her  temporary  calmness;  for  she  was  perfectly 
composed.  She  shivered  as  her  eyes  met  mine, 
and  she  blinked  as  if  a  light  had  been  suddenly 


262  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

thrust  before  her.  But  she  turned  again  to  her 
task,  without  speaking. 

"  Madame !  Madame !  "  I  cried,  in  a  frenzy  of 
distress.  "  What  is  this  ?  " 

"The  servants  would  not  do  it,"  she  answered, 
in  a  low  but  steady  voice.  "You  are  still  our 
guest,  Monsieur,  and  it  must  be  done.'5 

"But  —  I  cannot  suffer  it!"  I  cried,  in  misery. 
"  Madame  de  Cocheforet,  I  will  —  I  would 
rather  do  it  myself!  " 

She  raised  her  hand,  with  a  strange,  patient 
expression  on  her  face.  "  Hush,  please,"  she 
said.  "  Hush !  you  trouble  me." 

The  fire  took  light  and  blazed  up  as  she  spoke, 
and  she  rose  slowly  from  it,  and,  with  a  lingering 
look  at  it,  went  out ;  leaving  me  to  stand  and 
stare  and  listen  in  the  middle  of  the  floor.  Pres- 
ently I  heard  her  coming  back  along  the  pas- 
sage, and  she  entered,  bearing  a  tray  with  wine 
and  meat  and  bread.  She  set  it  down  on  the 
table,  and  with  the  same  wan  face,  trembling 
always  on  the  verge  of  tears,  she  began  to  lay 
out  the  things.  The  glasses  clinked  pitifully 
against  the  plates  as  she  handled  them;  the 


THE  ROAD   TO  PARIS.  263 

knives  jarred  with  one  another;  and  I  stood  by, 
trembling  myself,  and  endured  this  strange,  this 
awful  penance. 

She  signed  to  me  at  last  to  sit  down  and  eat; 
and  she  went  herself,  and  stood  in  the  garden 
doorway,  with  her  back  to  me.  I  obeyed.  I  sat 
down ;  but  though  I  had  eaten  nothing  since  the 
afternoon  of  the  day  before,  and  a  little  earlier 
had  had  appetite  enough,  I  could  not  swallow. 
I  fumbled  with  my  knife,  and  munched  and 
drank;  and  grew  hot  and  angry  at  this  farce; 
and  then  looked  through  the  window  at  the  drip- 
ping bushes,  and  the  rain,  and  the  distant  sun- 
dial, and  grew  cold  again. 

Suddenly  she  turned  round  and  came  to  my 
side.  "You  do  not  eat,"  she  said. 

I  threw  down  my  knife,  and  sprang  up  in  a 
frenzy  of  passion.  "  Mon  Dieu !  Madame!"  I 
cried.  "  Do  you  think  I  have  no  heart  ? " 

And  then  in  a  moment  I  knew  what  I  had 
done.  In  a  moment  she  was  on  her  knees  on 
the  floor,  clasping  my  knees,  pressing  her  wet 
cheeks  to  my  rough  clothes,  crying  to  me  for 
mercy  —  for  life!  life!  life!  his  life!  Oh,  it 


264  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

was  horrible !  It  was  horrible  to  see  her  fair 
hair  falling  over  my  mud-stained  boots,  to  see 
her  slender  little  form  convulsed  with  sobs,  to 
feel  that  this  was  a  woman,  a  gentlewoman,  who 
thus  abased  herself  at  my  feet. 

"  Oh,  Madame  !  Madame  !  "  I  cried,  in  my  agony. 
"  I  beg  you  to  rise.  Rise,  or  I  must  go !  You 
will  drive  me  out !  " 

"  Grant  me  his  life  !  "  she  moaned  passionately. 
"  Only  his  life  !  What  had  he  done  to  you,  that 
you  should  hunt  him  down  ?  What  had  we  done 
to  you,  that  you  should  slay  us  ?  Ah,  Sir,  have 
mercy !  Let  him  go,  and  we  will  pray  for  you ;  I 
and  my  sister  will  pray  for  you  every  morning  and 
night  of  our  lives." 

I  was  in  terror  lest  some  one  should  come  and 
see  her  lying  there,  and  I  stooped  and  tried  to 
raise  her.  But  she  would  not  rise ;  she  only  sank 
the  lower  until  her  tender  hands  clasped  my  spurs, 
and  I  dared  not  move.  Then  I  took  a  sudden 
resolution.  "  Listen  then,  Madame,"  I  said,  almost 
sternly,  "  if  you  will  not  rise.  When  you  ask  what 
you  do,  you  forget  how  I  stand,  and  how  small  my 
power  is !  You  forget  that  were  I  to  release  your 


THE  ROAD   TO  PARIS,  26$ 

husband  to-day,  he  would  be  seized  within  the 
hour  by  those  who  are  still  in  the  village,  and  who 
are  watching  every  road  —  who  have  not  ceased 
to  suspect  my  movements  and  my  intentions. 
You  forget,  I  say,  my  circumstances  —  " 

She  cut  me  short  on  that  word.  She  sprang 
abruptly  to  her  feet  and  faced  me.  One  moment, 
and  I  should  have  said  something  to  the  purpose. 
But  at  that  word  she  was  before  me,  white,  breath- 
less, dishevelled,  struggling  for  speech.  "  Oh 
yes,  yes,"  she  panted  eagerly,  "I  know!  I  under- 
stand !  "  And  she  thrust  her  hand  into  her  bosom 
and  plucked  something  out  and  gave  it  to  me  — 
forced  it  upon  me  into  my  hands.  "  I  know !  I 
know !  "  she  said  again.  "  Take  it,  and  God  re- 
ward you,  Monsieur!  We  give  it  freely — freely 
and  thankfully  !  And  may  God  bless  you !  " 

I  stood  and  looked  at  her,  and  looked  at  it,  and 
slowly  froze.  She  had  given  me  the  packet  —  the 
packet  I  had  restored  to  Mademoiselle,  the  parcel 
of  jewels.  I  weighed  it  in  my  hands,  and  my 
heart  grew  hard  again,  for  I  knew  that  this  was 
Mademoiselle's  doing ;  that  it  was  she  who,  mis- 
trusting the  effect  of  Madame's  tears  and  prayers, 


266  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

had  armed  her  with  this  last  weapon  —  this  dirty 
bribe,  I  flung  it  down  on  the  table  among  the 
plates,  all  my  pity  changed  to  anger.  "Madame," 
I  cried  ruthlessly,  "you  mistake  me  altogether. 
I  have  heard  hard  words  enough  in  the  last 
twenty-four  hours,  and  I  know  what  you  think 
of  me !  But  you  have  yet  to  learn  that  I  have 
never  turned  traitor  to  the  hand  that  employed 
me,  nor  sold  my  own  side !  When  I  do  so  for  a 
treasure  ten  times  the  worth  of  that,  may  my  hand 
rot  off!" 

She  sank  into  a  seat,  with  a  moan  of  despair, 
and  at  that  moment  the  door  opened,  and  M.  de 
Cocheforet  came  in.  Over  his  shoulder  I  had  a 
glimpse  of  Mademoiselle's  proud  face,  a  little 
whiter  to-day,  with  dark  marks  under  the  eyes. 
but  still  firm  and  cold.  "  What  is  this  ?  "  he  said, 
frowning  and  stopping  short  as  his  eyes  lighted 
on  Madame. 

"It  is  —  that  we  start  at  eleven  o'clock,  Mon- 
sieur," I  answered,  bowing  curtly.  "  Those,  I 
fancy,  are  your  property."  And  pointing  to  the 
jewels,  I  went  out  by  the  other  door. 


THE  ROAD   TO  PARIS.  267 

That  I  might  not  be  present  at  their  parting,  I 
remained  in  the  garden  until  the  hour  I  had  ap- 
pointed was  well  passed ;  then  without  entering 
the  house  I  went  to  the  stable  entrance.  Here  I 
found  all  ready,  the  two  troopers  (whose  company 
I  had  requisitioned  as  far  as  Auch)  already  in  the 
saddle,  my  own  two  knaves  waiting  with  my  sorrel 
and  M.  de  Cocheforet's  chestnut.  Another  horse 
was  being  led  up  and  down  by  Louis,  and,  alas, 
my  heart  winced  at  the  sight.  For  it  bore  a  lady's 
saddle,  and  I  saw  that  we  were  to  have  company. 
Was  it  Madame  who  meant  to  come  with  us  ?  or 
Mademoiselle?  And  how  far?  To  Auch?  or 
farther  ? 

I  suppose  that  they  had  set  some  kind  of  a 
watch  on  me ;  for,  as  I  walked  up,  M.  de  Coche- 
foret  and  his  sister  came  out  of  the  house,  —  he 
looking  white,  with  bright  eyes  and  a  twitching 
in  his  cheek,  though  through  all  he  affected  a 
jaunty  bearing ;  she  wearing  a  black  mask. 

"Mademoiselle  accompanies  us?"  I  said  for- 
mally. 

"With  your  permission,  Monsieur,"  he  an- 
swered, with  grim  politeness.  But  I  saw  that 


268  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

he  was  choking  with  emotion.  I  guessed  that  he 
had  just  parted  from  his  wife,  and  I  turned  away. 

When  we  were  all  mounted,  he  looked  at  me. 
"  Perhaps,  as  you  have  my  parole,  you  will  permit 
me  to  ride  alone,"  he  said,  with  a  little  hesitation, 
"and  —  " 

"  Without  me! "  I  rejoined  keenly.  "  Assuredly, 
so  far  as  is  possible."  I  directed  the  troopers 
to  ride  in  front  and  keep  out  of  ear-shot;  my 
two  men  followed  the  prisoner  at  a  like  distance, 
with  their  carbines  on  their  knees.  Last  of  all 
I  rode  myself,  with  my  eyes  open  and  a  pisto1 
loose  in  my  holster.  M.  de  Cocheforet,  I  saw, 
was  inclined  to  sneer  at  so  many  precautions, 
and  the  mountain  made  of  his  request;  but  I 
had  not  done  so  much  and  come  so  far,  I  had 
not  faced  scorn  and  insults,  to  be  cheated  of  my 
prize  at  last.  Aware  that  until  we  were  beyond 
Auch  there  must  be  hourly  and  pressing  danger 
of  a  rescue,  I  was  determined  that  he  who  would 
wrest  my  prisoner  from  me  should  pay  dearly 
for  it.  Only  pride,  and,  perhaps,  in  a  degree 
also,  appetite  for  a  fight,  had  prevented  me 
borrowing  ten  troopers  instead  of  two. 


THE  ROAD   TO  PARIS.  26$ 

We  started,  and  I  looked  with  a  lingering  eye 
and  many  memories  at  the  little  bridge,  the  nar- 
row woodland  path,  the  first  roofs  of  the  village, ; 
all  now  familiar,  all  seen  for  the  last  time.  Up 
the  brook  a  party  of  soldiers  were  dragging  for 
the  captain's  body.  A  furlong  farther  on,  a 
cottage,  burned  by  some  carelessness  in  the 
night,  lay  a  heap  of  black  ashes.  Louis  ran 
beside  us,  weeping ;  the  last  brown  leaves  flut- 
tered down  in  showers.  And  between  my  eyes 
and  all,  the  slow,  steady  rain  fell  and  fell  and 
fell.  And  so  I  left  Cocheforet 

Louis  went  with  us  to  a  point  a  mile  beyond 
the  village,  and  there  stood  and  saw  us  go,  curs- 
ing me  furiously  as  I  passed.  Looking  back 
when  we  had  ridden  on,  I  still  saw  him  standing  ; 
and  after  a  moment's  hesitation  I  rode  back  1o 
him.  "Listen,  fool,"  I  said,  cutting  him  shoil 
in  the  midst  of  his  mowing  and  snarling,  "and 
give  this  message  to  your  mistress.  Tell  her 
from  me  that  it  will  be  with  her  husband  as 
it  was  with  M.  de  Regnier,  when  he  fell  into 
the  hands  of  his  enemy  —  no  better  and  no 
worse." 


270  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

"You  want  to  kill  her,  too,  I  suppose?"  he 
answered,  glowering  at  me. 

"  No,  fool !  I  want  to  save  her ! "  I  retorted 
wrathfully.  "Tell  her  that,  just  that  and  no 
more,  and  you  will  see  the  result." 

"  I  shall  not,"  he  said  sullenly.  "  I  shall  not 
tell  her.  A  message  from  you,  indeed ! "  And 
he  spat  on  the  ground. 

"Then  on  your  head  be  it!"  I  answered  sol- 
emnly. And  I  turned  my  horse's  head  and  gal- 
loped fast  after  the  others.  For,  in  spite  of  his 
refusal,  I  felt  sure  that  he  would  report  what  I 
had  said  —  if  it  were  only  out  of  curiosity;  and 
it  would  be  strange  if  Madame  did  not  understand 
the  reference. 

And  so  we  began  our  journey;  sadly,  under 
dripping  trees  and  a  leaden  sky.  The  country 
we  had  to  traverse  was  the  same  I  had  trodden 
on  the  last  day  of  my  march  southwards,  but  the 
passage  of  a  month  had  changed  the  face  of 
everything.  Green  dells,  where  springs  welling 
out  of  the  chalk  had  made  of  the  leafy  bottom 
a  fairies'  home,  strewn  with  delicate  ferns  and 
hung  with  mosses  —  these  were  now  swamps  into 


THE  ROAD    TO   PARIS.  2? I 

which  our  horses  sank  to  the  fetlock.  Sunny 
brows,  whence  I  had  viewed  the  champaign  and 
traced  my  forward  path,  had  become  bare,  wind- 
swept ridges.  The  beech  woods,  which  had 
glowed  with  ruddy  light,  were  naked  now ;  mere 
black  trunks  and  rigid  arms  pointing  to  heaven. 
An  earthy  smell  filled  the  air;  a  hundred  paces 
away  a  wall  of  mist  closed  the  view.  We  plodded 
on  sadly,  up  hill  and  down  hill ;  now  fording 
brooks  already  stained  with  flood-water,  now 
crossing  barren  heaths. 

But  up  hill  or  down  hill,  whatever  the  outlook, 
I  was  never  permitted  to  forget  that  I  was  the 
jailer,  the  ogre,  the  villain ;  that  I,  riding  behind 
in  my  loneliness,  was  the  blight  on  all,  the  death- 
spot.  True,  I  was  behind  the  others ;  I  escaped 
their  eyes.  But  there  was  not  a  line  of  Mademoi- 
selle's drooping  figure  that  did  not  speak  scorn  to 
me,  not  a  turn  of  her  head  that  did  not  seem  to 
say,  "  Oh  God,  that  such  a  thing  should  breathe  !  " 

I  had  only  speech  with  her  once  during  the 
day,  and  that  was  on  the  last  ridge  before  we 
went  down  into  the  valley  to  climb  up  again  to 
Auch.  The  rain  had  ceased;  the  sun,  near  its 


2/2        UNDER  THE  RED  ROBE. 

setting,  shone  faintly ;  and  for  a  few  moments  we 
stood  on  the  brow  and  looked  southwards  while 
we  breathed  the  horses.  The  mist  lay  like  a 
pall  on  all  the  country  we  had  traversed;  but 
beyond  it  and  above  it,  gleaming  pearl-like  in 
the  level  rays,  the  line  of  the  mountains  stood 
up  like  a  land  of  enchantment,  soft,  radiant,  won- 
derful, or  like  one  of  those  castles  on  the  Hill 
of  Glass  of  which  the  old  romances  tell  us. 
I  forgot,  for  an  instant,  how  we  were  placed, 
and  I  cried  to  my  neighbour  that  it  was  the 
fairest  pageant  I  had  ever  seen. 

She  —  it  was  Mademoiselle,  and  she  had  taken 
off  her  mask — cast  one  look  at  me;  only  one, 
but  it  conveyed  disgust  and  loathing  so  unspeak- 
able that  scorn  beside  them  would  have  been 
a  gift.  I  reined  in  my  horse  as  if  she  had  struck 
me,  and  felt  myself  go  first  hot  and  then  cold 
under  her  eyes.  Then  she  looked  another  way. 

I  did  not  forget  the  lesson ;  after  that  I  avoided 
her  more  sedulously  than  before.  We  lay  that 
night  at  Auch,  and  I  gave  M.  de  Cocheforet  the 
utmost  liberty ;  even  permitting  him  to  go  out 
and  return  at  his  will.  In  the  morning,  believing 


THE  ROAD   TO  PARIS.  273 

that  on  the  farther  side  of  Auch  we  ran  less  risk 
of  attack,  I  dismissed  the  two  dragoons,  and 
an  hour  after  sunrise  we  set  out  again.  The 
day  was  dry  and  cold,  the  weather  more  prom- 
ising. I  planned  to  go  by  way  of  Lectoure, 
crossing  the  Garonne  at  Agen ;  and  I  thought 
with  roads  continually  improving  as  we  moved 
northwards,  we  should  be  able  to  make  good 
progress  before  night.  My  two  men  rode  first ; 
I  came  last  by  myself. 

Our  way  lay  for  some  hours  down  the  valley 
of  the  Gers,  under  poplars  and  by  long  rows  of 
willows ;  and  presently  the  sun  came  out  and 
warmed  us.  Unfortunately,  the  rain  of  the  day 
before  had  swollen  the  brooks  which  crossed  our 
path,  and  we  more  than  once  had  a  difficulty 
in  fording  them.  Noon,  therefore,  found  us  lit- 
tle more  than  half-way  to  Lectoure,  and  I  was 
growing  each  minute  more  impatient,  when  our 
road,  which  had  for  a  little  while  left  the  river 
bank,  dropped  down  to  it  again,  and  I  saw  before 
us  another  crossing,  half  ford,  half  slough.  My 
men  tried  it  gingerly,  and  gave  back,  and  tried 
it  again  in  another  place  •  and  finally,  just  as 


274       UNDER  THE  RED  ROBE. 

Mademoiselle  and  Monsieur  came  up  to  them, 
floundered  through  and  sprang  slantwise  up  the 
farther  bank. 

The  delay  had  been  long  enough  to  bring  me, 
with  no  good  will  of  my  own,  close  up  to  the 
Cocheforets.  Mademoiselle's  horse  made  a  little 
business  of  the  place;  this  delayed  them  still 
longer,  and  in  the  result,  we  entered  the  water 
almost  together,  and  I  crossed  close  on  her  heels. 
The  bank  on  either  side  was  steep ;  while  cross- 
ing we  could  see  neither  before  nor  behind.  At 
the  moment,  however,  I  thought  nothing  of  this, 
nor  of  her  delay,  and  I  was  following  her  quite 
at  my  leisure,  when  the  sudden  report  of  a  car- 
bine, a  second  report,  and  a  yell  of  alarm  in 
front,  thrilled  me  through. 

On  the  instant,  while  the  sound  was  still  in  my 
ears,  I  saw  it  all.  Like  a  hot  iron  piercing  my 
brain,  the  truth  flashed  into  my  mind.  We  were 
attacked !  We  were  attacked,  ana  I  was  here 
helpless  in  this  pit,  this  trap !  The  loss  of  a 
second  while  I  fumbled  here,  Mademoiselle's 
horse  barring  the  way,  might  be  fatal. 

There  was  but  one  way.     I  turned  my  horse 


THE  ROAD   TO  PARIS.  275 

straight  at  the  steep  bank,  and  he  breasted  it. 
One  moment  he  hung  as  if  he  must  fall  back. 
Then,  with  a  snort  of  terror  and  a  desperate 
bound,  he  topped  it,  and  gained  the  level,  trem- 
bling and  snorting. 

It  was  as  I  had  guessed.  Seventy  paces  away 
on  the  road  lay  one  of  my  men.  He  had  fallen, 
horse  and  man,  and  lay  still.  Near  him,  with 
his  back  against  a  bank,  stood  his  fellow,  on  foot, 
pressed  by  four  horsemen,  and  shouting.  As 
my  eye  lighted  on  the  scene,  he  let  fly  with  a 
carbine  and  dropped  one. 

I  snatched  a  pistol  from  my  holster,  cocked  it, 
and  seized  my  horse  by  the  head  —  I  might  save 
the  man  yet.  I  shouted  to  encourage  him,  and 
in  another  second  should  have  charged  into  the 
fight,  when  a  sudden  vicious  blow,  swift  and 
unexpected,  struck  the  pistol  from  my  hand. 

I  made  a  snatch  at  it  as  it  fell,  but  missed  it ; 
and  before  I  could  recover  myself,  Mademoiselle 
thrust  her  horse  furiously  against  mine,  and  with 
her  riding-whip,  lashed  the  sorrel  across  the  ears. 
As  my  horse  reared  madly  up,  I  had  a  glimpse 
of  her  eyes  flashing  hate  through  her  mask;  of 

T   2 


276  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

her  hand  again  uplifted ;  the  next  moment,  I  was 
down  in  the  road,  ingloriously  unhorsed,  the 
sorrel  was  galloping  away,  and  her  horse,  scared 
in  its  turn,  was  plunging  unmanageably  a  score 
of  paces  from  me. 

I  don't  doubt  that  but  for  that  she  would  have 
trampled  on  me.  As  it  was,  I  was  free  to  draw ; 
and  in  a  twinkling  I  was  running  towards  the 
fighters.  All  I  have  described  had  happened  in 
a  few  seconds.  My  man  was  still  defending 
himself;  the  smoke  of  the  carbine  had  scarcely 
risen.  I  sprang  with  a  shout  across  a  fallen  tree 
that  intervened ;  at  the  same  moment,  two  of  the 
men  detached  themselves,  and  rode  to  meet  me. 
One,  whom  I  took  to  be  the  leader,  was  masked. 
He  came  furiously  at  me,  trying  to  ride  me  down; 
but  I  leaped  aside  nimbly,  and  evading  him, 
rushed  at  the  other,  and  scaring  his  horse,  so 
that  he  dropped  his  point,  cut  him  across  the 
shoulder  before  he  could  guard  himself.  He 
plunged  away,  cursing,  and  trying  to  hold  in  his 
horse,  and  I  turned  to  meet  the  masked  man. 

"  You  double-dyed  villain  !  :'  he  cried,  riding  al. 
me  again.  And  this  time  he  manoeuvred  hi>i 


THE  ROAD   TO  PARIS.  277 

horse  so  skilfully  that  I  was  hard  put  to  it  to 
prevent  him  knocking  me  down ;  and  could  not 
with  all  my  efforts  reach  him  to  hurt  him.  "  Sur- 
render, will  you ! "  he  continued,  "  you  blood- 
hound !  " 

I  wounded  him  slightly  in  the  knee  for  answer; 
but  before  I  could  do  more  his  companion  came 
back,  and  the  two  set  upon  me  with  a  will,  slash- 
ing at  my  head  so  furiously  and  towering  above 
me  with  so  great  an  advantage  that  it  was  all  I 
could  do  to  guard  myself.  I  was  soon  glad  to 
fall  back  against  the  bank  —  as  my  man  had 
done  before  me.  In  such  a  conflict  my  rapier 
would  have  been  of  little  use,  but  fortunately  I 
had  armed  myself  before  I  left  Paris  with  a  cut- 
and-thrust  sword  for  the  road ;  and  though  my 
mastery  of  the  weapon  was  not  on  a  par  with 
my  rapier-play,  I  was  able  to  fend  off  their  cuts, 
and  by  an  occasional  prick  keep  the  horses  at  a 
distance.  Still  they  swore  and  cut  at  me,  trying 
to  wear  me  out ;  and  it  was  trying  work.  A  little 
delay,  the  least  accident,  might  enable  the  other 
man  to  come  to  their  help,  or  Mademoiselle,  for 
all  I  knew,  might  shoot  me  with  my  own  pistol; 


2/8        UNDER  THE  RED  ROBE. 

and  I  confess,  I  was  unfeignedly  glad  when  a 
lucky  parade  sent  the  masked  man's  sword  flying 
across  the  road.  He  was  no  coward ;  for  unarmed 
as  he  was,  he  pushed  his  horse  at  me,  spurring 
it  recklessly ;  but  the  animal,  which  I  had  several 
times  touched,  reared  up  instead  and  threw  him 
at  the  very  moment  that  I  wounded  his  compan- 
ion a  second  time  in  the  arm,  and  made  him 
give  back. 

This  quite  changed  the  scene.  The  man  in  the 
mask  staggered  to  his  feet,  and  felt  stupidly  for 
a  pistol.  But  he  could  not  find  one,  and  was,  I 
saw,  in  no  state  to  use  it  if  he  had.  He  reeled 
helplessly  to  the  bank,  and  leaned  against  it.  He 
would  give  no  further  trouble.  The  man  I  had 
wounded  was  in  scarcely  better  condition.  He 
retreated  before  me  for  some  paces,  but  then 
losing  courage,  he  dropped  his  sword,  and,  wheel- 
ing round,  cantered  off  down  the  road,  clinging  to 
his  pommel.  There  remained  only  the  fellow 
engaged  with  my  man,  and  I  turned  to  see  how 
they  were  getting  on.  They  were  standing  to 
take  breath,  so  I  ran  towards  them;  but,  seeing 
me  coming,  this  rascal,  too,  whipped  round  his 


THE  ROAD   TO  PARIS.  279 

horse,  and  disappeared  in  the  wood,  and  left  us 
masters  of  the  field.  The  first  thing  I  did  —  and 
I  remember  it  to  this  day  with  pleasure  —  was  to 
plunge  my  hand  into  my  pocket,  take  out  half  the 
money  I  had  in  the  world,  and  press  it  on  the  man 
who  had  fought  for  me  so  stoutly,  and  who  had 
certainly  saved  me  from  disaster.  In  my  joy  I 
could  have  kissed  him  !  It  was  not  only  that  I  had 
escaped  defeat  by  the  skin  of  my  teeth,  —  and  his 
good  sword,  —  but  I  knew,  and  thrilled  with  the 
knowledge,  that  the  fight  had  altered  the  whole 
position.  He  was  wounded  in  two  places,  and  I 
had  a  scratch  or  two,  and  had  lost  my  horse ;  and 
my  other  poor  fellow  was  dead  as  a  herring.  But 
speaking  for  myself,  I  would  have  spent  half  the 
blood  in  my  body  to  purchase  the  feeling  with 
which  I  turned  back  to  speak  to  M.  de  Cocheforet 
and  his  sister.  /  had  fought  before  them. 

Mademoiselle  had  dismounted,  and  with  her 
face  averted  and  her  mask  pushed  on  one  side,  was 
openly  weeping.  Her  brother,  who  had  scrupu- 
lously kept  his  place  by  the  ford  from  the  begin- 
ning of  the  fight  to  the  end,  met  me  with  raised 
eyebrows  and  a  peculiar  smile.  "Acknowledge 


280  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

my  virtue,"  he  said  airily.  "  I  am  here,  M.  d4 
Berault  —  which  is  more  than  can  be  said  of  the 
two  gentlemen  who  have  just  ridden  off." 

"  Yes,"  I  answered,  with  a  touch  of  bitterness. 
"  I  wish  they  had  not  shot  my  poor  man  before 
they  went." 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "They  were  my 
friends,"  he  said.  "  You  must  not  expect  me  to 
blame  them.  But  that  is  not  all." 

"  No,"  I  said,  wiping  my  sword.  "  There  i? 
this  gentleman  in  the  mask."  And  I  turned  to  go 
towards  him. 

"  M.  de  Berault !  "  There  was  something  abrupt 
in  the  way  in  which  Cocheforet  called  my  name 
after  me. 

I  stood.     "  Pardon  ? "  I  said,  turning. 

"  That  gentleman  ?  "  he  answered,  hesitating, 
and  looking  at  me  doubtfully.  "  Have  you  con- 
sidered—  what  will  happen  to  him,  if  you  give 
him  up  to  the  authorities  ? " 

"  Who  is  he  ?  "    I  said  sharply. 

"  That  is  rather  a  delicate  question,"  he 
answered,  frowning,  and  still  looking  at  me 
fixedly. 


THE  ROAD   TO  PARIS.  281 

"  Not  from  me,"  I  replied  brutally,  "  since  he 
is  in  my  power.  If  he  will  take  off  his  mask, 
I  shall  know  better  what  I  intend  to  do  with 
him." 

The  stranger  had  lost  his  hat  in  his  fall,  and 
his  fair  hair,  stained  with  dust,  hung  in  curls 
on  his  shoulders.  He  was  a  tall  man,  of  a  slen- 
der, handsome  presence,  and  though  his  dress 
was  plain  and  almost  rough,  I  espied  a  splendid 
jewel  on  his  hand,  and  fancied  I  detected  other 
signs  of  high  quality.  He  still  lay  against  the 
bank  in  a  half-swooning  condition,  and  seemed 
unconscious  of  my  scrutiny.  "  Should  I  know 
him  if  he  unmasked  ? "  I  said  suddenly,  a  new 
idea  in  my  head. 

"You  would,"  M.  de  Cocheforet  answered 
simply. 

"And?" 

"  It  would  be  bad  for  every  one." 

"  Ho,  ho  ! "  I  said  softly,  looking  hard,  first 
at  my  old  prisoner,  and  then  at  my  new  one. 
"  Then,  what  do  you  wish  me  to  do  ?  " 

''  Leave  him  here,"  M.  de  Cocheforet  answered 
glibly,  his  face  flushed,  the  pulse  in  his  cheek 


282  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

beating.  I  had  known  him  for  a  man  of  perfect 
honour  before,  and  trusted  him.  But  this  evident 
earnest  anxiety  on  behalf  of  his  friend  touched 
me.  Besides,  I  knew  that  I  was  treading  on 
slippery  ground ;  that  it  behoved  me  to  be  care- 
ful. "  I  will  do  it,"  I  said,  after  a  moment's 
reflection.  "  He  will  play  me  no  tricks,  I  sup- 
pose ?  A  letter  of  —  " 

"  Mon  Dieti,  no  !  He  will  understand,"  Coche- 
foret  answered  eagerly.  "You  will  not  repent 
it,  I  swear.  Let  us  be  going." 

"  Well,  —  but  my  horse  ?  "  I  said,  somewhat 
taken  aback  by  this  extreme  haste. 

"We  shall  overtake  it,"  he  replied  urgently. 
"  It  will  have  kept  to  the  road.  Lectoure  is 
no  more  than  a  league  from  here,  and  we  can 
give  orders  there  to  have  these  two  fetched  in 
and  buried." 

I  had  nothing  to  gain  by  demurring,  and  so 
it  was  arranged.  After  that  we  did  not  linger. 
We  picked  up  what  we  had  dropped,  M.  de  Coche- 
foret  mounted  his  sister,  and  within  five  minutes 
we  were  gone.  Casting  a  glance  back  from  the 
skirts  of  the  wood,  as  we  entered  it,  I  fancied 


THE  ROAD   TO  PARIS.  283 

chat  I  saw  the  masked  man  straighten  himself 
and  turn  to  look  after  us ;  but  the  leaves  were 
beginning  to  intervene,  the  distance  was  great 
and  perhaps  cheated  me.  And  yet  I  was  not 
disinclined  to  think  the  unknown  a  little  less 
severely  injured  and  a  trifle  more  observant 
thaii  he  seemed. 


CHAPTER   XII. 

AT   THE    FINGER-POST. 

THROUGH  all,  it  will  have  been  noticed,  Mad- 
emoiselle  had  not  spoken  to  me,  nor  said  one  word, 
good  or  bad.  She  had  played  her  part  grimly; 
had  taken  her  defeat  in  silence,  if  with  tears  ;  had 
tried  neither  prayer,  nor  defence,  nor  apology. 
And  the  fact  that  the  fight  was  now  over,  the 
scene  left  behind,  made  no  difference  in  her  con- 
duct—  to  my  surprise  and  discomfiture.  She 
kept  her  face  averted  from  me ;  she  rode  as 
before ;  she  affected  to  ignore  my  presence.  I 
caught  my  horse  feeding  by  the  road-side,  a  fur- 
long forward,  and  mounted,  and  fell  into  place 
behind  the  two,  as  in  the  morning.  And  just  as 
we  had  plodded  on  then  in  silence,  we  plodded  on 
now,  while  I  wondered  at  the  unfathomable  ways 
of  women,  and  knowing  that  I  had  borne  myself 
well,  marvelled  that  she  could  take  part  in  such  an 
incident  and  remain  unchanged. 


AT  THE  FINGER-POST.  285 

Yet  it  had  made  a  change  in  her.  Though  her 
mask  screened  her  well,  it  could  not  entirely  hide 
her  emotions,  and  by-and-bye  I  marked  that  her 
head  drooped,  that  she  rode  sadly  and  listlessly, 
that  the  lines  of  her  figure  were  altered.  I  noticed 
that  she  had  flung  away,  or  furtively  dropped,  her 
riding-whip,  and  I  understood  that  to  the  old 
hatred  of  me  were  now  added  shame  and  vexa- 
tion ;  shame  that  she  had  so  lowered  herself,  even 
to  save  her  brother,  vexation  that  defeat  had  been 
her  only  reward. 

Of  this  I  saw  a  sign  at  Lectoure,  where  the  inn 
had  bui  one  common  room,  and  we  must  all  dine 
in  company.  I  secured  for  them  a  table  by  the 
fire,  and  leaving  them  standing  by  it,  retired  my- 
self to  a  smaller  one,  near  the  door.  There  were 
no  other  guests,  and  this  made  the  separation 
between  us  more  marked.  M.  de  Cocheforet 
seemed  to  feel  this.  He  shrugged  his  shoulders 
and  looked  at  me  with  a  smile  half  sad,  half 
comical.  But  Mademoiselle  was  implacable.  She 
had  taken  off  her  mask,  and  he/  face  was  like 
stone.  Once,  only  once,  during  the  meal  I  saw  a 
change  come  over  her.  She  coloured,  I  suppose 


286  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

at  her  thoughts,  until  her  face  flamed  from  brow 
to  chin.  I  watched  the  blush  spread  and  spread, 
and  then  she  slowly  and  proudly  turned  her 
shoulder  to  me,  and  looked  through  the  window 
at  the  shabby  street. 

I  suppose  that  she  and  her  brother  had  both 
built  on  this  attempt,  Which  must  have  been 
arranged  at  Auch.  For  when  we  went  on  in  the 
afternoon,  I  saw  a  more  marked  change.  They 
rode  now  like  people  resigned  to  the  worst.  The 
grey  realities  of  the  brother's  position,  the  dreary, 
hopeless  future,  began  to  hang  like  a  mist  before 
their  eyes ;  began  to  tinge  the  landscape  with  sad- 
ness ;  robbed  even  the  sunset  of  its  colours.  With 
each  hour  their  spirits  flagged  and  their  speech 
became  less  frequent,  until  presently,  when  the 
light  was  nearly  gone  and  the  dusk  was  round  us, 
the  brother  and  sister  rode  hand  in  hand,  silent, 
gloomy,  one  at  least  of  them  weeping.  The  cold 
shadow  of  the  Cardinal,  of  Paris,  of  the  scaffold, 
was  beginning  to  make  itself  felt ;  was  beginning 
to  chill  them.  As  the  mountains  which  they  had 
known  all  their  lives  sank  and  faded  behind  us,  and 
we  entered  on  the  wide,  low  valley  of  the  Garonne* 


AT  THE  FINGER-POST.  287 

their  hopes  sank  and  faded  also  —  sank  to  the 
dead-level  of  despair.  Surrounded  by  guards,  a 
mark  for  curious  glances,  with  pride  for  a  com- 
panion, M.  de  Cocheforet  could  doubtless  have 
borne  himself  bravely ;  doubtless  he  would  bear 
himself  bravely  still  when  the  end  came.  But 
almost  alone,  moving  forward  through  the  grey 
evening  to  a  prison,  with  so  many  measured  days 
before  him,  and  nothing  to  exhilarate  or  anger,  — 
in  this  condition  it  was  little  wonder  if  he  felt,  and 
betrayed  that  he  felt,  the  blood  run  slow  in  his 
veins ;  if  he  thought  more  of  the  weeping  wife 
and  ruined  home,  which  he  left  behind  him,  than 
of  the  cause  in  which  he  had  spent  himself. 

But  God  knows,  they  had  no  monopoly  of  gloom. 
I  felt  almost  as  sad  myself.  Long  before  sunset 
the  flush  of  triumph,  the  heat  of  the  battle,  which 
had  warmed  my  heart  at  noon,  were  gone ;  giving 
place  to  a  chill  dissatisfaction,  a  nausea,  a  de- 
spondency, such  as  I  have  known  follow  a  long 
night  at  the  tables.  Hitherto  there  had  been 
difficulties  to  be  overcome,  risks  to  be  run,  doubts 
about  the  end.  Now  the  end  was  certain,  and 
very  near ;  so  near  that  it  filled  all  the  prospect 


288  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

One  hour  of  triumph  I  might  still  have ;  I  hugged 
the  thought  of  it  as  a  gambler  hugs  his  last  stake. 
I  planned  the  place  and  time  and  mode,  and  tried 
to  occupy  myself  wholly  with  it.  But  the  price  ? 
Alas,  that  would  intrude  too,  and  more  as  the 
evening  waned ;  so  that  as  I  passed  this  or  that 
thing  by  the  road,  which  I  could  recall  passing 
on  my  journey  south,  —  with  thoughts  so  different, 
with  plans  that  now  seemed  so  very,  very  old,  —  I 
asked  myself  grimly  if  this  were  really  I,  if  this 
were  Gil  de  Berault,  known  as  Zaton's  premier 
joueur ;  or  some  Don  Quichotte  from  Castile, 
tilting  at  windmills,  and  taking  barbers'  bowls 
for  gold. 

We  reached  Agen  very  late  in  the  evening, 
after  groping  through  a  by-way  near  the  river, 
set  with  holes  and  willow-stools  and  frog-spawns 
—  a  place  no  better  than  a  slough.  After  it 
the  great  fire  and  the  lights  at  the  Blue  Maid 
seemed  like  a  glimpse  of  a  new  world,  and  in  a 
twinkling  put  something  of  life  and  spirits  into 
two  at  least  of  us.  There  was  queer  talk  round 
the  hearth  here  of  doings  in  Paris,  —  of  a  stir 
against  the  Cardinal,  with  the  Queen-mother  at 


AT  THE  FINGER-POST.  289 

bottom,  and  of  grounded  expectations  that  some- 
thing might  this  time  come  of  it.  But  the  land^ 
lord  pooh-poohed  the  idea,  and  I  more  than 
agreed  with  him.  Even  M.  de  Cocheforet,  who 
was  for  a  moment  inclined  to  build  on  it,  gave 
up  hope  when  he  heard  that  it  came  only  by  way 
of  Montauban ;  whence,  since  its  reduction  the 
year  before,  all  sorts  of  canards  against  the  Car- 
dinal were  always  on  the  wing. 

"They  kill  him  about  once  a  month,"  our 
host  said,  with  a  grin.  "Sometimes  it  is  Mon- 
sieur who  is  to  prove  a  match  for  him,  sometimes 
Char  Monsieur  —  the  Duke  of  Venddme,  you 
understand,  —  and  sometimes  the  Queen-mother. 
But  since  M.  de  Chalais  and  the  Marshal  made 
a  mess  of  it,  and  paid  forfeit,  I  pin  my  faith  to 
His  Eminence  —  that  is  his  new  title,  they  tell 
me." 

"  Things  are  quiet  round  here  ? "    I  asked. 

"  Perfectly.  Since  the  Languedoc  business 
came  to  an  end,  all  goes  well,"  he  answered. 

Mademoiselle  had  retired  on  our  arrival,  so 
that  her  brother  and  I  were  for  an  hour  or  two 
thrown  together.  I  left  him  at  liberty  to  separate 


290  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

himself  if  he  pleased,  but  he  did  not  use  the 
•opportunity.  A  kind  of  comradeship,  rendered 
piquant  by  our  peculiar  relations,  had  begun  to 
spring  up  between  us.  He  seemed  to  take  pleas- 
ure in  my  company,  more  than  once  rallied  me 
on  my  post  of  jailer,  would  ask  humorously  if 
he  might  do  this  or  that,  and  once  even  inquired 
what  I  should  do  if  he  broke  his  parole. 

"  Or  take  it  this  way,"  he  continued  flippantly 
"  Suppose  I  had  stuck  you  in  the  back  this  even- 
ing, in  that  cursed  swamp  by  the  river,  M.  de 
Berault  ?  What  then  ?  Pardieu  !  I  am  astonished 
at  myself  that  I  did  not  do  it.  I  could  have 
been  in  Montauban  within  twenty-four  hours,  and 
found  fifty  hiding-places,  and  no  one  the  wiser." 

"  Except  your  sister,"  I  said  quietly. 

He  laughed  and  shrugged  his  shoulders. 
"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  I  am  afraid  I  must  have  put 
her  out  of  the  way  too,  to  preserve  my  self- 
respect.  You  are  right."  And  on  that  he  fell 
into  a  reverie  which  held  him  for  a  few  minutes. 
Then  I  found  him  looking  at  me  with  a  kind  of 
frank  perplexity  that  invited  question. 

"What  is  it?"  I  said. 


AT  THE  FINGER-POST.  29 1 

"  You  have  fought  a  great  many  duels  ? " 

"Yes,"  I  said. 

"  Did  you  never  strike  a  foul  blow  in  one  of 
them  ?  " 

"  Never.     Why  do  you  ask  ?  " 

"  Well,  —  I  wanted  to  confirm  an  impression," 
he  said.  "To  be  frank,  M.  de  Berault,  I  seem  to 
see  in  you  two  men." 

"  Two  men  ?  " 

"  Yes,  two  men,"  he  answered.  "  One,  the 
man  who  captured  me ;  the  other,  the  man  who 
let  my  friend  go  free  to-day." 

"  It  surprised  you  that  I  let  him  go  ?  That 
was  prudence,  M.  de  Cocheforet,"  I  replied, 
"nothing  more.  I  am  an  old  gambler — I 
know  when  the  stakes  are  too  high  for  me.  The 
man  who  caught  a  lion  in  his  wolf-pit  had  no 
great  catch." 

"  No,  that  is  true,"  he  answered,  smiling. 
"And  yet — I  find  two  men  in  your  skin." 

"  I  dare  say  that  there  are  two  in  most  men's 
skins,"  I  answered,  with  a  sigh,  "  but  not  always 
together.  Sometimes  one  is  there,  and  sometimes 
the  other." 


292  UNDER   THE  RED   ROSE. 

"  How  does  the  one  like  taking  up  the  other's 
work  ? "  he  asked  keenly. 

I  shrugged  my  shoulders.  "That  is  as  may 
be,"  I  said.  "  You  do  not  take  an  estate  with- 
out the  debts." 

He  did  not  answer  for  a  moment,  and  I  fancied 
that  his  thoughts  had  reverted  to  his  own  case. 
But  on  a  sudden  he  looked  at  me  again.  "  Will 
you  answer  me  a  question,  M.  de  Berault  ? "  he 
said,  with  a  winning  smile. 

"Perhaps,"  I  said. 

"  Then  tell  me  —  it  is  a  tale  that  is,  I  am  sure, 
worth  the  telling.  What  was  it  that,  in  a  very 
evil  hour  for  me,  sent  you  in  search  of  me  ? " 

"  The  Cardinal,"  I  answered. 

"  I  did  not  ask  who,"  he  replied  drily.  "  I 
asked,  what.  You  had  no  grudge  against  me  ? " 

"  No." 

"  No  knowledge  of  me  ?  " 

"No." 

"  Then  what  on  earth  induced  you  to  do  it  ? 
Heavens,  man,"  he  continued  bluntly,  rising  and 
speaking  with  greater  freedom  than  he  had 
before  used,  "nature  never  intended  you  for  a  tip 
staff!  What  was  it,  then?" 


AT  THE  FINGER-POST.  293 

I  rose  too.  It  was  very  late,  and  the  room 
was  empty,  the  fire  low.  "  I  will  tell  you  —  to- 
morrow ! "  I  said.  "  I  shall  have  something  to 
say  to  you  then,  of  which  that  will  be  part." 

He  looked  at  me  in  great  astonishment ;  with 
a  little  suspicion,  too.  But  I  put  him  off,  and 
called  for  a  light,  and  by  going  at  once  to  bed, 
cut  short  his  questions. 

Those  who  know  the  great  south  road  to  Agen, 
and  how  the  vineyards  rise  in  terraces  north  of 
the  town,  one  level  of  red  earth  above  another, 
green  in  summer,  but  in  late  autumn  bare  and 
stony,  will  remember  a  particular  place  where 
the  road  two  leagues  from  the  town  runs  up  a 
long  hill.  At  the  top  of  the  hill  four  ways 
meet;  and  there,  plain  to  be  seen  against  the 
sky  is  a  finger-post,  indicating  which  way  leads 
to  Bordeaux,  and  which  to  Montauban,  and  which 
to  Perigueux. 

This  hill  had  impressed  me  on  my  journey 
down;  perhaps,  because  I  had  from  it  my  first 
view  of  the  Garonne  valley,  and  there  felt  myself 
on  the  verge  of  the  south  country  where  my 
mission  lay.  It  had  taken  root  in  my  memory ; 


294  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

I  had  come  to  look  upon  its  bare,  bleak  brow, 
with  the  finger-post  and  the  four  roads,  as  the 
first  outpost  of  Paris,  as  the  first  sign  of  return 
to  the  old  life. 

Now  for  two  days  I  had  been  looking  forward 
to  seeing  it  again.  That  long  stretch  of  road 
would  do  admirably  for  something  I  had  in  my 
mind.  That  sign-post,  with  the  roads  pointing 
north,  south,  east,  and  west,  could  there  be  a 
better  place  for  meetings  and  partings  ? 

We  came  to  the  bottom  of  the  ascent  about 
an  hour  before  noon — M.  de  Cocheforet,  Made- 
moiselle, and  I.  We  had  reversed  the  order  of 
yesterday,  and  I  rode  ahead.  They  came  after 
me  at  their  leisure.  At  the  foot  of  the  hill,  how- 
ever, I  stopped  and,  letting  Mademoiselle  pass 
on,  detained  M.  de  Cocheforet  by  a  gesture. 
"  Pardon  me,  one  moment,"  I  said.  "  I  want  to 
ask  a  favour." 

He  looked  at  me  somewhat  fretfully,  with  a 
gleam  of  wildness  in  his  eyes  that  betrayed  how 
the  iron  was  eating  into  his  heart.  He  had 
started  after  breakfast  as  gaily  as  a  bridegroom, 
but  gradually  he  had  sunk  below  himself ;  and 


AT  THE  FINGER-POST.  295 

now  he  had  much  ado  to  curb  his  impatience. 
The  bonhomie  of  last  night  was  quite  gone.  "  Of 
me  ? "  he  said.  "  What  is  it  ?  " 

"  I  wish  to  have  a  few  words  with  Mademoi- 
selle —  alone,"  I  explained. 

"  Alone  ? "   he  answered,  frowning. 

"Yes,"  I  replied,  without  blenching,  though 
his  face  grew  dark.  "  For  the  matter  of  that, 
you  can  be  within  call  all  the  time,  if  you 
please.  But  I  have  a  reason  for  wishing  to  ride 
a  little  way  with  her." 

"  To  tell  her  something  ? " 

"  Yes." 

"Then  you  can  tell  it  to  me,"  he  retorted 
suspiciously.  "  Mademoiselle,  I  will  answer  for 
it,  has  no  desire  to  — " 

"  See  me,  or  speak  to  me ! "  I  said,  taking 
him  up.  "  I  can  understand  that  Yet  I  want 
to  speak  to  her." 

"Very  well,  you  can  speak  to  her  before  me," 
he  answered  rudely.  "  Let  us  ride  on  and  join 
her."  And  he  made  a  movement  as  if  to  do 
so. 

"That  will  not  do,  M.  de  Cocheforet,"  I  said 


296  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

firmly,  stopping  him  with  my  hand.  "  Let  me 
beg  you  to  be  more  complaisant.  It  is  a  small 
thing  I  ask ;  but  I  swear  to  you,  if  Mademoiselle 
does  not  grant  it,  she  will  repent  it  all  her 
life." 

He  looked  at  me,  his  face  growing  darker 
and  darker.  "Fine  words!"  he  said  presently, 
with  a  sneer.  "  Yet  I  fancy  I  understand  them." 
Then  with  a  passionate  oath  he  broke  out  in 
a  fresh  tone.  "  But  I  will  not  have  it.  I  have 
not  been  blind,  M.  de  Berault,  and  I  understand. 
But  I  will  not  have  it!  I  will  have  no  such 
Judas  bargain  made.  Pardien !  do  you  think 
I  could  suffer  it  and  show  my  face  again  ? " 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean !  "  I  said,  re- 
straining myself  with  difficulty.  I  could  have 
struck  the  fool. 

"  But  I  know  what  you  mean,"  he  replied,  in 
?.  tone  of  repressed  rage.  "You  would  have 
her  sell  herself :  sell  herself  body  and  soul  to 
you  to  save  me !  And  you  would  have  me  stand 
by  and  see  the  thing  done !  Well,  my  answer 
is  —  never!  though  I  go  to  the  wheel!  I  wil/ 
die  a  gentleman,  if  I  have  lived  a  fool ! " 


AT  THE  FINGER-POST.  297 

"  I  think  you  will  do  the  one  as  certainly  as 
you  have  done  the  other,"  I  retorted,  in  my 
exasperation.  And  yet  I  admired  him. 

"  Oh,  I  am  not  such  a  fool,"  he  cried,  scowl- 
ing at  me,  "  as  you  have  perhaps  thought.  I 
have  used  my  eyes." 

"  Then  be  good  enough  now  to  favour  me  with 
your  ears,"  I  answered  drily.  "  And  listen  when 
I  say  that  no  such  bargain  has  ever  crossed  my 
mind.  You  were  kind  enough  to»  think  well  of 
me  last  night,  M.  de  Cocheforet.  Why  should 
the  mention  of  Mademoiselle  in  a  moment  change 
your  opinion  ?  I  wish  simply  to  speak  to  her. 
I  have  nothing  to  ask  from  her;  neither  favour 
nor  anything  else.  And  what  I  say  she  will 
doubtless  tell  you  afterwards.  del,  man ! "  I 
continued  angrily,  "what  harm  can  I  do  to 
her,  in  the  road,  in  your  sight  ?  " 

He  looked  at  me  sullenly,  his  face  still  flushed, 
his  eyes  suspicious.  "  What  do  you  want  to  say 
to  her?"  he  asked  jealously.  He  was  quite 
unlike  himself.  His  airy  nonchalance,  his  care- 
less gaiety,  were  gone. 

"  You  know  what  I  do  not  want  to  say  to  her, 


298  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

M.  de  Cocheforet,"  I  answered.  "  That  should 
be  enough." 

He  glowered  at  me  for  a  moment,  still  ill  con- 
tent. Then,  without  a  word,  he  made  me  a  ges- 
ture to  go  to  her. 

She  had  halted  a  score  of  paces  away,  won- 
dering doubtless  what  was  on  foot.  I  rode 
towards  her.  She  wore  her  mask,  so  that  I  lost 
the  expression  of  her  face  as  I  approached,  but 
the  manner  in  which  she  turned  her  horse's 
head  uncompromisingly  towards  her  brother,  and 
looked  past  me  —  as  if  I  were  merely  a  log  in 
the  road  —  was  full  of  meaning.  I  felt  the  ground 
suddenly  cut  from  under  me.  I  saluted  her,  trem- 
bling. "  Mademoiselle,"  I  said,  "  will  you  grant 
me  the  privilege  of  your  company  for  a  few  min- 
utes, as  we  ride." 

"To  what  purpose,  Sir?"  she  answered,  in  the 
coldest  voice  in  which  I  think  a  woman  ever 
spoke  to  a  man. 

"  That  I  may  explain  to  you  a  great  many 
things  you  do  not  understand,"  I  murmured. 

"  I  prefer  to  be  in  the  dark,"  she  replied.  And 
her  manner  said  more  than  her  words. 


AT  THE  FINGER-POST.  299 

•'  But,  Mademoiselle,"  I  pleaded,  —  I  would  not 
be  discouraged,  —  "  you  told  me  one  day  that  you 
would  never  judge  me  hastily  again." 

"  Facts  judge  you,  not  I,  Sir,"  she  answered 
icily.  "  I  am  not  sufficiently  on  a  level  with  you 
to  be  able  to  judge  you  —  I  thank  God." 

I  shivered  though  the  sun  was  on  me,  and  the 
hollow  where  we  stood  was  warm.  "  Still  —  once 
before  you  thought  the  same ! "  I  exclaimed. 
"Afterwards  you  found  that  you  had  been  wrong. 
It  may  be  so  again,  Mademoiselle." 

"  Impossible,"  she  said. 

That  stung  me.  "  No  !  "  I  said  fiercely.  "  It 
is  not  impossible.  It  is  you  who  are  impossible ! 
It  is  you  who  are  heartless,  Mademoiselle.  I 
have  done  much,  very  much,  in  the  last  three 
days  to  make  things  lighter  for  you.  I  ask  you 
now  to  do  something  for  me  which  can  cost  you 
nothing." 

"  Nothing  ?  "  she  answered  slowly ;  and  her 
scornful  voice  cut  me  as  if  it  had  been  a  knife. 
•'  Do  you  think,  Monsieur,  it  costs  me  nothing 
to  lose  my  self-respect,  as  I  do  with  every  word 
(  speak  to  you  ?  Do  you  think  it  costs  me  noth- 


300  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

ing  to  be  here,  where  I  feel  every  look  you  cast 
on  me  an  insult,  every  breath  I  take  in  your 
presence  a  contamination.  Nothing,  Monsieur  ?  " 
She  laughed  in  bitter  irony.  "  Oh,  be  sure,  some- 
thing !  But  something  which  I  despair  of  making 
clear  to  you." 

I  sat  for  a  moment  in  my  saddle,  shaken  and 
quivering  with  pain.  It  had  been  one  thing  to 
feel  that  she  hated  and  scorned  me,  to  know 
that  the  trust  and  confidence  which  she  had 
begun  to  place  in  me  were  changed  to  loathing. 
It  was  another  to  listen  to  her  hard,  pitiless  words, 
to  change  colour  under  the  lash  of  her  gibing 
tongue.  For  a  moment  I  could  not  find  voice 
to  answer  her.  Then  I  pointed  to  M.  de  Coche- 
foret.  "  Do  you  love  him  ? "  I  said,  hoarsely, 
roughly.  The  gibing  tone  had  passed  from  her 
voice  to  mine. 

She  did  not  answer. 

"  Because,  if  you  do,"  I  continued,  "  you  will 
let  me  tell  my  tale.  Say  no  but  once  more, 
Mademoiselle,  —  I  am  only  human,  —  and  I  go. 
And  you  will  repent  it  all  your  life." 

I  had  done  better  had  I  taken  that  tone  from 


AT  THE  FINGER-POST.  3OI 

the  beginning.  She  winced,  her  head  drooped, 
she  seemed  to  grow  smaller.  All  in  a  moment, 
as  it  were,  her  pride  collapsed.  "  I  will  hear 
you,"  she  answered  feebly. 

"Then  we  will  ride  on,  if  you  please,"  I  said, 
keeping  the  advantage  I  had  gained.  "  You 
need  not  fear.  Your  brother  will  follow." 

I  caught  hold  of  her  rein  and  turned  her 
horse,  and  she  suffered  it  without  demur.  In  a 
moment  we  were  pacing  side  by  side,  the  long, 
straight  road  before  us.  At  the  end  where  it 
topped  the  hill,  I  could  see  the  finger-post,  —  two 
faint  black  lines  against  the  sky.  When  we 
reached  that,  involuntarily  I  checked  my  horse 
and  made  it  move  more  slowly. 

"Well,  Sir,"  she  said  impatiently.  And  her 
figure  shook  as  if  with  cold. 

"  It  is  a  tale  I  desire  to  tell  you,  Made- 
moiselle," I  answered,  speaking  with  effort. 
"  Perhaps  I  may  seem  to  begin  a  long  way  off, 
but  before  I  end,  I  promise  to  interest  you.  Two 
months  ago  there  was  living  in  Paris  a  man, 
perhaps  a  bad  man,  at  any  rate,  by  commor 
report,  a  hard  man." 


302  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

She  turned  to  me  suddenly,  her  eyes  gleaming 
through  her  mask.  "  Oh,  Monsieur,  spare  me 
this !  "  she  said,  quietly  scornful.  "  I  will  take 
it  for  granted." 

"Very  well,"  I  replied  steadfastly.  "Good 
or  bad,  this  man,  one  day,  in  defiance  of  the 
Cardinal's  edict  against  duelling,  fought  with  a 
young  Englishman  behind  St.  Jacques  Church. 
The  Englishman  had  influence,  the  person  of 
whom  I  speak  had  none,  and  an  indifferent 
name ;  he  was  arrested,  thrown  into  the  Chatelet, 
cast  for  death,  left  for  days  to  face  death.  At 
the  last  an  offer  was  made  to  him.  If  he 
would  seek  out  and  deliver  up  another  man,  an 
outlaw  with  a  price  upon  his  head,  he  should 
himself  go  free." 

I  paused  and  drew  a  deep  breath.  Then  I 
continued,  looking  not  at  her,  but  into  the  dis- 
tance :  "  Mademoiselle,  it  seems  easy  now  to  say 
what  course  he  should  have  chosen.  It  seems 
hard  now  to  find  excuses  for  him.  But  there 
was  one  thing  which  I  plead  for  him.  The  task 
he  was  asked  to  undertake  was  a  dangerous 
one.  He  risked,  he  knew  he  must  risk,  and  the 


AT  THE  FINGER-POST.  303 

event  proved  him  right,  his  life  against  the  life 
of  this  unknown  man.  And  —  one  thing  more  — 
there  was  time  before  him.  The  outlaw  might 
be  taken  by  another,  might  be  killed,  might  die, 
might — .  But  there,  Mademoiselle,  we  know 
what  answer  this  person  made.  He  took  the 
baser  course,  and  on  his  honour,  on  his  parole, 
with  money  supplied  to  him,  went  free,  —  free 
on  the  condition  that  he  delivered  up  this  other 
man." 

I  paused  again,  but  I  did  not  dare  to  look 
at  her,  and  after  a  moment  of  silence  I  resumed. 
"  Some  portion  of  the  second  half  of  this  story 
you  know,  Mademoiselle ;  but  not  all.  Suffice 
it  that  this  man  came  down  to  a  remote  village, 
and  there  at  a  risk,  but  Heaven  knows,  basely 
enough,  found  his  way  into  his  victim's  home. 
Once  there,  his  heart  began  to  fail  him.  Had 
he  found  the  house  garrisoned  by  men,  he 
might  have  pressed  on  to  his  end  with  little 
remorse.  But  he  found  there  only  two  helpless, 
loyal  women ;  and  I  say  again  that  from  the 
first  hour  of  his  entrance  he  sickened  of  the 
work  he  had  in  hand.  Still  he  pursued  it.  He 


304  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

had  given  his  word,  and  if  there  was  one  tradi- 
tion of  his  race  which  this  man  had  never  broken, 
it  was  that  of  fidelity  to  his  side ;  to  the  man 
that  paid  him.  But  he  pursued  it  with  only 
half  his  mind,  in  great  misery  sometimes,  if 
you  will  believe  me,  in  agonies  of  shame.  Grad- 
ually, however,  almost  against  his  will,  the  drama 
worked  itself  out  before  him,  until  he  needed 
only  one  thing." 

I  looked  at  Mademoiselle.  But  her  head  was 
averted ;  I  could  gather  nothing  from  the  out- 
lines of  her  form.  And  I  went  on.  "  Do  not 
misunderstand  me,"  I  said,  in  a  lower  voice.  "  Do 
not  misunderstand  what  I  am  going  to  say  next. 
This  is  no  love  story,  and  can  have  no  ending 
such  as  romancers  love  to  set  to  their  tales.  But 
I  am  bound  to  mention,  Mademoiselle,  that  this 
man,  who  had  lived  about  inns  and  eating-houses, 
and  at  the  gaming-tables  almost  all  his  days,  met 
here  for  the  first  time  for  years  a  good  woman ; 
and  learned  by  the  light  of  her  loyalty  and 
devotion  to  see  what  his  life  had  been,  and 
what  was  the  real  nature  of  the  work  he  was 
doing.  I  think,  —  nay,  I  know  —  that  it  added  a 


AT  THE  FINGER-POST.  305 

hundredfold  to  his  misery,  that  when  Jhe  learned 
at  last  the  secret  he  had  come  to  surprise,  he 
learned  it  from  her  lips,  and  in  such  a  way 
that  had  he  felt  no  shame,  hell  could  have 
been  no  place  for  him.  But  in  one  thing  she 
misjudged  him.  She  thought,  and  had  reason 
to  think,  that  the  moment  he  knew  her  secret 
he  went  out,  not  even  closing  the  door,  and  used 
it.  But  the  truth  was  that,  while  her  words 
were  still  in  his  ears,  news  came  to  him  that 
others  had  the  secret;  and  had  he  not  gone 
out  on  the  instant,  and  done  what  he  did,  and 
forestalled  them,  M.  de  Cocheforet  would  have 
been  taken,  but  by  others." 

Mademoiselle  broke  her  long  silence  so  sud- 
denly that  her  horse  sprang  forward.  "  Would 
to  Heaven  he  had ! "  she  wailed. 

"  Been  taken  by  others  ?  "  I  exclaimed,  startled 
out  of  my  false  composure. 

"  Oh,  yes,  yes !  "  she  answered  passionately. 
"  Why  did  you  not  tell  me  ?  Why  did  you  not 
confess  to  me  even  then  ?  I  —  oh,  no  more ! 
No  more ! "  she  continued,  in  a  piteous  voice. 
"  I  have  heard  enough.  You  are  racking  my 


306  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

heart,  M.  de  Berault.  Some  day  I  will  ask  God 
to  give  me  strength  to  forgive  you." 

"  But   you  have  not  heard  me  out,"  I  replied. 

"  I  want  to  hear  no  more,"  she  answered,  in 
a  voice  she  vainly  strove  to  render  steady.  "  To 
what  end  ?  Can  I  say  more  than  I  have  said  ? 
Did  you  think  I  could  forgive  you  now  —  with 
him  behind  us  going  to  his  death  ?  Oh,  no, 
no ! "  she  continued.  "  Leave  me !  I  implore  you 
to  leave  me.  I  am  not  well." 

She  drooped  over  her  horse's  neck  as  she 
spoke  and  began  to  weep  so  passionately  that 
the  tears  ran  down  her  cheeks  under  her  mask, 
and  fell  and  sparkled  like  dew  on  the  mane  before 
her;  while  her  sobs  shook  her  so  painfully  that 
I  thought  she  must  fall.  I  stretched  out  my 
hand  instinctively  to  give  her  help ;  but  she 
shrank  from  me.  "  No  !  "  she  gasped,  between 
her  sobs.  "  Do  not  touch  me.  There  is  too 
much  between  us." 

"Yet  there  must  be  one  thing  more  between 
us,"  I  answered  firmly.  "You  must  listen  to 
me  a  little  longer,  whether  you  will  or  no,  Mad- 
emoiselle, for  the  love  you  bear  to  your  brother. 


AT  THE  FINGER-POST.  307 

There  is  one  course  still  open  to  me  by  which 
I  may  redeem  my  honour;  it  has  been  in  my 
mind  for  some  time  back  to  take  that  course. 
To-day,  I  am  thankful  to  say,  I  can  take  it 
cheerfully,  if  not  without  regret;  with  a  stead- 
fast heart,  if  with  no  light  one.  Mademoiselle," 
I  continued  earnestly,  feeling  none  of  the  tri- 
umph, none  of  the  vanity,  I  had  foreseen,  but 
only  joy  in  the  joy  I  could  give  her,  "  I  thank 
God  that  it  is  still  in  my  power  to  undo  what 
I  have  done;  that  it  is  still  in  my  power  to  go 
back  to  him  who  sent  me,  and  telling  him  that 
I  have  changed  my  mind  and  will  bear  my  own 
burdens,  to  pay  the  penalty." 

We  were  within  a  hundred  paces  of  the  brow 
of  the  hill  and  the  finger-post  now.  She  cried 
out  wildly  that  she  did  not  understand.  "  What 
is  it  you  have  just  said?"  she  murmured.  "I 
cannot  hear."  And  she  began  to  fumble  with 
the  ribbon  of  her  mask. 

"  Only  this,  Mademoiselle,"  I  answered  gently. 
"  I  give  back  to  your  brother  his  word  and  his 
parole.  From  this  moment  he  is  free  to  go 
whither  he  pleases.  You  shall  tell  him  so  from 

X   2 


308  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

me.  Here,  where  we  stand,  four  roads  meet. 
That  to  the  right  goes  to  Montauban,  where  you 
have  doubtless  friends,  and  can  lie  hid  for  a  time ; 
or  that  to  the  left  leads  to  Bordeaux,  where  you 
can  take  ship  if  you  please.  And  in  a  word 
Mademoiselle,"  I  continued,  ending  a  little  feebly, 
"  I  hope  that  your  troubles  are  now  over." 

She  turned  her  face  to  me  —  we  had  both 
come  to  a  standstill  —  and  plucked  at  the  fasten- 
ings  of  her  mask.  But  her  trembling  fingers 
had  knotted  the  string,  and  in  a  moment  she 
dropped  her  hands  with  a  cry  of  despair.  "  And 
you  ?  You  ? "  she  said,  in  a  voice  so  changed  I 
should  not  have  known  it  for  hers.  "What  will 
you  do  ?  I  do  not  understand.  This  mask !  I 
cannot  hear." 

"  There  is  a  third  road,"  I  answered.  "  It  leads 
to  Paris.  That  is  my  road,  Mademoiselle.  We 
part  here." 

"But  why?     Why?"    she  cried  wildly. 

"  Because  from  to-day  I  would  fain  begin  to  be 
honourable,"  I  answered,  in  a  low  voice.  "  Be- 
cause I  dare  not  be  generous  at  another's  cost 
I  must  go  back  to  the  Chatelet." 


AT  THE  FINGER-POST.  3O9 

She  tried  feverishly  to  raise  her  mask  with 
her  hand.  "I  am  —  not  well,"  she  stammered. 
"  I  cannot  breathe." 

She  swayed  so  violently  in  her  saddle  as  she 
spoke,  that  I  sprang  down,  and  running  round 
her  horse's  head,  was  just  in  time  to  catch  her 
as  she  fell.  She  was  not  quite  unconscious  then, 
for,  as  I  supported  her,  she  murmured,  "  Leave 
me !  Leave  me !  I  am  not  worthy  that  you 
should  touch  me." 

Those  words  made  me  happy.  I  carried  her 
to  the  bank,  my  heart  on  fire,  and  laid  her  against 
it  just  as  M.  de  Cocheforet  rode  up.  He  sprang 
from  his  horse,  his  eyes  blazing  with  anger. 
"  What  is  this  ? "  he  cried  harshly.  "  What  have 
you  been  saying  to  her,  man  ? " 

"  She  will  tell  you,"  I  answered  drily,  my  com- 
posure returning  under  his  eye,  —  "  amongst  othei 
things,  that  you  are  free.  From  this  moment, 
M.  de  Cocheforet,  I  give  you  back  your  parole, 
and  I  take  my  own  honour.  Farewell." 

He  cried  out  something  as  I  mounted,  but  I 
did  not  stay  to  hear  or  answer.  I  dashed  the 
spurs  into  my  horse,  and  rode  away  past  the  cross- 


310  UNDER   THE  RED   ROBE. 

roads,  past  the  finger-post ;  away  with  the  level 
upland  stretching  before  me,  dry,  bare,  almost 
treeless  —  and  behind  me  all  I  loved.  Once,  when 
I  had  gone  a  hundred  yards,  I  looked  back  and 
saw  him  standing  upright  against  the  sky,  staring 
after  me  across  her  body.  And  again  I  looked 
back.  This  time  I  saw  only  the  slender  wooden 
cross,  and  below  it  a  dark  blurred  mass. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

ST.  MARTIN'S  EVE. 

IT  was  late  evening  on  the  last  day  but  one 
of  November,  when  I  rode  into  Paris  through 
the  Orleans  gate.  The  wind  was  in  the  north- 
east, and  a  great  cloud  of  vapour  hung  in  the 
eye  of  an  angry  sunset.  The  air  seemed  to  be 
full  of  wood  smoke,  the  kennels  reeked,  my 
gorge  rose  at  the  city's  smell ;  and  with  all  my 
heart  I  envied  the  man  who  had  gone  out  of  it 
by  the  same  gate  nearly  two  months  before,  with 
his  face  to  the  south,  and  the  prospect  of  riding 
Jay  after  day  across  heath  and  moor  and  pasture. 
At  least  he  had  had  some  weeks  of  life  before 
him,  and  freedom,  and  the  open  air,  and  hope  and 
uncertainty,  while  I  came  back  under  doom ;  and 
in  the  pall  of  smoke  that  hung  over  the  huddle 
of  innumerable  roofs,  saw  a  gloomy  shadowing 
of  my  own  fate. 

3" 


312       UNDER  THE  RED  ROBE. 

For  make  no  mistake.  A  man  in  middle  life 
does  not  strip  himself  of  the  worldly  habit  with 
which  experience  has  clothed  him,  does  not  run 
counter  to  all  the  cynical  saws  and  instances  by 
which  he  has  governed  his  course  so  long,  with- 
out shiverings  and  doubts  and  horrible  misgiv- 
ings and  struggles  of  heart.  At  least  a  dozen 
times  between  the  Loire  and  Paris,  I  asked  my- 
self what  honour  was;  and  what  good  it  would 
do  me  when  I  lay  rotting  and  forgotten ;  if  I 
was  not  a  fool  following  a  Jack-o'-lanthorn  ;  and 
whether,  of  all  the  men  in  the  world,  the  relent- 
less man  to  whom  I  was.  returning,  would  not  be 
the  first  to  gibe  at  my  folly. 

However,  shame  kept  me  straight;  shame  and 
the  memory  of  Mademoiselle's  looks  and  words. 
I  dared  not  be  false  to  her  again  ;  I  could  not, 
after  speaking  so  loftily,  fall  so  low.  And  there- 
fore—  though  not  without  many  a  secret  struggle 
and  quaking  —  I  came,  on  this  last  evening  but 
one  of  November,  to  the  Orleans  gate,  and  rode 
slowly  and  sadly  through  the  streets  by  the  Lux- 
embourg, on  my  way  to  the  Pont  au  Change. 

The    struggle    had    sapped    my   last    strength, 


ST.   MARTINIS  EVE.  313 

however;  and  with  the  first  whiff  of  the  gutters, 
the  first  rush  of  barefooted  gamins  under  my 
horse's  hoofs,  the  first  babel  of  street  cries,  the 
first  breath,  in  a  word,  of  Paris,  there  came  a 
new  temptation  —  to  go  for  one  last  night  to 
Zaton's  to  see  the  tables  again  and  the  faces  of 
surprise ;  to  be,  for  an  hour  or  two,  the  old  Berault. 
That  could  be  no  breach  of  honour;  for  in  any 
case  I  could  not  reach  the  Cardinal  before  to- 
morrow. And  it  could  do  no  harm.  It  could 
make  no  change  in  anything.  It  would  not  have 
been  a  thing  worth  struggling  about  —  only  I 
had  in  my  inmost  heart  suspicions  that  the  stout- 
est resolutions  might  lose  their  force  in  that 
atmosphere ;  that  even  such  a  talisman  as  the 
memory  of  a  woman's  looks  and  words  might 
lose  its  virtue  there. 

Still  I  think  I  should  have  succumbed  in  the 
end,  if  I  had  not  received  at  the  corner  of  the 
Luxembourg  a  shock  which  sobered  me  effec- 
tually. As  I  passed  the  gates,  a  coach  followed 
by  two  outriders  swept  out  of  the  palace  court- 
yard ;  it  was  going  at  a  great  pace,  and  I  reined 
my  jaded  horse  on  one  side  to  give  it  room.  As 


314  UNDER    THE  RED   ROBE. 

it  whirled  by  me,  one  of  the  leather  curtains 
flapped  back,  and  I  saw  for  a  second,  by  the 
waning  light,  —  the  nearer  wheels  were  no  more 
than  two  feet  from  my  boot,  —  a  face  ir^ide. 

A  face,  and  no  more,  and  that  only  for  a  sec- 
ond! But  it  froze  me.  It  was  Richelieu's,  the 
Cardinal's ;  but  not  as  I  had  been  wont  to  see  it, 
keen,  cold,  acute,  with  intellect  and  indomitable 
will  in  every  feature.  This  face  was  distorted 
with  rage  and  impatience ;  with  the  fever  of  haste 
and  the  fear  of  death.  The  eyes  burned  under 
the  pale  brow,  the  mustachios  bristled,  the  teeth 
showed  through  the  beard ;  I  could  fancy  the 
man  crying  "Faster!  Faster!"  and  gnawing 
his  nails  in  the  impatience  of  passion ;  and  I 
shrank  back  as  if  I  had  been  struck.  The  next 
moment  the  galloping  outriders  splashed  me,  the 
coach  was  a  hundred  paces  ahead,  and  I  was 
left  chilled  and  wondering,  foreseeing  the  worst, 
and  no  longer  in  any  mood  for  the  gaming-table. 

Such  a  revelation  of  such  a  man  was  enough  to 
appall  me.  Conscience  cried  out  that  he  must  have 
heard  that  Cocheforet  had  escaped,  and  through 
me !  But  I  dismissed  the  idea  as  soon  as  formed. 


ST.   MARTINA  EVE.  315 

In  the  vast  meshes  of  the  Cardinal's  schemes, 
Cocheforet  could  be  only  a  small  fish ;  and  to 
account  for  the  face  in  the  coach  I  needed  a 
cataclysm,  a  catastrophe,  a  misfortune,  as  far 
above  ordinary  mishaps,  as  this  man's  intellect 
rose  above  the  common  run  of  minds. 

It  was  almost  dark  when  I  crossed  the  bridges, 
and  crept  despondently  to  the  Rue  Savonnerie. 
After  stabling  my  horse,  I  took  my  bag  and 
holsters,  and  climbing  the  stairs  to  my  old  lanu- 
lord's,  —  the  place  seemed  to  have  grown  strangely 
mean  and  small  and  ill-smelling  in  my  absence,  — 
I  knocked  at  the  door.  It  was  opened  by  the 
little  tailor  himself,  who  threw  up  his  arms  at 
the  sight  of  me.  "  By  St.  Genevieve !  "  he  said. 
"If  it  is  not  M.  de  Berault!" 

"  No  other,"  I  said.  It  touched  me  a  little, 
after  my  lonely  journey,  to  find  him  so  glad  to 
see  me  —  though  I  had  never  done  him  a  greater 
benefit  than  sometimes  to  unbend  with  him  and 
borrow  his  money.  "  You  look  surprised,  little 
man  ! "  I  continued,  as  he  made  way  for  me  to 
enter.  "  I'll  be  sworn  you  have  been  pawning 
my  goods  and  letting  my  room,  you  knave  !  " 


316  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

"  Never,  your  excellency  !  "  he  answered,  beam- 
ing on  me.  "  On  the  contrary,  I  have  been 
expecting  you." 

"  How ? "  I  said.     "To-day?" 

"  To-day  or  to-morrow,"  he  answered,  following 
me  in  and  closing  the  door.  "The  first  thing  I 
said,  when  I  heard  the  news  this  morning,  was, 
Now  we  shall  have  M.  de  Berault  back  again. 
Your  excellency  will  pardon  the  children,"  he 
continued,  as  I  took  the  old  seat  on  the  three- 
legged  stool  before  the  hearth.  "  The  night  is 
cold,  and  there  is  no  fire  in  your  room." 

While  he  ran  to  and  fro  with  my  cloak  and 
bags,  little  Gil,  to  whom  I  had  stood  at  St.  Sul- 
pice's  —  borrowing  ten  crowns  the  same  day,  I 
remember  —  came  shyly  to  play  with  my  sword- 
hilt  "  So  you  expected  me  back  when  you  heard 
the  news,  Frison,  did  you?"  I  said,  taking  the 
lad  on  my  knee. 

"To  be  sure,  your  excellency,"  he  answered, 
peeping  into  the  black  pot  before  he  lifted  it  to 
the  hook. 

"Very  good.  Then,  now,  let  us  hear  what  the 
news  was,"  I  said  drily. 


ST.   MARTINIS  EVE.  3 1/ 

"  Of  the  Cardinal,  M.  de  Berault." 

"  Ah  ?     And  what  ?  " 

He  looked  at  me,  holding  the  heavy  pot  sus- 
pended in  his  hands.  "You  have  not  heard?" 
he  exclaimed,  his  jaw  falling. 

"  Not  a  tittle.     Tell  it  me,  my  good  fellow." 

"You  have  not  heard  that  His  Eminence  is 
disgraced  ? " 

I  stared  at  him.     "Not  a  word,"  I  said. 

He  set  down  the  pot.  "  Your  excellency  must 
have  made  a  very  long  journey  indeed,  then,"  he 
said,  with  conviction.  "  For  it  has  been  in  the  air 
a  week  or  more,  and  I  thought  it  had  brought  you 
back.  A  week?  A  month,  I  dare  say.  They 
whisper  that  it  is  the  old  Queen's  doing.  At  any 
rate,  it  is  certain  that  they  have  cancelled  his 
commissions  and  displaced  his  officers.  There 
are  rumours  of  immediate  peace  with  Spain.  His 
enemies  are  lifting  up  their  heads,  and  I  hear 
that  he  has  relays  of  horses  set  all  the  way  to  the 
coast,  that  he  may  fly  at  any  moment  For  what 
I  know  he  may  be  gone  already." 

"  But,  man,"  I  said  —  "  the  King  !  You  forget 
the  King.  Let  the  Cardinal  once  pipe  to  him,  and 


3l8  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

he  will  dance.  And  they  will  dance,  too ! "  I 
added  grimly. 

"Yes,"  Prison  answered  eagerly.  ''True,  your 
excellency,  but  the  King  will  not  see  him.  Three 
times  to-day,  as  I  am  told,  the  Cardinal  has  driven 
to  the  Luxembourg,  and  stood  like  any  common 
man  in  the  ante-chamber,  so  that  I  hear  it  was 
pitiful  to  see  him.  But  His  Majesty  would  not 
admit  him.  And  when  he  went  away  the  last 
time,  I  am  told  that  his  face  was  like  death ! 
Well,  he  was  a  great  man,  and  we  may  be  worse 
ruled,  M.  de  Berault,  saving  your  presence.  If 
the  nobles  did  not  like  him,  he  was  good  to  the 
traders,  and  the  bourgeoisie,  and  equal  to  all." 

"  Silence,  man !  Silence,  and  let  me  think,"  I 
said,  much  excited.  And  while  he  bustled  to  and 
fro,  getting  my  supper,  and  the  firelight  played 
about  the  snug,  sorry  little  room,  and  the  child 
toyed  with  his  plaything,  I  fell  to  digesting  this 
great  news,  and  pondering  how  I  stood  now  and 
what  I  ought  to  do.  At  first  sight,  1  know,  it 
seemed  that  I  had  nothing  to  do  but  sit  still.  In 
a  few  hours  the  man  who  held  my  bond  would  be 
powerless,  and  I  should  be  free.  In  a  few  hours 


ST.   MARTINIS  EVE.  319 

I  might  smile  at  him.  To  all  appearance,  the 
dice  had  fallen  well  for  me.  I  had  done  a  great 
thing,  run  a  great  risk,  won  a  woman's  love,  and 
after  all  was  not  to  pay  the  penalty  ! 

But  a  word  which  fell  from  Prison  as  he  flut- 
tered round  me,  pouring  out  the  broth,  and  cutting 
the  bread,  dropped  into  my  mind  and  spoiled  my 
satisfaction.  "Yes,  your  excellency,"  he  ex- 
claimed, confirming  something  he  had  said  before, 
and  which  I  had  missed,  "  and  I  am  told  that  the 
last  time  he  came  into  the  gallery,  there  was  not 
a  man  of  all  the  scores  who  attended  his  levte 
last  Monday  would  speak  to  him.  They  fell  off 
like  rats, — just  like  rats, — until  he  was  left  standing 
all  alone.  And  I  have  seen  him ! "  Prison  lifted 
up  his  eyes  and  his  hands  and  drew  in  his  breath. 
"Ah,  I  have  seen  the  King  look  shabby  beside 
him !  And  his  eye  !  I  would  not  like  to  meet  it 
now." 

"  Pish  !  "  I  growled.  "  Some  one  has  fooled 
you.  Men  are  wiser  than  that." 

"  So  ?  Well,  your  excellency  understands.  But 
—  there  are  no  cats  on  a  cold  hearth." 

I  told' him  again  that  he  was  a  fool.     But  withal 


320  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

I  felt  uncomfortable.  This  was  a  great  man 
if  ever  a  great  man  lived,  and  they  were  all  leav- 
ing him  ;  and  I  — well,  I  had  no  cause  to  love  him. 
But  I  had  taken  his  money,  I  had  accepted  his 
commission,  and  I  had  betrayed  him.  Those 
three  things  being  so,  if  he  fell  before  I  could  — 
with  the  best  will  in  the  world  —  set  myself  right 
with  him,  so  much  the  better  for  me.  That  was 
my  gain,  the  fortune  of  war.  But  if  I  lay  hid, 
and  took  time  for  my  ally,  and  being  here  while 
he  stood  still,  —  though  tottering,  —  waited  until  he 
fell,  what  of  my  honour  then  ?  What  of  the 
grand  words  I  had  said  to  Mademoiselle  at  Agen? 
I  should  be  like  the  recreant  in  the  old  romance, 
who,  lying  in  the  ditch  while  the  battle  raged, 
came  out  afterwards  and  boasted  of  his  courage. 
And  yet  the  flesh  was  weak.  A  day,  twenty- 
four  hours,  two  days,  might  make  the  difference 
between  life  and  death.  At  last  I  settled  what 
I  would  do.  At  noon  the  next  day,  the  time 
at  which  I  should  have  presented  myself,  if  I 
had  not  heard  this  news,  at  that  time  I  would 
still  present  myself.  Not  earlier ;  I  owed  myself 
the  chance.  Not  later;  that  was  due  to  him. 


ST.   MARTINIS  EVE.  321 

Having  so  settled  it,  I  thought  to  rest  in 
peace.  But  with  the  first  light  I  was  awake ; 
and  it  was  all  I  could  do  to  keep  myself  quiet 
until  I  heard  Prison  stirring.  I  called  to  him 
then  to  know  if  there  was  any  news,  and  lay 
waiting  and  listening  while  he  went  down  to  the 
street  to  learn.  It  seemed  an  endless  time  before 
he  came  back;  an  age,  after  he  came  back, 
before  he  spoke. 

"Well,  he  has  not  set  off?"  I  cried  at  last, 
unable  to  control  my  eagerness. 

Of  course  he  had  not  At  nine  o'clock  I  sent 
Prison  out  again ;  and  at  ten,  and  at  eleven  — 
always  with  the  same  result.  I  was  like  a  man 
waiting,  and  looking,  and,  above  all,  listening 
for  a  reprieve,  and  as  sick  as  any  craven.  But 
when  he  came  back  at  eleven,  I  gave  up  hope, 
and  dressed  myself  carefully.  I  suppose  I  still 
had  an  odd  look,  however ;  for  Prison  stopped 
me  at  the  door  and  asked  me,  with  evident  alarm, 
whither  I  was  going. 

I  put  the  little  man  aside  gently.  "  To  the 
tables,"  I  said.  "To  make  a  big  throw,  my 
friend." 


322  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

It  was  a  fine  morning;  sunny,  keen,  pleasant. 
Even  the  streets  smelled  fresh.  But  I  scarcely 
noticed  it.  All  my  thoughts  were  where  I  was 
going.  It  seemed  but  a  step  from  my  threshold 
to  the  Hotel  Richelieu.  I  was  no  sooner  gone 
from  the  one  than  I  found  myself  at  the  other. 
As  on  the  memorable  evening,  when  I  had 
crossed  the  street  in  a  drizzling  rain,  and  looked 
that  way  with  foreboding,  there  were  two  or 
three  guards  in  the  Cardinal's  livery,  loitering 
before  the  gates.  But  this  was  not  all.  Coming 
nearer,  I  found  the  opposite  pavement  under  the 
Louvre  thronged  with  people;  not  moving  about 
their  business,  but  standing  all  silent,  all  look- 
ing across  furtively,  all  with  the  air  of  persons 
who  wished  to  be  thought  passing  by.  Their 
silence  and  their  keen  looks  had  in  some  way 
an  air  of  menace.  Looking  back  after  I  had 
turned  in  towards  the  gates,  I  found  them  devour- 
ing me  with  their  eyes. 

Certainly  they  had  little  else  to  look  at.  In 
the  courtyard,  where  some  mornings  when  the 
court  was  in  Paris  I  had  seen  a  score  of  coaches 
waiting  and  thrice  as  many  servants,  were  now 


ST.   MARTIN'S  EVE.  323 

emptiness  and  sunshine  and  stillness.  The  offi- 
cer, who  stood  twisting  his  mustachios,  on  guard, 
looked  at  me  in  wonder  as  I  passed.  The  lack- 
eys lounging  in  the  portico,  and  all  too  much 
taken  up  with  whispering  to  make  a  pretence 
of  being  of  service,  grinned  at  my  appearance. 
But  that  which  happened  when  I  had  mounted 
the  stairs,  and  come  to  the  door  of  the  ante- 
chamber, outdid  all.  The  man  on  guard  there 
would  have  opened  the  door ;  but  when  I  went 
to  take  advantage  of  the  offer,  and  enter,  a  major- 
domo,  who  was  standing  near,  muttering  with 
two  or  three  of  his  kind,  hastened  forward  and 
stopped  me. 

"  Your  business,  Monsieur,  if  you  please  ? " 
he  said  inquisitively.  And  I  wondered  why  the 
others  looked  at  me  so  strangely. 

"  I  am  M.  de  Berault,"  I  answered  sharply. 
"  I  have  the  entrte." 

He  bowed  politely  enough.  "  Yes,  M.  de 
Berault,  I  have  the  honour  to  know  your  face," 
he  said.  "  But  pardon  me.  Have  you  business 
with  His  Eminence  ?  " 

"I  have  the  common  business,"  I  answered 

v  2 


324  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

bluntly,  "by  which  many  of  us  live,  sirrah!  —  to 
wait  on  him." 

"But  —  by  appointment,  Monsieur?"  he  per- 
sisted. 

"No,"  I  said,  astonished.  "It  is  the  usual 
hour.  For  the  matter  of  that,  however,  I  have 
business  with  him." 

The  man  looked  at  me  for  a  moment,  in 
apparent  embarrassment.  Then  he  stood  reluct- 
antly aside,  and  signed  to  the  door-keeper  to 
open  the  door.  I  passed  in,  uncovering,  with  an 
assured  face,  ready  to  meet  all  eyes.  Then  in  a 
moment,  on  the  threshold,  the  mystery  was 
explained. 

The  room  was  empty. 


CHAPTER   XIV, 
sr,  MARTIN'S  SUMMER. 

YES,  at  the  great  Cardinal's  levte  I  was  the 
only  client.  I  stared  round  the  room,  a  long 
narrow  gallery,  through  which  it  was  his  custom 
to  walk  every  morning,  after  receiving  his  more 
important  visitors.  I  stared,  I  say,  round  this 
room,  in  a  state  of  stupefaction.  The  seats 
against  either  wall  were  empty,  the  recesses  of 
the  windows  empty  too.  The  hat,  sculptured 
and  painted  here  and  there,  the  staring  R,  the 
blazoned  arms,  looked  down  on  a  vacant  floor. 
Only,  on  a  little  stool  by  the  main  door,  sat  a 
quiet-faced  man  in  black,  who  read,  or  pretended 
to  read,  in  a  little  book,  and  never  looked  up. 
One  of  those  men,  blind,  deaf,  secretive,  who  fatten 
in  the  shadow  of  the  great 

At  length,  while  I  stood  confounded  and  full 
of  shamed  thought,  —  for  I  had  seen  the  ante- 

325 


326  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

chamber  of  Richelieu's  old  hotel  so  crowded  that 
he  could  not  walk  through  it,  —  this  man  closed 
his  book,  rose,  and  came  noiselessly  towards  me. 
"  M.  de  Berault  ? "  he  said. 

"Yes,"  I  answered. 

"  His  Eminence  awaits  you.  Be  good  enough 
to  follow  me." 

I  did  so,  in  a  deeper  stupor  than  before.  For 
how  could  the  Cardinal  know  that  I  was  here  ? 
How  could  he  have  known  when  he  gave  the 
order?  But  I  had  short  time  to  think  of  these 
things.  We  passed  through  two  rooms,  in  one 
of  which  some  secretaries  were  writing ;  we 
stopped  at  a  third  door.  Over  all  brooded  a 
silence  which  could  be  felt.  The  usher  knocked, 
opened,  and  with  his  finger  on  his  lip,  pushed 
aside  a  curtain,  and  signed  to  me  to  enter.  I  did 
so,  and  found  myself  standing  behind  a  screen. 

"  Is  that  M.  de  Berault  ? "  asked  a  thin,  high- 
pitched  voice. 

"Yes,  Monseigneur,"  I  answered,  trembjing. 

"Then  come,  my  friend,  and  talk  to  me." 

I  went  round  the  screen ;  and  I  know  not  how 
it  was,  the  watching  crowd  outside,  the  vacant 


ST.  MARTINIS  SUMMER.  327 

antechamber  in  which  I  had  stood,  the  stillness,  — 
all  seemed  concentrated  here,  and  gave  to  the 
man  I  saw  before  me,  a  dignity  which  he  had 
never  possessed  for  me  when  the  world  passed 
through  his  doors,  and  the  proudest  fawned  on 
him  for  a  smile.  He  sat  in  a  great  chair  on  the 
farther  side  of  the  hearth,  a  little  red  skull-cap  on 
his  head,  his  fine  hands  lying  motionless  in  his  lap. 
The  collar  of  lawn  which  fell  over  his  red  cape 
was  quite  plain,  but  the  skirts  of  his  red  robe 
were  covered  with  rich  lace,  and  the  order  of  the 
Holy  Ghost  shone  on  his  breast.  Among  the 
multitudinous  papers  on  the  great  table  near  him 
I  saw  a  sword  and  pistols  lying ;  and  some  tapes- 
try that  covered  a  little  table  behind  him  failed 
to  hide  a  pair  of  spurred  riding-boots.  But  he 
—  in  spite  of  these  signs  of  trouble  —  looked 
towards  me  as  I  advanced,  with  a  face  mild  and 
almost  benign;  a  face  in  which  I  strove  in  vain 
to  find  traces  of  last  night's  passion.  So  that  it 
flashed  across  me  that  if  this  man  really  stood  — 
and  afterwards  I  knew  he  did  —  on  the  thin 
razor-edge  between  life  and  death,  between  the 
supreme  of  earthly  power,  lord  of  France,  and 


328  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

arbiter  of  Europe,  and  the  nothingness  of  the 
clod,  he  justified  his  fame.  He  gave  weaker 
natures  no  room  for  triumph. 

The  thought  was  no  sooner  entertained  than 
it  was  gone.  "And  so  you  are  back  at  last, 
M.  de  Berault?"  he  said,  gently.  "I  have  been 
expecting  to  see  you  since  nine  this  morning." 

"Your  Eminence  knew  then  — "  I  muttered. 

"That  you  returned  to  Paris  by  the  Orleans 
gate  last  evening,  alone?"  He  fitted  together 
the  ends  of  his  fingers,  and  looked  at  me  over 
them  with  inscrutable  eyes.  "  Yes,  I  knew  all 
that  last  night.  And  now  of  your  mission  ?  You 
have  been  faithful,  and  dDigent,  I  am  sure. 
Where  is  he  ? " 

I  stared  at  him,  and  was  dumb.  Somehow  the 
strange  things  I  had  seen  since  I  left  my  lodg- 
ing, the  surprises  I  had  found  awaiting  me  here, 
had  driven  my  own  fortunes,  my  own  peril,  out 
of  my  head,  until  this  moment  Now,  at  his 
question,  all  returned  with  a  rush.  My  heart 
heaved  suddenly  in  my  breast.  I  strove  for  a 
savour  of  the  old  hardihood ;  but  for  the  moment 
I  could  not  find  a  word. 


ST.   MARTINIS  SUMMER.  329 

"Well?"  he  said  lightly,  a  faint  smile  lifting 
his  mustache.  "*  You  do  not  speak.  You  left 
Auch  with  him  on  the  twenty-fourth,  M.  de 
Berault.  So  much  I  know.  And  you  reached 
Paris  without  him  last  night.  He  has  not  given 
you  the  slip  ? "  with  sudden  animation. 

"No,  Monseigneur,"  I  muttered. 

'"  Hal  That  is  good,"  he  answered,  sinking 
back  again  in  his  chair.  "  For  the  moment  — 
but  I  knew  I  could  depend  on  you.  And  now 
where  is  he  ? "  he  continued.  "  What  have  you 
done  with  him  ?  He  knows  much,  and  the  sooner 
I  know  it,  the  better.  Are  your  people  bringing 
him,  M.  de  Berault?" 

"  No,  Monseigneur,"  I  stammered,  with  dry 
lips.  His  very  good  humour,  his  benignity, 
appalled  me.  I  knew  how  terrible  would  be  the 
change,  how  fearful  his  rage,  when  I  should  tell 
him  the  truth.  And  yet  that  I,  Gii  de  Berault, 
should  tremble  before  any  man !  I  spurred  my- 
self, as  it  were,  to  the  task.  "No,  Your  Emi* 
nence,"  I  said,  with  the  courage  of  <?e$rjiir.  "1 
have  not  brought  him,  because  I  have  $*£-  bin? 
free." 


330  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

"Because  you  have  —  what?"  he  exclaimed. 
He  leaned  forward,  his  hands  on  the  arm  of  his 
chair;  and  his  glittering  eyes,  growing  each 
instant  smaller,  seemed  to  read  my  soul. 

"  Because  I  have  let  him  go,"  I  repeated. 

"  And  why  ? "  he  said,  in  a  voice  like  the 
rasping  of  a  file. 

"  Because  I  took  him  unfairly,"  I  answered 
desperately.  "  Because,  Monseigneur,  I  am  a 
gentleman,  and  this  task  should  have  been  given 
to  one  who  was  not.  I  took  him,  if  you  must 
know,"  I  continued  impatiently,  —  the  fence  once 
crossed,  I  was  growing  bolder,  — "  by  dogging  a 
woman's  steps,  and  winning  her  confidence,  and 
betraying  it.  And,  whatever  I  have  done  ill  in 
my  life,  —  of  which  you  were  good  enough  to 
throw  something  in  my  teeth  when  I  was  last 
here,  —  I  have  never  done  that,  and  I  will  not ! " 

"  And  so  you  set  him  free  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  After  you  had  brought  him  to  Auch  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"And  in  point  of  fact  saved  him  from  falling 
into  the  hands  of  the  commandant  at  Auch?" 


ST.   MARTINIS  SUMMER.  331 

"Yes,"  I  answered  desperately. 

"  Then  what  of  the  trust  I  placed  in  you, 
sirrah  ? "  he  rejoined,  in  a  terrible  voice ;  and 
stooping  still  farther  forward,  he  probed  me 
with  his  eyes.  "You  who  prate  of  trust  and 
confidence,  who  received  your  life  on  parole, 
and  but  for  your  promise  to  me  would  have  been 
carrion  this  month  past,  answer  me  that !  What 
of  the  trust  I  placed  in  you  ? " 

"  The  answer  is  simple,"  I  said,  shrugging  my 
shoulders  with  a  touch  of  my  old  self.  "  I  am 
here  to  pay  the  penalty." 

"  And  do  you  think  that  I  do  not  know  why  ? " 
he  retorted,  striking  his  one  hand  on  the  arm 
of  the  chair  with  a  force  which  startled  me. 
"  Because  you  have  heard,  Sir,  that  my  power 
is  gone !  That  I,  who  was  yesterday  the  King's 
right  hand,  am  to-day  dried  up,  withered,  and 
paralyzed !  Because  —  but  have  a  care  !  Have 
a  care !  "  he  continued  not  loudly,  but  in  a  voice 
like  a  dog's  snarl.  "You,  and  those  others! 
Have  a  care  I  say,  or  you  may  find  yourselves 
mistaken  yet ! " 

"  As    Heaven    shall    judge   me,"    I    answered 


332  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

solemnly,  "that  is  not  true.  Until  I  reached 
Paris  last  night  I  knew  nothing  of  this  report. 
I  came  here  with  a  single  mind,  to  redeem  my 
honour  by  placing  again  in  Your  Eminence's 
hands  that  which  you  ga\e  me  on  trust" 

For  a  moment  he  remained  in  the  same  atti- 
tude, staring  at  me  fixedly.  Then  his  face  some- 
what relaxed.  "  Be  good  enough  to  ring  that 
bell,"  he  said. 

It  stood  on  a  table  near  me.  I  rang  it,  and 
a  velvet-footed  man  in  black  came  in,  and  gliding 
up  to  the  Cardinal  placed  a  paper  in  his  hand. 
The  Cardinal  looked  at  it  while  the  man  stood 
with  his  head  obsequiously  bent ;  my  heart  beat 
furiously.  "Very  good,"  the  Cardinal  said,  after 
a  pause,  which  seemed  to  me  to  be  endless. 
"  Let  the  doors  be  thrown  open." 

The  man  bowed  low,  and  retired  behind  the 
screen.  I  heard  a  little  bell  ring,  somewhere  in 
the  silence,  and  in  a  moment  the  Cardinal  stood 
up.  "  Follow  me  1  "  he  said,  with  a  strange  flash 
of  his  keen  eyes. 

Astonished,  I  stood  aside  while  he  passed  to 
the  screen;  then  I  followed  him.  Outside  the 


ST.  MARTIN'S  SUMMER.  333 

first  door,  which  stood  open,  we  found  eight 
or  nine  persons,  —  pages,  a  monk,  the  major-domo, 
and  several  guards  waiting  like  mutes.  These 
signed  to  me  to  precede  them,  and  fell  in  behind 
us,  and  in  that  order  we  passed  through  the  first 
room  and  the  second,  where  the  clerks  stood 
with  bent  heads  to  receive  us.  The  last  door, 
the  door  of  the  antechamber,  flew  open  as  we 
approached ;  a  score  of  voices  cried,  "  Place ! 
Place  for  His  Eminence !  "  We  passed  without 
pause  through  two  lines  of  bowing  lackeys,  and 
entered  —  an  empty  room  ! 

The  ushers  did  not  know  how  to  look  at  one 
another.  The  lackeys  trembled  in  their  shoes. 
But  the  Cardinal  walked  on,  apparently  unmoved, 
until  he  had  passed  slowly  half  the^length  of 
the  chamber.  Then  he  turned  himself  about, 
looking  first  to  one  side;  and  then  to  another, 
with  a  low  laugh  of  derision.  "  Father,"  he  said, 
in  his  thin  voice,  "what  does  the  psalmist  say? 
'  I  am  become  like  a  pelican  in  the  wilderness, 
and  like  an  owl  that  is  in  the  desert ! '  " 

The  monk  mumbled  assent. 

"And  later,  in  the  same  psalm  is  it  not  writ- 


334  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBL. 

ten,  '  They  shall  perish,  but  thou  shalt  en- 
dure!'" 

"It  is  so,"  the  father  answered.     "Amen." 

"  Doubtless  that  refers  to  another  life,"  the 
Cardinal  continued,  with  his  slow,  wintry  smile. 
"  In  the  meantime  we  will  go  back  to  our  book? 
and  our  prayers,  and  serve  God  and  the  King 
in  small  things,  if  not  in  great.  Come,  father, 
this  is  no  longer  a  place  for  us.  Vanitas  vani- 
tatum  ;  omnia  vanitas  !  We  will  retire." 

So,  as  solemnly  as  we  had  come,  we  marched 
back  through  the  first  and  second  and  third 
doors,  until  we  stood  again  in  the  silence  of  the 
Cardinal's  chamber;  he  and  I  and  the  velvet- 
footed  man  in  black.  For  a  while  Richelieu 
seemed  to  forget  me.  He  stood  brooding  on 
the  hearth,  with  his  eye's  on  the  embers.  Once 
I  heard  him  laugh;  and  twice  he  uttered  in  a 
tone  of  bitter  mockery,  the  words,  "  Fools ! 
Fools!  Fools!" 

At  last  he  looked  up,  saw  me,  and  started. 
"Ah!"  he  said.  "I  had  forgotten  you.  Well, 
you  are  fortunate,  M.  de  Berault.  Yesterday 
I  had  a  hundred  clients.  To-day  I  have  only 


ST.   MARTINIS  SUMMER,  335 

one,  and  I  cannot  afford  to  hang  him.  But  for 
your  liberty  —  that  is  another  matter." 

I  would  have  said  something,  but  he  turned 
abruptly  to  the  table,  and  sitting  down  wrote  a 
few  lines  on  a  piece  of  paper.  Then  he  rang 
his  bell,  while  I  stood  waiting  and  confounded. 

The  man  in  black  came  from  behind  the  screen. 
"Take  that  letter  and  this  gentleman  to  the 
upper  guard-room,"  His  Eminence  said  sharply. 
"  I  can  hear  no  more,"  he  continued  wearily, 
raising  his  hand  to  forbid  interruption.  "The 
matter  is  ended,  M.  de  Berault.  Be  thankful." 

And  in  a  moment  I  was  outside  the  door,  my 
head  in  a  whirl,  my  heart  divided  between  grati- 
tude and  resentment.  Along  several  passages 
I  followed  my  guide ;  everywhere  finding  the 
same  silence,  the  same  monastic  stillness.  At 
length,  when  I  had  begun  to  consider  whether 
the  Bastile  or  the  Chatelet  would  be  my  fate, 
he  stopped  at  a  door,  gave  me  the  letter,  and, 
lifting  the  latch,  signed  to  me  to  enter. 

I  went  in  in  amazement,  and  stopped  in  con- 
fusion. Before  me,  alone,  just  risen  from  a 
chair,  with  her  face  one  moment  pale,  the  next 


336  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

red  with  blushes,  stood  Mademoiselle  de  Coche* 
foret.  I  cried  out  her  name. 

"  M.  de  Berault ! "  she  said,  visibly  trembling. 
"  You  did  not  expect  to  see  me  ? " 

"  I  expected  to  see  no  one  so  little,  Made- 
moiselle," I  answered,  striving  to  recover  my 
composure. 

"Yet  you  might  have  thought  that  we  should 
not  utterly  desert  you,"  she  replied,  with  a 
reproachful  humility  which  went  to  my  heart. 
"We  should  have  been  base  indeed,  if  we  had 
not  made  some  attempt  to  save  you.  I  thank 
Heaven  that  it  has  so  far  succeeded  that  that 
strange  man  has  promised  me  your  life.  You 
have  seen  him  ? "  she  continued  eagerly,  and  in 
another  tone,  while  her  eyes  grew  suddenly  large 
with  fear. 

"  Yes,  Mademoiselle,  I  have  seen  him,"  I  said. 
"And  he  has  given  me  my  life." 

"  And  ?  " 

"And  sent  me  to  imprisonment." 

41  For  how  long  ?  "   she  whispered. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  I  answered.  "  I  expect,  dur= 
ing  the  King's  pleasure." 


ST.  MARTINS  SUMMER.  337 

She  shuddered.  "  I  may  have  done  more  harm 
than  good,"  she  murmured,  looking  at  me  pite- 
ously.  "  But  I  did  it  for  the  best.  I  told  him 
all,  and  —  yes,  perhaps  I  did  harm." 

But  to  hear  her  accuse  herself  thus,  when  she 
had  made  this  long  and  lonely  journey  to  save 
me ;  when  she  had  forced  herself  into  her  enemy's 
presence,  and  had,  as  I  was  sure  she  had,  abased 
herself  for  me,  was  more  than  I  could  bear. 
"  Hush,  Mademoiselle,  hush ! "  I  said,  almost 
roughly.  "You  hurt  me.  You  have  made  me 
happy :  and  yet  I  wish  that  you  were  not  here, 
where  I  fear  you  have  few  friends,  but  back 
at  Cocheforet.  You  have  done  more  than  I 
expected,  and  a  hundred  times  more  than  I  de- 
served. But  I  was  a  ruined  man  before  this 
happened.  I  am  no  /more  now,  but  I  am  still 
that;  and  I  would  not  have  your  name  pinned 
to  mine  on  Paris  lips.  Therefore,  good-bye.  God 
forbid  I  should  say  more  to  you,  or  let  you  stay 
'.vhere  foul  tongues  would  scon  malign  you." 

She  looked  at  me  in  a  kind  of  wonder;  then 
with  a  growing  smile,  "It  is  too  late,"  she  said 
gently. 


338  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

"  Too  late  ?  "  I  exclaimed.  "  How,  Mademoi- 
selle?" 

"Because  —  do  you  remember,  M.  de  Berault, 
what  you  told  me  of  your  love  story,  by  Agen  ? 
That  it  could  have  no  happy  ending  ?  For  the 
same  reason  I  was  not  ashamed  to  tell  mine  to  the 
Cardinal.  By  this  time  it  is  common  property." 

I  looked  at  her  as  she  stood  facing  me.  Her 
eyes  shone,  but  they  were  downcast.  Her  figure 
drooped,  and  yet  a  smile  trembled  on  her  lips. 
"  What  did  you  tell  him,  Mademoiselle  ? "  I 
whispered,  my  breath  coming  quickly. 

"That  I  loved,"  she  answered  boldly,  raising 
her  clear  eyes  to  mine.  "  And  therefore  that  I 
was  not  ashamed  to  beg,  even  on  my  knees.  Nor 
ashamed  to  be  with  my  lover,  even  in  prison." 

I  fell  on  my  knees,  and  caught  her  hand  before 
the  last  word  passed  her  lips.  For  the  moment 
I  forgot  King  and  Cardinal,  prison  and  the  future, 
all — all  except  that  this  woman,  so  pure  and 
so  beautiful,  so  far  above  me  in  all  things,  loved 
me.  For  the  moment,  I  say.  Then  I  remem 
bered  myself.  I  stood  up  and  thrust  her  from 
me,  in  a  sudden  revulsion  of  feeling.  "You  do 


.ST.   MARTINIS  SUMMER.  339 

not  know  me,"  I  said.  "You  do  not  know  me. 
You  do  not  know  what  I  have  done." 

"  That  is  what  I  do  know,"  she  answered,  look- 
ing at  me  with  a  wondrous  smile. 

"  Ah,  but  you  do  not,"  I  cried.  "  And  besides, 
there  is  this  —  this  between  us."  And  I  picked 
up  the  Cardinal's  letter.  It  had  fallen  on  the 
floor. 

She  turned  a  shade  paler.  Then  she  said, 
"  Open  it !  Open  it !  It  is  not  sealed,  nor 
closed." 

I  obeyed  mechanically,  dreading  what  I  might 
see.  Even  when  I  had  it  open  I  looked  at  the 
finely  scrawled  characters  with  eyes  askance.  But 
at  last  I  made  it  out.  1'c^an  thus:  — 

"The  King's  pleasure  is,  that  M.  de  Berault,  having  mixed 
himself  up  with  aftairs  of  state,  retire  forthwith  to  the  manor 
of  Cocheforet,  and  confine  himself  within  its  limits,  until 

the  King's  pleasure  be  further  known. 

"  RICHELIEU." 

On  the  next  day  we  were  married.  The  same 
evening  we  left  Paris,  and  I  retraced,  in  her  com- 
pany, the  road  which  I  had  twice  traversed  alone 

and  in  heaviness. 

z  2 


340  UNDER   THE  RED  ROBE. 

A  fortnight  later  we  were  at  Cocheforet,  in  the 
brown  woods  under  the  southern  mountains ;  and 
the  great  Cardinal,  once  more  triumphant  over 
his  enemies,  saw,  with  cold,  smiling  eyes,  the 
world  pass  through  his  chamber.  The  flood-tide, 
which  then  set  in,  lasted  thirteen  years;  in  brief, 
until  his  death.  For  the  world  had  learned  its 
lesson,  and  was  not  to  be  deceived  a  second  time. 
To  this  hour  they  call  that  day,  which  saw  me 
stand  for  all  his  friends,  "The  day  of  Dupes.'' 


THE  END 


. 
COUNT  HANNIBAL 


SORORI 

SUA   CAUSSX  CARAE 

PIO    ERGA   MATREM    AMORE 

ETIAM    CARIORI 

HOC    PRATER 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTEk  PAGE 

I.  URIMSON  FAVOURS    ...           ...           ...  ...        1 

II.  HANNIBAL  DE  SAULX,  COMTE  DE  TAVANNES  14 

III.  THE  HOUSE  NEXT  THE  GOLDEN  MAID  ...      28 

IV.  THE  EVE  OP  THE  FEAST              ...  ...             36 

V.  A  ROUGH  WOOING    ...            ...            ...  ...      47 

VI.  "  WHO  TOUCHES  TAVANNES  ?"      ...  ...             58 

VII.  IN  THE  AMPHITHEATRE          ...            ...  ...      6y 

VIII.  Two  HENS  AND  AN  EGO 
IX.  UNSTABLE    ... 
X.  MADAME  ST.  Lo 

XI.  A  BARGAIN                ...            ...           ...  /.. 

XII.  IN  THE  HALL  OP  THE  LOUVRE    ...  .../          124 

XIII.  DIPLOMACY                ...            ...            ...  ...     138 

XIV.  Too  SHORT  A  SPOON       ...            ...  ...            152 

XV.  THE  BROTHER  OF  ST.  MAG  LOIRE       ...  ...     163 

XVI.  AT  CLOSE  QUARTERS      ...            ...  ...            173 

XVII.  THE  DUEL  ...           ...           ...    180 

XVIII.  ANDROMEDA,  PERSEUS  BEING  ABSENT  ...            194 

XIX.  IN  THE  ORLEANNAIS               ...            ...  ...     205 

XX.  ON  THE  CASTLE  HILL     ...           ...  ...           216 

XXI.  SHE  WOULD  AND  WOULD  NOT             ...  ..    226 


vi  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXII.  PLAYING  WITH  FIKE              ...            ...            ...  236 

XXIII.  A  MIND  AND  NOT  A  MIND          ...            ...  247 

XXIV.  AT  THE  KCNG'S  INN               ...            259 

XXV.  THE  COMPANY  OF  THE  BLEEDING  HEART  271 

XXVI.  TEMPER              ...            ...            280 

XXVII.  THE  BLACK  TOWN 288 

XXVIII.  IN  THE  LITTLE  CHAPTER  HOUSE               ...  304 

XXIX.  THE  ESCAPE               315 

XXX.  SACRILEGE!         ...            ...           ...            ...  330 

XXXI.  THE  FLIGHT  FROM  ANGERS  ...            ...            ...  338 

XXXII.  ORDEAL  BY  STEEL           ...            ...            ...  350 

XXXIII.  THE  AMBUSH             357 

XXXIV.  "WHICH 'WILL  YOU,  MADAME?" 372 

XXXV.  AGAINST  THE  WALL               ...            ...            ...  384 

XXXVI.  His  KINGDOM  396 


COUNT  HANNIBAL. 


CHAPTEE  L 

CRIMSON  FAVOURS. 

M.  DE  TAVANTSTES  smiled.  Mademoiselle  averted  her 
eyes,  and  shivered;  as  if  the  air,  even  of  that  close 
summer  night,  entering  by  the  door  at  her  elbow, 
chilled  her.  And  then  came  a  welcome  interrup- 
tion. 

"Tavannes!" 

"Sire!" 

Count  Hannibal  rose  slowly.  The  King  had  called, 
and  he  had  no  choice  but  to  obey  and  go.  Yet  he 
hung  a  last  moment  over  his  companion,  his  hateful 
breath  stirring  her  hair.  "Our  pleasure  is  cut  short 
too  soon,  Mademoiselle,"  he  said,  in  the  tone  and 
with  the  look  she  loathed.  "But  for  a  few  hours 
only.  We  shall  meet  to-morrow.  Or,  it  may  be — 
earlier." 

She  did  not  answer,  and  "Tavannes!"  the  King 
repeated  with  violence.  "  Tavannes !  Mordieu ! "  his 
Majesty  continued,  looking  round  furiously.  "Will 
no  one  fetch  him?  Sacre  nom,  am  I  King,  or  a  dog 
of  a " 

"  I  come,  sire ! "  Count  Hannibal  cried  in  haste. 
1 


2  COUNT  HANKTBAL. 

For  Charles,  King  of  France,  Xinth  of  the  name,  was 
none  of  the  most  patient ;  and  scarce  another  in  the 
Court  would  have  ventured  to  keep  him  waiting  so 
long.  "I  come,  sire;  I  come!"  Tavaunes  repeated, 
as  he  moved  from  her  side. 

He  shouldered  his  way  through  the  circle  of  cour- 
tiers, who  barred  the  road  to  the  presence,  and  in 
part  hid  Mademoiselle  from  observation.  He  pushed 
past  the  table  at  which  Charles  and  the  Comte  de 
Kochefoucauld  had  been  playing  primero,  and  at 
which  the  latter  still  sat,  trifling  idly  with  the  cards. 
Three  more  paces,  and  he  reached  the  King,  who 
stood  in  the  ruellc  with  Kambouillet  and  the  Italian 
Marshal.  It  was  the  latter  who,  a  moment  before, 
had  summoned  his  Majesty  from  his  game. 

Mademoiselle,  watching  him  go,  saw  so  much ;  so 
much,  and  the  King's  roving  eyes  and  haggard  face, 
and  the  four  figures,  posed  apart  in  the  fuller  light  of 
the  upper  half  of  the  Chamber.  Then  the  circle  01 
courtiers  came  together  before  her,  and  she  sat  back 
on  her  stool.  A  fluttering,  long-drawn  sigh  escaped 
her.  Xow,  if  she  could  slip  out  and  make  her  escape ! 
Xow — she  looked  round.  She  was  not  far  from  the 
door;  to  withdraw  seemed  easy.  But  a  staring,  whis- 
pering knot  of  gentlemen  and  pages  blocked  the  way;" 
and  the  girl,  ignorant  of  the  etiquette  of  the  Court 
and  with  no  more  than  a  week's  experience  of  Paris, 
had  not  the  courage  to  rise  and  pass  alone  through 
the  group. 

She  had  come  to  the  Louvre  this  Saturday  evening 
under  the  wing  of  Madame  d'Yverue,  her  fiance's 
cousin.  By  ill  hap  Madame  had  been  summoned  to 
the  Princess  Dowager's  closet,  and  perforce  had  left 
her.  Still,  Mademoiselle  had  her  betrothed,  and  iu 


CRIMSON   FAVOURS.  3 

his  charge  had  sat  herself  down  to  wait,  uoihing  loth, 
in  the  great  gallery,  where  all  was  bustle  and  gaiety 
and  entertainment.  For  this,  the  seventh  day  of  the 
fetes,  held  to  celebrate  the  marriage  of  the  King  of 
Navarre  and  Charles's  sister — a  marriage  which  was 
to  reconcile  the  two  factions  of  the  Huguenots  and  the 
Catholics,  so  long  at  war — saw  the  Louvre  as  gay,  as 
full,  and  as  lively  as  the  first  of  the  fete  days  had 
found  it ;  and  in  the  humours  of  the  throng,  in  the 
ceaseless  passage  of  masks  and  maids  of  honour, 
guards  and  bishops,  Swiss  in  the  black,  white  and 
green  of  Anjou,  and  Huguenot  nobles  in  more  som- 
bre habits,  the  country -bred  girl  had  found  recreation 
and  to  spare.  Until  gradually  the  evening  had  worn 
away  and  she  had  begun  to  feel  nervous ;  and  IVLde- 
Tignonville,  her  betrothed,  placing  her  in  the  emora- 
sure  of  a  wii;dow,  had  gone  to  seek  Madame,  i 

She  had  waited  for  a  time  without  much  misgiyin| 
expecting  each  moment  to  see  him  return.  He  would 
be  back  before  she  could  count  a  hundred ;  he  would 
be  back  before  she  could  u unite,1  the  leagues  that 
separated  her  from  her  beloved  province,  and  the 
home  by  the  Biscay  Sea,  to  which  even  in  that  bril- 
liant scene  her  thoughts  turned  fondly.  But  the  min- 
utes had  passed,  and  passed,  and  he  had  not  returned. 
Worse,  in  his  place  Tavannes — not  the  Marshal,  but 
his  brother  Count  Hannibal  —  had  found  her;  he, 
whose  odious  court,  at  once  a  menace  and  an  insult, 
had  subtly  enveloped  her  for  a  week  past.  He  had 
sat  down  beside  her,  he  had  taken  possession  of  her, 
and,  profiting  by  her  inexperience,  had  played  on  her 
fears  and  smiled  at  her  dislike.  Finally,  whether  she 
would  or  no,  he  had  swept  her  with  him  into  the 
Chamber.  The  rest  had  been  an  obsession,  a  night- 


4  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

mare,  from  which  only  the  King's  voice  summoning 
Tavannes  to  his  side  had  relieved  her. 

Her  aim  now  was  to  escape  before  he  returned, 
and  before  another,  seeing  her  alone,  adopted  his  rdle 
and  was  rude  to  her.  Already  the  courtiers  about 
her  were  beginning  to  stare,  the  pages  to  turn  and 
titter  and  whisper.  Direct  her  gaze  as  she  might, 
she  met  some  eye  watching  her,  some  couple  enjoying 
her  confusion.  To  make  matters  worse,  she  presently 
discovered  that  she  was  the  only  woman  in  the  Cham- 
ber; and  she  conceived  the  notion  that  she  had  no 
right  to  be  there  at  that  hour.  At  the  thought  her 
cheeks  burned,  her  eyes  dropped ;  the  room  seemed 
to  buzz  with  her  name,  with  gross  words  and  jests, 
and  gibes  at  her  expense. 

At  last,  when  the  situation  had  grown  nearly  un- 
bearable, the  group  before  the  door  parted,  and  Tig- 
nonville  appeared.  The  girl  rose  with  a  cry  of  relief, 
and  he  came  to  her.  The  courtiers  glanced  at  the 
two  and  smiled. 

He  did  not  conceal  his  astonishment  at  finding  her 
there.  "But,  Mademoiselle,  how  is  this?"  he  asked 
in  a  low  voice.  He  was  as  conscious  of  the  attention 
they  attracted  as  she  was,  and  as  uncertain  on  the 
point  of  her  right  to  be  there.  "I  left  you  in  the  gal- 
lery. I  came  back,  missed  you,  and " 

She  stopped  him  by  a  gesture.  "  Not  here !  "  she 
muttered,  with  suppressed  impatience.  "I  will  tell 
you  outside.  Take  me — take  me  out,  if  you  please, 
Monsieur,  at  once !  " 

He  was  as  glad  to  be  gone  as  she  was  to  go.  The 
group  by  the  doorway  parted ;  she  passed  through  it, 
he  followed.  In  a  moment  the  two  stood  in  the  great 
gallery,  above  the  Salle  des  Caryatides.  The  crowd 


CEIMSON  FAVOURS.  5 

which  had  paraded  here  an  hour  before  was  gone, 
and  the  vast  echoing  apartment,  used  at  that  date  as 
a  guard-room,  was  well-nigh  empty.  Only  at  rare 
intervals,  in  the  embrasure  of  a  window  or  the  recess 
of  a  door,  a  couple  talked  softly.  At  the  farther  end, 
near  the  head  of  the  staircase  which  led  to  the  hall 
below,  and  the  courtyard,  a  group  of  armed  Swiss 
lounged  on  guard.  Mademoiselle  shot  a  keen  glance 
up  and  down,  then  she  turned  to  her  lover,  her  face 
hot  with  indignation. 

"Why  did  you  leave  me?"  she  asked.  "Why  did 
you  leave  me,  if  you  could  not  come  back  at  once  ? 
Do  you  understand,  sir,"  she  continued,  "that  it  was 
at  your  instance  I  came  to  Paris,  that  I  came  to  this 
Court,  and  that  I  look  to  you  for  protection!?  " 

"  Surely, "  he  said.     "  And " 

"And  do  you  think  Carlat  and  his  wife  fit  guar- 
dians for  me?  Should  I  have  come  or  thought  of 
coming  to  this  wedding,  but  for  your  promise,  liml 
Madame  your  cousin's?  If  I  had  not  deemed  myself 
almost  your  wife,"  she  continued  warmly,  "and  se- 
cure of  your  protection,  should  I  have  come  within 
a  hundred  miles  of  this  dreadful  city?  To  which, 
had  I  my  will,  none  of  our  people  should  have  come. " 

"Dreadful?  Pardieu,  not  so  dreadful,"  he  an- 
swered, smiling,  and  striving  to  give  the  dispute  a 
playful  turn.  "You  have  seen  more  in  a  week  than 
you  would  have  seen  at  Vrillac  in  a  lifetime,  Made- 
moiselle. " 

"And  I  choke!"  she  retorted;  "I  choke!  Do  you 
not  see  how  they  look  at  us,  at  us  Huguenots,  in  the 
street?  How  they,  who  live  here,  point  at  us  and 
eurse  us  ?  How  the  very  dogs  scent  us  out  and  snarl 
at  our  heels,  and  the  babes  cross  themselves  when  we 


6  COUNT   HANNIBAL. 

go  by?  Can  you  see  the  Place  des  Gastines  arid  not 
think  what  stood  there?  Can  you  pass  the  Greve  at 
night  and  not  fill  the  air  above  the  river  with  screams 
and  wailings  aud  horrible  cries — the  cries  of  our  peo- 
ple murdered  on  that  spot  ?  "  She  paused  for  breath, 
recovered  herself  a  little,  and  in  a  lower  tone,  "For 
me,"  she  said,  "I  think  of  Philippine  de  Lims  by  day 
and  by  night !  The  eaves  are  a  threat  to  me ;  the  tiles 
would  fall  on  us  had  they  their  will ;  the  houses  nod 
to— to " 

"To  what,  Mademoiselle?  "  he  asked,  shrugging  his 
shoulders  and  assuming  a  tone  of  cynicism. 

"To  crush  us!     Yes,  Monsieur,  to  crush  us!" 

"And  all  this  because  I  left  you  for  a  moment?  " 

"For  an  hour — or  well-nigh  an  hour,"  she  answered 
more  soberly. 

"But  if  I  could  not  help  it?  " 

"You  should  have  thought  of  that — before  you 
brought  me  to  Paris,  Monsieur.  In  these  troublous 
times. " 

He  coloured  warmly.  "You  are  unjust,  Mademoi- 
selle," he  said.  " There  are  things  you  forget;  in  a 
Court  one  is  not  always  master  of  oneself. " 

"I  know  it,"  she  answered  drily,  thinking  of  that 
through  which  she  had  gone. 

"But  you  do  not  know  what  happened!"  he  re- 
turned with  impatience.  "You  do  not  understand 
that  I  am  not  to  blame.  Madame  d'Yverne,  when  I 
reached  the  Princess  Dowager's  closet,  had  left  to  go 
to  the  Queen  of  Navarre.  I  hurried  after  her,  and 
found  a  score  of  gentlemen  in  the  King  of  Navarre's 
chamber.  They  were  holding  a  council,  and  they 
begged,  nay,  they  compelled  me  to  remain." 

"And  it  was  that  which  detained  you  so  long?" 


CKIMSON   FAVOURS.  7 

"To  be  sure,  Mademoiselle." 

"And  not— Madame  St.  Lo?  " 

M.  de  Tiguonville's  face  turned  scarlet.  The  thrust 
in  tierce  was  unexpected.  This  then  was  the  key  to 
Mademoiselle's  spirt  of  temper.  "I  do  not  under- 
stand you,"  he  stammered. 

"How  long  were  you  in  the  King  of  Navarre's 
chamber,  and  how  long  with  Madame  St.  Lo ? "  she 
asked  with  fine  irony.  "Or  no,  I  will  not  tempt 
you,"  she  went  on  quickly,  seeing  him  hesitate.  "I 
heard  you  talking  to  Madame  St.  Lo  in  the  gallery 
while  I  sat  within.  And  I  know  how  long  you  were 
with  her." 

"I  met  Madame  as  I  returned,"  he  stammered,  his 
face  still  hot,  "and  I  asked  her  where  you  were.  I 
did  not  know,  Mademoiselle,  that  I  was,  not  to  speak 
to  ladies  of  my  acquaintance. " 

"I  was  alone,  and  I  was  waiting." 

"I  could  not  know  that — for  certain,"  he  answered, 
making  the  best  of  it.  "  You  were  not  where  I  left 
you.  I  thought,  I  confess — that  you  had  gone.  That 
you  had  gone  home." 

"With  whom?  With  whom?"  she  repeated  piti- 
lessly. "Was  it  likely?  With  whom  was  I  to  go? 
And  yet  it  is  true,  I  might  have  gone  home  had  I 
pleased — with  M.  de  Tavannes !  Yes, "  she  continued, 
in  a  tone  of  keen  reproach  and  with  the  blood  mount- 
ing to  her  forehead,  "it  is  to  that,  Monsieur,  you  ex- 
pose me!  To  be  pursued,  molested,  harassed  by  a 
man  whose  look  terrifies  me,  and  whose  touch  I — I 
detest!  To  be  addressed  wherever  I  go  by  a  man 
whose  every  word  proves  that  he  thinks  me  game  for 
the  hunter,  and  you  a  thing  he  may  neglect.  You 
are  a  man  and  you  do  not  know,  you  cannot  know 


8  COUNT   HANNIBAL. 

what  I  suffer !  What  I  have  suffered  this  week  past 
whenever  you  have  left  my  side !  " 

Tignonville  looked  gloomy.  "  What  has  he  said  to 
you1? "  he  asked,  between  his  teeth. 

"Nothing  I  can  tell  you,"  she  answered  with  a 
shudder.  "It  was  he  who  took  me  into  the  Cham- 
ber." 

"Why  did  you  go?" 

"Wait  until  he  bids  you  do  something,"  she  an- 
swered. "His  manner,  his  smile,  his  tone,  all  fright- 
en me.  And  to-night,  in  all  these  there  was  a  some- 
thing worse,  a  hundred  times  worse  than  when  I  saw 
him  last — on  Thursday !  He  seemed  to — to  gloat  on 
me,"  the  girl  stammered,  with  a  flush  of  shame,  "as 
if  I  were  his !  Oh,  Monsieur,  I  wish  we  had  not  left 
our  Poitou !  Shall  we  ever  see  Vrillac  again,  and  the 
fishers'  huts  about  the  port,  and  the  sea  beating  blue 
against  the  long  brown  causeway  ?  " 

He  had  listened  darkly,  almost  sullenly;  but  at 
this,  seeing  the  tears  gather  in  her  eyes,  he  forced  a 
laugh.  "Why,  you  are  as  bad  as  M.  de  Rosny  and 
the  Vidame ! "  he  said.  "  And  they  are  as  full  of 
fears  as  an  egg  is  of  meat !  Since  the  Admiral  was 
wounded  by  that  scoundrel  on  Friday,  they  think  all 
Paris  is  in  a  league  against  us." 

"And  why  not!  "  she  asked,  her  cheek  grown  pale, 
her  eyes  reading  his  eyes. 

"Why  not?  Why,  because  it  is  a  monstrous  thing 
even  to  think  of ! "  Tignonville  answered,  with  the 
confidence  of  one  who  did  not  use  the  argument  for 
the  first  time.  "Could  they  insult  the  King  more 
deeply  than  by  such  a  suspicion  ?  A  Borgia  may  kill 
his  guests,  but  it  was  never  a  practice  of  the  Kings  of 
France!  Pardieu,  I  have  no  patience  with  them! 


CRIMSON  FAVOURS.  9 

They  may  lodge  where  they  please,  across  th^  river, 
or  without  the  walls  if  they  choose,  the  Rue  de 
1'Arbre  Sec  is  good  enough  for  me,  and  the  King's 
name  sufficient  surety ! " 

"I  know  you  are  not  apt  to  be  fearful, "  she  an- 
swered, smiling ;  and  she  looked  at  him  with  a  wo- 
man's pride  in  her  lover.  "All  the  same,  you  will 
not  desert  me  again,  sir,  will  you  ?  " 

He  vowed  he  would  not,  kissed  her  hand,  looked 
into  her  eyes ;  then  melting  to  her,  stammering,  blun- 
dering, he  named  Madame  St.  Lo.  She  stopped  him. 

"There  is  no  need,"  she  said,  answering  his  look\ 
with  kind  eyes,  and  refusing  to  hear  his  protestations. 
"In  a  fortnight  will  you  not  be  my  husband?  How 
should  I  distrust  you?  It  was  only  that  while  she 
talked,  I  waited — I  waited;  and — and  that  Madame 
St.  Lo  is  Count  Hannibal's  cousin.  For  a  moment/I 
was  mad  enough  to  dream  that  she  held  you  oirpui- 
pose.  You  do  not  think  it  was  so  ?  " 

"  She !  "  he  cried  sharply ;  and  he  winced,  as  if  the 
thought  hurt  him.  "Absurd!  The  truth  is,  Made- 
moiselle, "  he  continued  with  a  little  heat,  "  you  are 
like  so  many  of  our  people !  You  think  a  Catholic 
capable  of  the  worst." 

"We  have  long  thought  so  at  Vrillac,"  she  an- 
swered gravely. 

"That's  over  now,  if  people  would  only  under- 
stand. This  wedding  has  put  an  end  to  all  that. 
But  I'm  harking  back,"  he  continued  awkwardly; 
and  he  stopped.  "Instead,  let  me  take  you  home." 

"If  you  please.  Carlat  and  the  servants  should 
be  below." 

He  took  her  left  hand  in  his  right  after  the  wont 
of  the  day,  and  with  his  other  hand  touching  his 


10  COUNT   HANNIBAL. 

sword-hilt,  lie  led  her  down  the  staircase,  that  by  a 
single  turn  reached  the  courtyard  of  the  palace. 
Here  a  mob  of  armed  servants,  of  lacqueys,  and 
foot-boys,  some  bearing  torches,  and  some  carrying 
their  masters'  cloaks  and  galoshes,  loitered  to  and  fro. 
Had  M.  de  Tignonville  been  a  little  more  observant, 
or  a  trifle  less  occupied  with  his  own  importance,  he 
might  have  noted  more  than  one  face  which  looked 
darkly  on  him ;  he  might  have  caught  more  than  one 
overt  sneer  at  his  expense.  But  in  the  business  of 
summoning  Carlat — Mademoiselle  de  Vrillac's  stew- 
ard and  major-domo — he  lost  the  contemptuous 
"  Christaudins ! "  that  hissed  from  a  footboy's  lips, 
and  the  "Southern  dogs!"  that  died  in  the  rnous- 
tachios  of  a  bully  in  the  livery  of  the  King's  brother. 
He  was  engaged  in  finding  the  steward,  and  in  aiding 
him  to  cloak  his  mistress ;  then  with  a  ruffling  air,  a 
new  acquirement,  which  he  had  picked  up  since  he 
came  to  Paris,  he  made  a  way  for  her  through  the 
crowd.  A  moment,  and  the  three,  followed  by  half 
a  dozen  armed  servants,  bearing  pikes  and  torches, 
detached  themselves  from  the  throng,  and  crossing 
the  courtyard,  with  its  rows  of  lighted  windows, 
passed  out  by  the  gate  between  the  Tennis  Courts, 
and  so  into  the  Eue  des  Fosses  de  St.  Germain. 

Before  them,  against  a  sky  in  which  the  last  faint 
glow  of  evening  still  contended  with  the  stars,  the 
spire  and  pointed  arches  of  the  church  of  St.  Germain 
rose  darkly  graceful.  It  was  something  after  nine ; 
the  heat  of  the  August  day  brooded  over  the  crowded 
city,  and  dulled  the  faint  distant  ring  of  arms  and 
armour  that  yet  would  make  itself  heard  above  the 
hush;  a  hush  which  was  not  silence  so  much  as  a  sub- 
dued hum.  As  Mademoiselle  passed  the  closed  house 


CRIMSON    FAVOURS.  11 

beside  the  Cloister  of  St.  Germain  where  only  the  day 
before  Admiral  Coligny,  the  leader  of  the  Huguenots, 
had  been  wounded,  she  pressed  her  escort's  hand,  and 
involuntarily  drew  nearer  to  him.  But  he  laughed  at 
her. 

"It  was  a  private  blow,"  lie  said,  answering  her 
unspoken  thought.  "It  is  like  enough  the  Guises 
sped  it.  But  they  know  now  what  is  the  King's 
will,  and  they  have  taken  the  hint  and  withdrawn 
themselves.  It  will  not  happen  again,  Mademoiselle. 
For  proof,  see  the  guards" — they  were  passing  the 
end  of  the  Rue  Bethizy,  in  the  corner  house  of  which, 
abutting  on  the  Rue  de  1'Arbre  Sec,  Coligny  had  his 
lodgings — "whom  the  King  has  placed  for  his  secu- 
rity. Fifty  pikes  under  Cosseins." 

"Cosseins1?"  she  repeated.  "But  I  thought  Cos- 
seins  " 

"  Was  not  wont  to  love  us !  "  Tignonville  answered 
with  a  confident  chuckle.  "  He  was  not.  But  the 
dogs  lick  where  the  master  wills,  Mademoiselle.  He 
was  not,  but  he  does.  This  marriage  has  altered  all." 

"I  hope  it  may  not  prove  an  unlucky  one!"  she 
murmured.  She  felt  impelled  to  say  it. 

"Xot  it!  "  he  answered  confidently.  "Why  should 
it?" 

They  stopped,  as  he  spoke,  before  the  last  house, 
at  the  corner  of  the  Rue  St.  Houore  opposite  the 
Croix  du  Tiroir ;  which  rose  shadowy  in  the  middle  of 
the  four  ways.  He  hammered  on  the  door. 

"But,"  she  said  softly,  looking  in  his  face,  "the 
change  is  sudden,  is  it  not  1  The  King  was  not  wont 
to  be  so  good  to  us !  " 

"The  King  was  not  King  until  now,"  he  answered 
"  That  is  what  I  am  trying  to  persuade  our 


12  COUNT   HANNIBAL. 

people.  Believe  me,  Mademoiselle,  you  may  sleep 
without  fear ;  and  early  in  the  morning  I  will  be  with 
you.  Carlat,  have  a  care  of  your  mistress  until  morn- 
ing, and  let  Madame  lie  in  her  chamber.  She  is  ner- 
vous to-night.  There,  sweet,  until  morning!  God 
keep  you,  and  pleasant  dreams !  " 

He  uncovered,  and  bowing  over  her  hand,  kissed 
it ;  and  the  door  being  open  he  would  have  turned 
away.  But  she  lingered  as  if  unwilling  to  enter. 
"There  is — do  you  hear  it — a  stir  in  that  quarter?" 
she  said,  pointing  across  the  Rue  St.  Honore".  "What 
lies  there  ? " 

"Northward?  The  markets,"  he  answered.  "'Tis 
nothing.  They  say,  you  know,  that  Paris  never 
sleeps.  Good-night,  sweet,  and  a  fair  awakening ! " 

She  shivered  as  she  had  shivered  under  Tavannes' 
eye.  And  still  she  lingered,  keeping  him.  "Are 
you  going  to  your  lodging  at  once  ?  "  she  asked — for 
the  sake,  it  seemed,  of  saying  something. 

"'I?"  he  answered  a  little  hurriedly.  "No,  I  was 
thinking  of  paying  Eochefoucauld  the  compliment 
of  seeing  him  home.  He  has  taken  a  new  lodging  to 
be  near  the  Admiral ;  a  horrid  bare  place  in  the  Eue 
Bethizy,  without  furniture,  but  he  would  go  into  it 
to-day.  And  he  has  a  sort  of  claim  on  my  family, 
you  know. " 

"Yes,"  she  said  simply.  "Of  course.  Then  I 
must  not  detain  you.  God  keep  you  safe, "  she  con- 
tinued, with  a  faint  quiver  in  her  tone ;  and  her  lip 
trembled.  "Good-night,  and  fair  dreams,  Monsieur." 

He  echoed  the  words  gallantly.  "  Of  you,  sweet !  " 
he  cried ;  and  turning  away  with  a  gesture  of  fare- 
well, he  set  off  on  his  return. 

He  walked  briskly,  nor  did  he  look  back,  though 


CRIMSON   FAYOUES.  13 

she  stood  awhile  gazing  after  him.  She  was  not 
aware  that  she  gave  thought  to  this ;  nor  that  it  hurt 
her.  Yet  when  bolt  and  bar  had  shot  behind  her, 
and  she  had  mounted  the  cold,  bare  staircase  of  that 
day — when  she  had  heard  the  dull  echoing  footsteps 
of  her  attendants  as  they  withdrew  to  their  lairs  and 
sleeping-places,  and  still  more  when  she  had  crossed 
the  threshold  of  her  chamber,  and  signed  to  Madame 
Carlat  and  her  woman  to  listen — it  is  certain  she  felt 
a  lack  of  something. 

Perhaps  the  chill  that  possessed  her  came  of  that 
lack,  which  she  neither  defined  nor  acknowledged. 
Or  possibly  it  came  of  the  night  air,  August  though 
it  was;  or  of  sheer  nervousness,  or  of  the  remem- 
brance of  Count  Hannibal's  smile.  Whatever  its 
origin,  she  took  it  to  bed  with  her ;  and  long  after  the 
house  slept  round  her,  long  after  the  crowded  quarter 
of  the  Halles  had  begun  to  heave  and  the  Sorbonne  t6 
vomit  a  black-frocked  band,  long  after  the  tall  houses^ 
in  the  gabled  streets,  from  St.  Antoine  to  Montmartre V 
and  from  St.  Denis  on  the  north  to  St.  Jacques  on  the 
south,  had  burst  into  rows  of  twinkling  lights — nay, 
long  after  the  Quarter  of  the  Louvre  alone  remained 
dark,  girdled  by  this  strange  midnight  brightness — she 
lay  awake.  At  length  she  too  slept,  and  dreamed  of 
home  and  the  wide  skies  of  Poitou,  and  her  castle  of 
Vrillac  washed  day  and  night  by  the  Biscay  tides. 


CHAPTEE  II. 

HANNIBAL  DE  SAULX,  COMTE  DE  TAVANNES. 

"TAVANNES!" 

"Sire." 

Tavannes,  we  know,  had  been  slow  to  obey  the 
summons.  Emerging  from  the  crowd  he  found  that 
the  King,  with  Eetz  and  Eambouillet,  his  Marshal 
des  Logis,  had  retired  to  the  farther  end  of  the 
Chamber;  apparently  Charles  had  forgotten  that  he 
had  called.  His  head  a  littls  bent — he  was  tall  and 
had  a  natural  stoop — the  King  seemed  to  be  listening 
to  a  low  but  continuous  murmur  of  voices  which  pro- 
ceeded from  the  door  of  his  closet.  One  voice  fre- 
quently raised  was  beyond  doubt  a  woman's ;  a  foreign 
accent,  smooth  and  silky,  marked  another;  a  third, 
that  from  time  to  time  broke  in,  wilful  and  impetuous, 
was  the  voice  of  Monsieur,  the  King's  brother,  Cathe- 
rine de  Medicis'  favourite  son.  Tavannes,  waiting 
respectfully  two  paces  behind  the  King,  could  catch 
little  that  was  said;  but  Charles,  something  more, 
it  seemed,  for  on  a  sudden  he  laughed,  a  violent, 
mirthless  laugh.  And  he  clapped  Eambouillet  on  the 
shoulder. 

-•There!  "he  said,  with  one  of  his  horrible  oaths, 
"'tis  settled!  'Tis  settled!  Go,  man,  and  take  your 
orders !  And  you,  M.  de  Eetz, "  he  continued,  in  a  tone 
of  savage  mockery,  "go,  my  lord,  and  give  them!" 

"I,  sire*"  the  Italian  Marshal  answered  in  accents 


HANNIBAL  DE   SAULX.  15 

of  deprecation.  There  were  times  when  the  young 
King  would  show  his  impatience  of  the  Italian  ring, 
the  Retzs  and  Biragues,  the  Strozzis  and  Gondys,  with 
whom  his  mother  surrounded  him. 

"Yes,  you!"  Charles  answered.  "You  and  my 
lady  mother !  And  in  God's  name  answer  for  it  at  the 
day!  "  he  continued  vehemently.  "You  will  have  it! 
You  will  not  let  me  rest  till  you  have  it !  Then  have 
it,  only  see  to  it,  it  be  done  thoroughly!  There  shall 
not  be  one  left  to  cast  it  in  the  King's  teeth  and  cry, 
'  Et  tu,  Carole! '  Swim,  swim  in  blood  if  you  will," 
he  continued  with  growing  wildness.  "Oh,  'twall  be 
a  merry  night !  And  it's  true  so  far,  you  may  kill 
fleas  all  day,  but  burn  the  coat,  and  there's  an  end. 

So  burn  it,  burn  it,  and "     He  broke  off  with  a 

start  as  he  discovered  Tavannes  at  his  elbow.  "  God's 
death,  man!  "  he  cried  roughly,  "who  sent  for  you?  " 

"Your  Majesty   called  me,"   Tavannes  answered; 
while,  partly  urged  by  the  King's  hand,  and  pa; 
anxious  to  escape,  the  others  slipped  into  the  closet 
and  left  them  together. 

"  I  sent  for  you  ?  I  called  your  brother,  the  Mar- 
shal ! " 

"He  is  within,  sire,"  Tavannes  answered,  indicat- 
ing the  closet.  "A  moment  ago  I  heard  his  voice." 

Charles  passed  his  shaking  hand  across  his  eyes. 
"Is  he?"  he  muttered.  "So  he  is!  I  heard  it  too. 
And — and  a  man  cannot  be  in  two  places^at  once !  " 
Then  while  his  haggard  gaze,  passing  by '  Tavauues, 
roved  round  the  Chamber,  he  laid  his  hand  on  Count 
Hannibal's  breast.  "They  give  me  no  peace,  Ma- 
dame and  the  Guises, "  he  whispered,  his  face  hectic 
with  excitement.  "They  will  have  it.  They  say  that 
Coliguy  ~  they  say  that  he  beards  me  in  my  own  pa- 


16  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

lace.  And — and,  mordieu,"  with  sudden  violence, 
"it's  true!  It's  true  enough!  It  was  but  to-day  he 
was  for  making  terms  with  me !  With  me,  the  King ! 
Making  terms!  So  it  shall  be,  by  God  and  Devil, 
it  shall !  But  not  six  or  seven !  No,  no.  All !  All ! 
There  shall  not  be  one  left  to  say  to  me,  'You  did 
it!'" 

"Softly,  sire,"  Tavannes  answered;  for  Charles 
had  gradually  raised  his  voice.  "You  will  be  ob- 
served. " 

For  the  first  time  the  young  King — he  was  but 
twenty-two  years  old,  God  pity  him! — looked  at  his 
companion.  "To  be  sure,"  he  whispered;  and  his 
eyes  grew  cunning.  "Besides,  and  after  all,  there's 
another  way,  if  I  choose.  Oh,  I've  thought  and 
thought,  I'd  have  you  know."  And  shrugging  his 
shoulders,  almost  to  his  ears,  he  raised  and  lowered  his 
open  hands  alternately,  while  his  back  hid  the  move- 
ment from  the  Chamber.  "See-saw!  See-saw!"  he 
muttered.  "And  the  King  between  the  two,  you  see. 
That's  Madame's  king-craft.  She's  shown  me  that  a 
hundred  times.  But  look  you,  it  is  as  easy  to  lower 
the  one  as  the  other, "  with  a  cunning  glance  at  Tavan- 
nes' face,  "  or  to  cut  off  the  right  as  the  left.  And — 
and  the  Admiral's  an  old  man  and  will  pass;  and  for 
the  matter  of  that  I  like  to  hear  him  talk.  He  talks 
well.  "While  the  others,  Guise  and  his  kind,  are  young, 
and  I've  thought,  oh,  yes,  I've  thought — but  there," 
with  a  sudden  harsh  laugh,  "my  lady  mother  will 
have  it  her  own  way.  And  for  this  time  she  shall, 
but,  All!  All!  Even  Foucauld,  there!  Do  you 
mark  him?  He's  sorting  the  cards.  Do  you  see  him 
— as  he  will  be  to-morrow,  with  the  slit  in  his  throat 
and  his  teeth  showing  1  Why,  God ! "  his  voice  rising 


HASTOTBAL  DE  SAULX.  17 

almost  to  a  scream,  "the  candles  by  him  are  burning 
blue ! "  And  with  a  shaking  hand,  his  face  con- 
vulsed, the  young  King  clutched  his  companion's 
arm,  and  pinched  it. 

Count  Hannibal  shrugged  his  shoulders,  but  an- 
swered nothing. 

"D'you  think  we  shall  see  them  afterwards?" 
Charles  resumed,  in  a  sharp,  eager  whisper.  "In  our 
dreams,  man1?  Or  when  the  watchman  cries,  and  we 
awake,  and  the  monks  are  singing  lauds  at  St.  Ger- 
main, and — and  the  taper  is  low  ?  " 

Tavannes'  lip  curled.  "I  don't  dream,  sire, "he 
answered  coldly,  "and  I  seldom  wake.  For  the  rest, 
I  fear  my  enemies  neither  alive  nor  dead." 

"Don't  you?  By  G— d,  I  wish  I  didn't,"  the  young 
man  exclaimed.  His  brow  was  wet  with  sweat.  "I 
wish  I  didn't.  But  there,  it's  settled.  They've  set- 
tled it,  and  I  would  it  were  done!  What  do  you 
think  of — of  it,  man?  What  do  you  think  of  it, 
yourself?" 

Count  Hannibal's  face  was  inscrutable.  "I  think 
nothing,  sire,"  he  said  drily.  "It  is  for  your  Majesty 
and  your  council  to  think.  It  is  enough  for  me  that 
it  is  the  King's  will." 

"But  you'll  not  flinch?"  Charles  muttered,  with  a 
quick  look  of  suspicion.  "But  there,"  with  a  mon- 
strous oath,  "I  know  you'll  not!  I  believe  you'd  as 
soon  kill  a  monk — though,  thank  God,"  and  he 
crossed  himself  devoutly,  "there  is  no  question  of 
that — as  a  man.  And  sooner  than  a  maiden." 

"Much  sooner,  sire,"  Tavannes  answered  grimly. 

"  If  you  have  any  orders  in  the  monkish  direction — 

no  ?     Then  your  Majesty  must  not  talk  to  me  longer. 

M.  de  Bochefoucauld  is  beginning  to  wonder  what  is 

2 


18  COUNT   HANNIBAL. 

keeping  your  Majesty  from  your  game.  And  others 
are  marking  you,  sire." 

"  By  the  Lord !  "  Charles  exclaimed,  a  ring  of  wonder 
mingled  with  horror  in  his  tone,  "  if  they  knew  what 
was  in  our  minds  they'd  mark  us  more!  Yet,  see 
Nangay  there  beside  the  door?  He  is  unmoved.  He 
looks  to-day  as  he  looked  yesterday.  Yet  he  has 
charge  of  the  work  in  the  palace " 

For  the  first  time  Tavannes  allowed  a  movement  of 
surprise  to  escape  him.  "In  the  palace?"  he  mut- 
tered. "Is  it  to  be  done  here,  too,  sire?  " 

"  Would  you  let  some  escape,  to  return  by-and-by 
and  cut  our  throats  ? "  the  King  retorted  with  a 
strange  spirt  of  fury;  an  incapacity  to  maintain 
the  same  attitude  of  mind  for  two  minutes  together 
was  the  most  fatal  weakness  of  his  ill -balanced  na- 
ture. "No.  All!  All!"  he  repeated  with  vehe- 
mence. "Didn't  Noah  people  the  earth  with  eight? 
But  I'll  not  leave  eight!  My  cousins,  for  they  are 
blood-royal,  shall  live  if  they  will  recant.  And  my 
old  nurse  whether  or  no.  And  Pare,  for  no  one  else 
understands  my  complexion.  And ' 

" And  llochef oucauld,  doubtless,  sire?" 

The  King,  whose  eye  had  sought  his  favourite 
companion,  withdrew  it.  He  darted  a  glance  at 
Tavanues.  "Foucauld?  Who  said  so  ?"  he  muttered 
jealously.  "  Not  I !  But  we  shall  see.  We  shall  see ! 
And  do  you  see  that  you  spare  no  one,  M.  le  Conite, 
without  an  order.  That  is  your  business. " 

"I  understand,  sire,"  Tavannes  answered  coolly. 
And  after  a  moment's  silence,  seeing  that  the  King  had 
done  with  him,  he  bowed  low  and  withdrew ;  watched 
by  the  circle,  as  all  about  a  King  were  watched  in  the 
days  wheu  a  King's  breath  meant  life  or  death,  and 


HANNIBAL  DE  SAULX.  19 

his  smile  made  the  fortunes  of  men.  As  he  passed 
Rochefoucauld,  the  latter  looked  up  and  nodded. 

"What  keeps  brother  Charles?"  he  muttered. 
"He's  madder  than  ever  to-night.  Is  it  a  masque  or 
a  murder  he  is  planning  ?  " 

"The  vapours, "  Tavanues  answered  with  a  sneer. 
"Old  tales  his  old  nurse  has  stuffed  him  withal. 
He'll  come  by-and-by,  and  'twill  be  well  if  you  can 
divert  him." 

"I  will  if  he  come,"  Eochefoucauld  answered,  shuf- 
fling the  cards.  "If  not  'tis  Chicot's  business  and  he 
should  attend  to  it.  I'm  tired  and  shall  to  bed." 

"He  will  come, "  Tavannes  answered,  and  moved, 
as  if  to  go  on.  Then  he  paused  for  a  last  word. 
"He  will  come,"  he  muttered,  stooping  and  speaking 
under  his  breath,  his  eyes  on  the  other's  face.  "But 
play  him  lightly.  He  is  in  an  ugly  mood.  Please 
him,  if  you  can,  and  it  may  serve. " 

The  eyes  of  the  two  met  an  instant,  and  those  of 
Foucauld — so  the  King  called  his  Huguenot  favourite 
— betrayed  some  surprise ;  for  Count  Hannibal  and  he 
were  not  intimate.  But  seeing  that  the  other  was  in 
earnest,  he  raised  his  brows  in  acknowledgment.  Ta- 
vanues nodded  carelessly  in  return,  looked  an  instant 
at  the  cards  on  the  table,  and  passed  on,  pushed  his 
way  through  the  circle,  and  reached  the  door.  He 
was  lifting  the  curtain  to  go  out,  when  Kaucay,  the 
Captain  of  the  Guard,  plucked  his  sleeve. 

"  What  have  you  been  saying  to  Foucauld,  M.  de 
Tavannes? "  he  muttered. 

"  j?  " 

"Yes,"  with  a  jealous  glance.,  "you,  M.  le  Cointe." 
Count   Hannibal   looked    at  him  with  the  sudden 
ferocity   that  made  the  man  a  proverb   at   Court. 


20  COUNT   HANNIBAL. 

"What  I  chose,  M.  le  Capitaine  des  Suissesi"  he 
hissed.  And  his  hand  closed  like  a  vice  on  the 
other's  wrist.  "What  I  chose,  look  you!  And  re- 
member, another  time,  that  I  am  not  a  Huguenot, 
and  say  what  I  please. " 

"But  there  is  great  need  of  care,"  Nancay  pro- 
tested, stammering  and  flinching.  "And — and  I  have 
orders,  M.  le  Comte." 

"  Your  orders  are  not  for  me, "  Tavannes  answered, 
releasing  his  arm  with  a  contemptuous  gesture. 
"  And  look  you,  man,  do  not  cross  my  path  to-night. 
You  know  our  motto1?  Who  touches  my  brother, 
touches  Tavannes !  Be  warned  by  it. " 

Nanyay  scowled.  "But  the  priests  say,  'If  your 
hand  offend  you,  cut  it  off ! '  "  he  muttered. 

Tavannes  laughed,  a  sinister  laugh.  "If  you 
offend  me  I'll  cut  your  throat,"  he  said;  and  with  no 
ceremony  he  went  out,  and  dropped  the  curtain  be- 
hind him. 

Nancay  looked  after  him,  his  face  pale  with  rage. 
"Curse  him!  "he  whispered,  rubbing  his  wrist.  "If 
he  were  anyone  else  I  would  teach  him!  But  he 
would  as  soon  run  you  through  in  the  presence  as  in 
the  Pr6  anx  Clercs !  And  his  brother,  the  Marshal, 
has  the  King's  ear!  And  Madame  Catherine's  too, 
which  is  worse !  " 

He  was  still  fuming  when  an  officer  in  the  colours 
of  Monsieur,  the  King's  brother,  entered  hurriedly, 
and  keeping  his  hand  on  the  curtain,  looked  anxiously 
round  the  Chamber.  As  soon  as  his  eye  found  Nan- 
gay,  his  face  cleared.  "Have  you  the  reckoning?" 
he  muttered 

"There  are  seventeen  Huguenots  in  the  palace  be- 
sides their  Highnesses, "  Nancay  replied,  in  the  same 


HANNIBAL  DE  SAULX.  21 

cautious  tone.  "  Not  counting  two  or  three  who  are 
neither  the  one  thing  nor  the  other.  In  addition, 
there  are  the  two  Montmorencies ;  but  they  are  to  go 
safe  for  fear  of  their  brother,  who  is  not  in  the  trap. 
He  is  too  like  his  father,  the  old  Bench -burner,  to  be 
lightly  wronged !  And  besides,  there  is  Pare,  who  is 
to  go  to  his  Majesty's  closet  as  soon  as  the  gates  are 
shut.  If  the  King  decides  to  save  anyone  else,  he 
will  send  him  to  his  closet.  So  'tis  all  clear  and  ar- 
ranged here.  If  you  are  as  forward  outside,  it  will  be 
well !  Who  deals  with  the  gentleman  with  the  tooth- 
pick?" 

"The  Admiral?  Monsieur,  Guise,  and  the  Grand 
Prior ;  Cosseins  and  Besme  have  charge.  'Tis  to  be 
done  first.  Then  the  Provost  will  raise  the  town. 
He  will  have  a  body  of  stout  fellows  ready  at  three  or 
four  rendezvous,  so  that  the  fire  may  blaze  up  every- 
where at  once.  Marcel,  the  ex-provost,  has  the  same 
commission  south  of  the  river.  Orders  to  light  the 
town  as  for  a  frolic  have  been  given,  and  the  Halles 
will  be  ready." 

Nancay  nodded,  reflected  a  moment,  and  then  with 
an  involuntary  shudder,  "  God ! "  he  exclaimed,  "  it 
will  shake  the  world ! " 

"You  think  so?" 

"Ay,  will  it  not!"  His  next  words  showed  that 
he  bore  Tavannes'  warning  in  mind.  "Forme,  my 
friend,  I  go  in  mail  to-night,"  he  said.  "There  will 
be  many  a  score  paid  before  morning,  besides  his 
Majesty's.  And  many  a  left-handed  blow  will  be 
struck  in  the  melee ! " 

The  other  crossed  himself.  "Grant  none  light 
here ! "  he  said  devoutly.  And  with  a  last  look  he 
nodded  and  went  out. 


22  COUNT   HANNIBAL. 

In  the  doorway  he  jostled  a  person  who  was  in  the 
act  of  entering.  It  was  M.  de  Tignonville,  who,  see- 
ing Nangay  at  his  elbow,  saluted  him,  and  stood  look- 
ing round.  The  young  man's  face  was  flushed,  his 
eyes  were  bright  with  unwonted  excitement.  "M.  de 
Eochefoucauld ? "  he  asked  eagerly.  "He  has  not  left 
yet?" 

Nauyay  caught  the  thrill  in  his  voice,  and  marked 
the  young  man's  flushed  face,  and  altered  bearing. 
He  noted,  too,  the  crumpled  paper  he  carried  half- 
hidden  in  his  hand;  and  the  Captain's  countenance 
grew  dark.  He  drew  a  step  nearer  and  his  hand 
reached  softly  for  his  dagger.  But  his  voice  when  he 
spoke  was  smooth  as  the  surface  of  the  pleasure-lov- 
ing Court,  smooth  as  the  externals  of  all  things  in 
Paris  that  summer  evening.  "He  is  here  still,"  he 
said.  "Have  you  news,  M.  de  Tiguonville?  " 

"News?" 

"For  M.  de  Eochefoucauld?  " 

Tignonville  laughed.     "No,  "he  said.     "I  am  hero 
to  see  him  to  his  lodging,   that  is  all.     News,  Cap 
tain?     What  made  you  think  so?  " 

"That  which  you  have  in  your  haud,"  Naucay  an 
swered,  his  fears  relieved. 

The  young  man  blushed  to  the  roots  of  his  hail 
"It  is  not  for  him,"  he  said. 

"I  can  see  that,  Monsieur,"  Nancay  answered  po 
litely.     "He  has  his  successes,  but  all  the  billets-douM 
do  not  go  one  way. " 

The  young  man  laughed,  a  conscious,  flattered 
laugh.  He  was  handsome,  with  such  a  face  as  wo  • 
men  love,  but  there  was  a  lack  of  ease  in  the  way  he 
wore  his  Court  suit.  It  was  a  trifle  finer,  too,  than  ac- 
corded with  Huguenot  taste ;  or  it  looked  the  finer  for 


HANNIBAL  DE   SAULX.    .  23 

the  way  he  wore  it,  even  as  Teliguy's  and  Foucanld's 
velvet  capes  and  stiff  brocades  lost  their  richness  and 
became  but  the  adjuncts,  fitting  and  graceful,  of  the 
men.  Odder  still,  as  Tignonville  laughed,  half  hid- 
ing and  half  revealing  the  dainty,  scented  paper  in 
his  hand,  his'  clothes  seemed  smarter  and  he  more 
awkward  than  usual.  "It  is  from  a  lady,"  he  admit- 
ted. "But  a  bit  of  badinage,  I  assure  you,  nothing 
more." 

"Understood!"  M.  de  Nancay  murmured  politely. 
"I  congratulate  you." 

"But " 

" I  say  I  congratulate  you! " 

"  But  it  is  nothing. " 

"Oh,  I  understand.  And  see,  the  King  is  about  to 
rise.  Go  forward,  Monsieur,"  he  continued  benevo- 
lently. "A  young  man  should  show  himself.  Be- 
sides his  Majesty  likes  you  well,"  he  added  with  a 
leer.  He  had  an  unpleasant  sense  of  humour,  had 
his  Majesty's  Captain  of  the  Guard ;  and  this  evening 
somewhat  more  than  ordinary  on  which  to  exer- 
cise it. 

Tignonville  held  too  good  an  opinion  of  himself  to 
suspect  the  other  of  badinage ;  and  thus  encouraged 
he  pushed  his  way  to  the  front  of  the  circle.  During 
his  absence  with  his  betrothed,  the  crowd  in  the 
Chamber  had  grown  thin,  the  caudles  had  burned  an 
inch  shorter  in  the  sconces.  But  though  many  who 
had  been  there,  had  left,  the  more  select  remained,  and 
the  King's  return  to  his  seat  had  given  the  company  a 
fillip.  An  air  of  feverish  gaiety,  common  in  the  un- 
healthy life  of  the  Court,  prevailed.  At  a  table 
abreast  of  the  King,  Montpensier  and  Marshal  Cosse 
were  dicing  and  disputing,  with  now  a  yell  of  glee, 


24  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

and  now  an  oath,  that  betrayed  which  way  fortune 
inclined.  At  the  back  of  the  King's  chair,  Chicot, 
his  gentleman -jester,  hung  over  Charles's  shoulder, 
now  scanning  his  cards,  and  now  making  hideous 
faces  that  threw  the  onlookers  into  fits  of  laughter. 
Farther  up  the  Chamber,  at  the  end  of  the  alcove, 
Marshal  Tavannes — our  Hannibal's  brother — occupied 
a  low  stool,  which  was  set  opposite  the  open  door  of 
the  closet.  Through  this  doorway  a  slender  foot, 
silk-clad,  shot  now  and  again  into  sight;  it  came,  it 
vanished,  it  came  again,  the  gallant  Marshal  striving 
at  each  appearance  to  rob  it  of  its  slipper,  a  dainty 
jewelled  thing  of  crimson  velvet.  He  failed  thrice,  a 
peal  of  laughter  greeting  each  failure.  At  the  fourth 
essay,  he  upset  his  stool  and  fell  to  the  floor,  but  held 
the  slipper.  And  not  the  slipper  only,  but  the  foot. 
Amid  a  flutter  of  silken  skirts  and  dainty  laces — 
while  the  hidden  beauty  shrilly  protested — he  dragged 
first  the  ankle,  and  then  a  shapely  leg  into  sight.  The 
circle  applauded ;  the  lady,  feeling  herself  still  drawn 
on,  screamed  loudly  and  more  loudly.  All  save  the 
King  and  his  opponent  turned  to  look.  And  then 
the  sport  came  to  a  sudden  end.  A  sinewy  hand 
appeared,  interposed,  released;  for  an  instant  the 
dark,  handsome  face  of  Guise  looked  through  the 
doorway.  It  was  gone  as  soon  as  seen ;  it  was  there  a 
second  only.  But  more  than  one  recognised  it,  and 
wondered.  For  was  not  the  young  Duke  in  evil 
odour  with  the  King  by  reason  of  the  attack  on  the 
Admiral?  And  had  he  not  been  chased  from  Paris 
only  that  morning  and  forbidden  to  return  ? 

They  were  still  wondering,  still  gazing,  when  ab- 
ruptly— as  he  did  all  things — Charles  thrust  back  his 
chair.  "Foucauld,  you  owe  me  ten  pieces!  "  he  cried 


HANNIBAL  DE   SAULX.  25 

with  glee,  and  he  slapped  the  table.  "Pay,  my 
friend ;  pay !  " 

"To-morrow,  little  master;  to-morrow!"  Bochefou- 
cauld  answered  in  the  same  tone.  And  he  rose  to  his 
feet. 

"To-morrow!"  Charles  repeated.  "To-morrow?" 
And  on  the  word  his  jaw  fell.  He  looked  wildly 
round.  His  face  was  ghastly. 

"Well,  sire,  and  why  not?"  Eochefoucauld  an- 
swered in  astonishment.  And  in  his  turn  he  looked 
round,  wondering;  and  a  chill  fell  on  him.  "Why 
not  ? "  he  repeated. 

For  a  moment  no  one  answered  him :  the  silence  in 
the  Chamber  was  intense.  Where  he  looked,  wher- 
ever he  looked,  he  met  solemn,  wondering  eyes,  such 
eyes  as  gaze  on  men  in  their  coffins.  "What  has 
come  to  you  all  ?  "  he  cried  with  an  effort.  "  What  is 
the  jest,  for  faith,  sire,  I  don't  see  it?  " 

The  King  seemed  incapable  of  speech,  and  it  was 
Chicot  who  filled  the  gap.  "It  is  pretty  apparent," 
he  said  with  a  rude  laugh.  "  The  cock  will  lay  and 
Foucauld  will  pay — to-morrow! " 

The  young  nobleman's  colour  rose;  between  him 
and  the  Gascon  gentleman  was  no  love  lost.  "  There 
are  some  debts  I  pay  to-day,"  he  cried  haughtily. 
"  For  the  rest,  farewell  my  little  master !  When  one 
does  not  understand  the  jest  it  is  time  to  be  gone. " 

He  was  half-way  to  the  door,  watched  by  all,  when 
the  King  spoke.  "  Foucauld ! "  he  cried  in  an  odd, 
strangled  voice.  "  Foucauld ! "  And  the  Huguenot 
favourite  turned  back,  wondering. 

"  One  minute ! "  the  King  continued  in  the  same 
forced  voice.  "Stay  till  morning — in  my  closet.  It 
is  late  now.  We'll  play  away  the  rest  of  the  night! " 


26  COUNT   HANNIBAL. 

"Your  Majesty  must  excuse  me,"  Rochefoucauld 
answered  frankly.  "I  am  dead  asleep." 

"You  can  sleep  in  the  Garde-Robe,"  the  King  per- 
sisted. 

"Thank  you.  for  nothing,  sire!"  was  the  gay  an- 
swer. "I  know  that  bed!  I  shall  sleep  longer  and 
better  in  my  own." 

The  King  shuddered,  but  strove  to  hide  the  move- 
ment under  a  shrug  of  his  shoulders.  He  turned 
away.  "It  is  God's  will!  "he  muttered.  He  was 
white  to  the  lips. 

Rochefoucauld  did  not  catch  the  words.  "Good 
night,  sire,"  he  cried.  "Farewell,  little  master." 
And  with  a  nod  here  and  there,  he  passed  to  the 
door,  followed  by  Mergey  and  Chamont,  two  gentle- 
men of  his  suite. 

Nancay  raised  the  curtain  with  an  obsequious  ges- 
ture. "Pardon  me,  M.  le  Comte,"  he  said,  "do  you 
go  to  his  Highuess's?  " 

"For  a  few  minutes,  Nangay." 

"  Permit  me  to  go  with  you.  The  guards  may  be 
set." 

"Do  so,  my  friend,"  Rochefoucauld  answered. 
"Ah,  Tiguouville,  is  it  you!  " 

"I  am  come  to  attend  you  to  your  lodging,"  the 
young  man  said.  And  he  ranged  up  beside  the  other, 
as,  the  curtain  fallen  behind  them,  they  walked  along 
the  gallery. 

Rochefoucauld  stopped  and  laid  his  hand  on  Tig- 
uonville's  sleeve.  "Thanks,  dear  lad,"  he  said,  "but 
I  am  going  to  the  Princess  Dowager's.  Afterwards 
to  his  Highuess's.  I  may  be  detained  an  hour  or 
more.  You  will  not  like  to  wait  so  long. " 

M.  de  Tignonville's  face  fell  ludicrously.     "Well, 


HANNIBAL  DE   SAULX.  27 

no,"  he  said.  "I — I  don't  think  I  could  wait  so  long 
— to-night." 

"Then  coine  to-morrow  night,"  Eochefoucauld  an- 
swered with  good  nature. 

"With  pleasure,"  the  other  cried  heartily,  his  re- 
lief evident.  "Certainly.  With  pleasure."  And, 
nodding  good-night,  they  parted.  While  Rochefou- 
cauld, with  Nancay  at  his  side  and  his  gentlemen 
attending  him,  passed  along  the  echoing  and  now 
empty  gallery,  the  younger  man  bounded  down  the 
stairs  to  the  great  hall  of  the  Caryatides,  his  face 
radiant.  He  for  one  was  not  sleepy. 


CHAPTEE  III. 

THE  HOUSE  NEXT  THE  "GOLDEN  MAID." 

WE  have  it  on  record  that  before  the  Comte  de  la 
Eochefoucauld  left  the  Louvre  that  night  he  received 
the  strongest  hints  of  the  peril  which  threatened 
him;  and  at  least  one  written  warning  was  handed 
to  him  by  a  stranger  in  black,  and  by  him  in  turn  was 
communicated  to  the  King  of  Navarre.  We  are  told 
further  that  when  he  took  his  final  leave,  about  the 
hour  of  eleven,  he  found  the  courtyard  brilliantly 
lighted,  and  the  three  companies  of  guards — Swiss, 
Scotch,  and  French — drawn  up  in  ranked  array  from 
the  door  of  the  great  hall  to  the  gate  which  opened  on 
the  street.  But,  the  chronicler  adds,  neither  this  pre- 
caution, sinister  as  it  appeared  to  some  of  his  suite, 
nor  the  grave  farewell  which  Rambouillet,  from  his 
post  at  the  gate,  took  of  one  of  his  gentlemen,  shook 
that  chivalrous  soul  or  sapped  its  generous  confidence. 
M.  de  Tignonville  was  young  and  less  versed  in 
danger  than  the  Governor  of  Rochelle ;  with  him,  had 
he  seen  so  much,  it  might  have  been  different.  But 
he  left  the  Louvre  an  hour  earlier — at  a  time  when 
the  precincts  of  the  palace,  gloomy-seeming  to  us  in 
the  light  cast  by  coming  events,  wore  their  wonted 
aspect.  His  thoughts,  moreover,  as  he  crossed  the 
courtyard,  were  otherwise  employed.  So  much  so,  in- 
deed, that  though  he  signed  to  his  two  servants  to 
follow  him,  he  seemed  barely  conscious  what  he  was 


THE  HOUSE  NEXT  THE  "GOLDEN  MAID."  29 

doing ;  nor  did  he  shake  off  his  reverie  until  he  reached 
the  corner  of  the  Eue  Baillet.  Here  the  voices  of  the 
Swiss  who  stood  on  guard  opposite  Coligny's  lodgings, 
at  the  end  of  the  Rue  Bethizy,  could  be  plainly  heard. 
They  had  kindled  a  fire  in  an  iron  basket  set  in  the 
middle  of  the  road,  and  knots  of  them  were  visible  in 
the  distance,  moving  to  and  fro  about  their  piled 
arms. 

Tignonville  paused  before  he  came  within  the  radius 
of  the  firelight,  and  turning,  bade  his  servants  take 
their  way  home.  "  I  shall  follow,  but  I  have  business 
first,"  he  added  curtly. 

The  elder  of  the  two  demurred.  "The  streets  are 
not  too  safe,"  he  said.  "In  two  hours  or  less,  my 
lord,  it  will  be  midnight.  And  then " 

"Go,  booby;  do  you  think  I  am  a  child? "  his  mas- 
ter retorted  angrily.  "I've  my  sword  and  can  use  it. 
I  shall  not  be  long.  And  do  you  hear,  men,  keep  a 
still  tongue,  will  you  ?  " 

The  men,  country  fellows,  obeyed  reluctantly,  and 
with  a  full  intention  of  sneaking  after  him  the  mo- 
ment he  had  turned  his  back.  But  he  suspected 
them  of  this,  and  stood  where  he  was  until  they 
had  passed  the  fire,  and  could  no  longer  detect  his 
movements.  Then  he  plunged  quickly  into  the  Hue 
Baillet,  gained  through  it  the  Eue  du  Eoule,  and 
traversing  that  also  turned  to  the  right  into  the  Eue 
Ferronerie,  the  main  thoroughfare,  east  and  west,  of 
Paris.  Here  he  halted  in  front  of  the  long,  dark  outer 
wall  of  the  Cemetery  of  the  Innocents,  in  which,  across 
the  tombstones  and  among  the  sepulchres  of  dead 
Paris,  the  living  Paris  of  that  day,  bought  and  sold, 
walked,  gossiped,  and  made  love. 

About  him  things  were  to  be  seen  that  would  have 


30  COUNT   HANNIBAL. 

seemed  stranger  to  him  had  he  been  less  strange  to 
the  city.  From  the  quarter  of  the  markets  north  of 
him,  a  quarter  whicn  fenced  in  the  cemetery  on  two 
sides,  the  same  dull  murmur  proceeded,  which  Ma- 
demoiselle de  Vrillac  had  remarked  an  hour  earlier. 
The  sky  above  the  cemetery  glowed  with  reflected 
light,  the  cause  of  which  was  not  far  to  seek,  for 
every  window  of  the  tall  houses  that  overlooked  it, 
and  the  huddle  of  booths  about  it,  contributed  a 
share  of  the  illumination.  At  an  hour  late  even  for 
Paris,  an  hour  when  honest  men  should  have  been 
sunk  in  slumber,  this  strange  brilliance  did  for  a  mo- 
ment perplex  him;  but  the  past  week  had  been  so 
full  of  fetes,  of  masques  and  frolics,  often  devised  on 
the  moment  and  dependent  on  the  King's  whim,  that 
he  set  this  also  down  to  such  a  cause,  and  wondered 
and  no  more. 

The  lights  in  the  houses  flung  their  radiance  high, 
and  did  not  serve  his  purpose ;  but  beside  the  closed 
gate  of  the  cemetery,  between  two  stalls,  was  a  votive 
lamp  burning  before  an  image  of  the  Mother  and 
Child.  He  crossed  to  this,  and  assuring  himself  by  a 
glance  to  right  and  left  that  he  stood  in  no  danger 
from  prowlers,  he  drew  a  note  from  his  breast.  It 
had  been  slipped  into  his  hand  in  the  gallery  before  he 
saw  Mademoiselle  to  her  lodging ;  it  had  been  in  his 
possession  barely  an  hot./.  But  brief  as  its  contents 
were,  and  easily  committed  to  memory,  he  had  perused 
it  thrice  already. 

"At  the  house  next  the  'Golden  Maid,'  Eue  Cinq 
Diamauts,  an  hour  before  midnight,  you  may  find 
the  door  open  should  you  desire  to  talk  farther  with 
C.  St.  L." 

As  he  read  it  for  the  fourth  time  the  light  of  the 


THE  HOUSE  NEXT  THE  u GOLDEN  MAID."  31 

lamp  fell  athwart  his  face ;  and  even  as  his  fine  clothes 
had  never  seemed  to  fit  him  worse  than  when  he 
faintly  denied  the  imputations  of  gallantry  launched 
at  him  by  Nangay,  so  his  features  had  never  looked 
less  handsome  than  they  did  now.  The  glow  of  vanity 
which  warmed  his  cheek  as  he  read  the  message,  the 
smile  of  conceit  which  wreathed  his  lips,  bespoke  a 
nature  not  of  the  most  noble ;  or  the  lamp  did  him 
less  than  justice.  Presently  he  kissed  the  note,  and 
hid  it.  He  waited  until  the  clock  of  St.  Jacques  struck 
the  hour  before  midnight ;  and  then  moving  forward 
he  turned  to  the  right  by  way  of  the  narrow  neck  lead- 
ing to  the  Eue  Lombard.  He  walked  in  the  kennel 
here,  his  sword  in  his  hand  and  his  eyes  looking  to 
right  and  left ;  for  the  place  was  notorious  for  robber- 
ies. But  though  he  saw  more  than  one  figure  lurking 
in  a  doorway  or  under  the  arch  that  led  to  a  passage, 
it  vanished  on  his  nearer  approach.  In  less  than  a 
minute  he  reached  the  southern  end  of  the  street  that 
bore  the  odd  title  of  the  Five  Diamonds. 

Situate  in  the  crowded  quarter  of  the  butchers,  and 
almost  in  the  shadow  of  their  famous  church,  this 
street — which  farther  north  was  continued  in  the  Eue 
Quimcampoix — presented  in  those  days  a  not  uncom- 
mon mingling  of  poverty  and  wealth.  On  one  side  of 
the  street  a  row  of  lofty  gabled  houses  built  under 
Francis  the  First,  sheltered  persons  of  good  condition ; 
on  the  other,  divided  from  these  by  the  width  of  the 
road  and  a  reeking  kennel,  a  row  of  pent-houses,  the 
hovels  of  cobblers  and  sausage-makers,  leaned  against 
shapeless  timber  houses  which  tottered  upwards  in  a 
medley  of  sagging  roofs  and  bulging  gutters.  Tig- 
nonville  was  strange  to  the  place,  and  nine  nights  out 
of  tan  he  would  have  been  at  a  disadvantage.  But, 


32  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

thanks  to  the  tapers  that  to-night  shone  in  many  win- 
dows, he  made  out  enough  to  see  that  he  need  search 
only  the  one  side ;  and  with  a  beating  heart  he  passed 
along  the  row  of  newer  houses,  looking  eagerly  for 
the  sign  of  the  " Golden  Maid." 

He  found  it  at  last ;  and  then  for  a  moment  he  stood 
puzzled.  The  note  said,  next  door  to  the  "Golden 
Maid,"  but  it  did  not  say  on  which  side.  He  scruti- 
nised the  nearer  house,  but  he  saw  nothing  to  deter- 
mine him;  and  he  was  proceeding  to  the  farther, 
when  he  caught  sight  of  two  men,  who,  ambushed  be- 
hind a  horse-block  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  road- 
way, seemed  to  be  watching  his  movements.  Their 
presence  flurried  him ;  but  much  to  his  relief  his  next 
glance  at  the  houses  showed  him  that  the  door  of  the 
farther  one  was  unlatched.  It  stood  slightly  ajar, 
permitting  a  beam  of  light  to  escape  into  the  street. 

He  stepped  quickly  to  it — the  sooner  he  was  within 
the  house  the  better — pushed  the  door  open  and  en- 
tered. As  soon  as  he  was  inside  he  tried  to  close 
the  entrance  behind  him,  but  he  found  he  could  not ; 
the  door  would  not  shut.  After  a  brief  trial  he  aban- 
doned the  attempt  and  passed  quickly  on,  through 
a  bare  lighted  passage  which  led  to  the  foot  of  a  stair- 
case, equally  bare.  He  stood  at  this  point  an  instant 
and  listened,  in  the  hope  that  Madame's  maid  would 
come  to  him.  At  first  he  heard  nothing  save  his  own 
breathing;  then  a  gruff  voice  from  above  startled 
him,  "This  way,  Monsieur,"  it  said.  "You  are 
early,  but  not  too  soon !  " 

So  Madame  trusted  her  footman!  M.  de  Tignon- 
ville  shrugged  his  shoulders ;  but  after  all,  it  was  no 
affair  of  his,  and  he  went  up.  Half-way  to  the  top, 
however,  he  stood,  an  oath  on  his  lips.  Two  men 


THE  HOUSE  NEXT  THE  "GOLDEN  MAID."  33 

had  entered  by  the  open  door  below—  even  as  he  had 
entered !     And  as  quietly ! 

The  imprudence  of  it !  The  imprudence  of  leaving 
the  door  so  that  it  could  not  be  closed !  He  turned 
and  descended  to  meet  them,  his  teeth  set,  his  hand 
on  his  sword,  one  conjecture  after  another  whirling 
in  his  brain.  Was  he  beset  ?  Was  it  a  trap  ?  Was  it 
a  rival  ?  Was  it  chance  ?  Two  steps  he  descended ; 
and  then  the  voice  he  had  heard  before  cried  again, 
but  more  imperatively,  "No,  Monsieur,  this  way! 
Did  you  not  hear  me?  This  way  and  be  quick,  if 
you  please.  By-and-by  there  will  be  a  crowd,  and 
then  the  more  we  have  dealt  with  the  better ! " 

He  knew  now  that  he  had  made  a  mistake,  that 
he  had  entered  the  wrong  house;  and  naturally  his 
impulse  was  to  continue  his  descent  and  secure  his 
retreat.  But  the  pause  had  brought  the  two  men  who 
had  entered  face  to  face  with  him,  and  they  showed 
no  signs  of  giving  way.  On  the  contrary. 

"The  room  is  above,  Monsieur,"  the  foremost  said, 
in  a  matter-of-fact  tone,  and  with  a  slight  salutation. 
"  After  you,  if  you  please, "  and  he  signed  to  him  to 
return. 

He  was  a  burly  man,  grim  and  truculent  in  ap- 
pearance, and  his  follower  was  like  him.  Tignonville 
hesitated,  then  turned  and  ascended.  But  as  soon  as 
he  had  reached  the  landing  where  they  could  pass 
him,  he  turned  again. 

"I  have  made  a  mistake,  I  think,"  he  said. 
"I  have  entered  the  wrong  house." 

"Are  you  for  the  house  next  the  'Golden  Maid,' 
Monsieur? " 

"Yes." 

"  Rue  Cinq  Diamants,  Quarter  of  the  Boucherie  ? " 
3 


34  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

"Yes." 

"No  mistake  then,"  the  stout  man  replied  firmly. 
"Yon  are  early,  that  is  all.  You  have  arms,  I  see. 
Maillard !  " — to  the  person  whose  voice  Tignonville 
had  heard  at  the  head  of  the  stairs — "  A  white  sleeve, 
and  a  cross  for  Monsieur's  hat,  and  his  name  on  the 
register.  Come,  make  a  beginning!  Make  a  begin- 
ning, man." 

"To  be  sure,  Monsieur.     All  is  ready." 

"Then  lose  no  time,  I  say.  Here  are  others,  also 
early  in  the  good  cause.  Gentlemen,  welcome !  Wel- 
come all  who  are  for  the  true  faith !  Death  to  the  here- 
tics! 'Kill,  and  no  quarter! '  is  the  word  to-night!  *' 

"Death  to  the  heretics !"  the  last  comers  cried  in 
chorus.  "Kill  and  no  quarter!  At  what  hour,  M. 
lePrevot?" 

"  At  day-break, "  the  Provost  answered  important- 
ly. "But  have  no  fear,  the  tocsin  will  sound.  The 
King  and  our  good  man  M.  de  Guise  have  all  in  hand. 
A  white  sleeve,  a  white  cross,  and  a  sharp  knife  shall 
rid  Paris  of  the  vermin !  Gentlemen  of  the  quarter, 
the  word  of  the  night  is  '  Kill,  and  no  quarter ! 
Death  to  the  Huguenots ! '  " 

"Death!  Death  to  the  Huguenots!  Kill,  and  no 
quarter !  "  A  dozen— the  room  was  beginning  to  fill 
— waved  their  weapons  and  echoed  the  cry. 

Tignonville  had  been  fortunate  enough  to  appre- 
hend the  position — and  the  peril  in  which  he  stood 
— before  Maillard  advanced  to  him  bearing  a  white 
linen  sleeve.  In  the  instant  of  discovery  his  heart 
had  stood  a  moment,  the  blood  had  left  his  cheeks ; 
but  with  some  faults,  he  was  no  coward,  and  he 
managed  to  hide  his  emotion.  He  held  out  his  left 
arm,  and  suffered  the  beadle  to  pass  the  sleeve  over 


THE  HOUSE  NEXT  THE  "GOLDEN  MAID."  35 

it  and  to  secure  the  white  linen  above  the  elbow. 
Then  at  a  gesture  he  gave  up  his  velvet  cap,  and  saw 
it  decorated  with  a  white  cross  of  the  same  material. 
"Now  the  register,  Monsieur,"  Maillard  continued 
briskly ;  and  waving  him  in  the  direction  of  a  clerk, 
who  sat  at  the  end  of  the  long  table,  having  a  book  and 
an  ink-horn  before  him,  he  turned  to  the  next  comer. 

Tignonville  would  fain  have  avoided  the  ordeal  of 
the  register,  but  the  clerk's  eye  was  on  him.  He  had 
been  fortunate  so  far,  but  he  knew  that  the  least 
breath  of  suspicion  would  destroy  him,  and  summon- 
ing his  wits  together  he  gave  his  name  in  a  steady 
voice.  "Anne  Desmartins. "  It  was  his  mother's 
maiden  name,  and  the  first  that  came  into  his  mind. 

"Of  Paris?" 

"Recently ;  by  birth,  of  the  Limousin." 

"Good,  Monsieur,"  the  clerk  answered,  writing  in 
the  name.  And  he  turned  to  the  next.  "And  you, 
my  friend  ?  " 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  EVE   OF  THE   FEAST. 

IT  was  Tignonville's  salvation  that  the  men  who 
crowded  the  long  white-walled  room,  and  exchanged 
vile  boasts  under  the  naked  flaring  lights,  were  of  all 
classes.  There  were  butchers,  natives  of  the  sur- 
rounding quarter  whom  the  scent  of  blood  had  drawn 
from  their  lairs ;  and  there  were  priests  with  hatchet 
faces,  who  whispered  in  the  butchers'  ears.  There 
were  gentlemen  of  the  robe,  and  plain  mechanics,  rich 
merchants  in  their  gowns,  and  bare-armed  ragpickers, 
sleek  choristers,  and  shabby  led-captaius ;  but  differ  as 
they  might  in  other  points,  in  one  thing  all  were  alike. 
From  all,  gentle  or  simple,  rose  the  same  cry  for  blood, 
the  same  aspiration  to  be  first  equipped  for  the  fray. 
In  one  corner  a  man  of  rank  stood  silent  and  apart,  his 
hand  on  his  sword,  the  working  of  his  face  alone  be- 
traying the  storm  that  reigned  within.  In  another,  a 
Gorman  horse-dealer  talked  in  low  wrhispers  with  two 
thieves.  In  a  third,  a  gold- wire  drawer  addressed  an 
admiring  group  from  the  Sorbonne ;  and  meantime  the 
middle  of  the  floor  grew  into  a  seething  mass  of  mut- 
tering, scowling  men,  through  whom  the  last  comers, 
thrust  as  they  might,  had  much  ado  to  force  their  way. 
And  from  all  under  the  low  ceiling  rose  a  ceaseless 
hum,  though  none  spoke  loud.  "  Kill !  kill !  kill ! " 
was  the  burden ;  the  accompaniment  such  profanities 
and  blasphemies  as  had  long  disgraced  the  Paris  pul- 


THE  EVE   OF   THE   FEAST.  37 

pits,  and  day  by  day  had  fanned  the  bigotry — already 
at  a  white  heat — of  the  Parisian  populace.  Tignon- 
ville  turned  sick  as  he  listened,  and  would  fain  have 
closed  his  ears.  But  for  his  life  he  dared  not.  And 
presently  a  cripple  in  a  beggar's  garb,  a  dwarfish, 
filthy  creature  with  matted  hair,  twitched  his  sleeve, 
and  offered  him  a  whetstone. 

"Are  you  sharp,  noble  sir?"  he  asked  with  a  leer. 
"Are  you  sharp?  It's  surprising  how  the  edge  goes 
on  the  bone.  A  cut  and  thrust?  Well,  every  man 
to  his  taste.  But  give  me  a  broad  butcher's  knife 
and  I'll  ask  no  help,  be  it  man,  woman,  or  child ! " 

A  bystander,  a  lean  man  in  rusty  black,  chuckled 
as  he  listened.  "But  the  woman  or  the  child  for 
choice,  eh,  Jehan?  "  he  said.  And  he  looked  to  Tig- 
nonville  to  join  in  the  jest. 

"Ay,  give  me  a  white  throat  for  choice!  "  the  crip- 
ple answered,  with  h'orrible  zest.  "And  there'll  be 
delicate  necks  to  prick  to-night !  Lord,  I  think  I  hear 
them  squeal!  You  don't  need  it,  sir?"  he  continued, 
again  proffering  the  whetstone.  "No?  Then  I'll 
give  my  blade  another  whet,  in  the  name  of  our 
Lady,  the  Saints,  and  good  Father  Pezelay ! " 

"  Ay,  and  give  me  a  turn ! "  the  lean  man  cried, 
proffering  his  weapon.  "May  I  die  if  I  do  not  kill 
one  of  the  accursed  for  every  finger  of  my  hands !  " 

"  And  toe  of  my  feet ! "  the  cripple  answered,  not 
to  be  outdone.  "  And  toe  of  my  feet !  A  full  score ! " 

"  'Tis  according  to  your  sins! "  the  other,  who  had 
something  of  the  air  of  a  Churchman,  answered. 
"The  more  heretics  killed,  the  more  sins  forgiven. 
Remember  that,  brother,  and  spare  not  if  your  soul 
be  burdened!  They  blaspheme  God  and  call  Him 
paste!  In  the  paste  of  their  own  blood,"  he  con- 


38  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

tinned  ferociously,  "I  will  knead  them  and  roll  them 
out,  saith  the  good  Father  Pezelay,  ray  master !  " 

The  cripple  crossed  himself.  "Whom  God  keep," 
he  said.  "He  is  a  good  man.  But  you  are  looking 
ill,  noble  sir  ?  "  he  continued,  peering  curiously  at  the 
young  Huguenot. 

" 'Tis  the  heat,"  Tignonville  muttered.  "The  night 
is  stifling,  and  the  lights  make  it  worse.  I  will  go 
nearer  the  door." 

He  hoped  to  escape  them ;  he  had  some  hope  even  of 
escaping  from  the  room  and  giving  the  alarm.  But 
when  he  had  forced  his  way  to  the  threshold,  he 
found  it  guarded  by  two  pikemen ;  and  glancing  back 
to  see  if  his  movements  were  observed — for  he  knew 
that  his  agitation  might  have  awakened  suspicion — he 
found  that  the  taller  of  the  two  whom  he  had  left,  the 
black -garbed  man  with  the  hungry  face,  was  watching 
him  a-tiptoe,  over  the  shoulders  of  the  crowd. 

With  that,  and  the  sense  of  his  impotence,  the 
lights  began  to  swim  before  his  eyes.  The  catastro- 
phe that  overhung  his  party,  the  fate  so  treacherously 
prepared  for  all  whom  he  loved  and  all  with  whom 
his  fortunes  were  bound  up,  confused  his  brain  al- 
most to  delirium.  He  strove  to  think,  to  calculate 
chances,  to  imagine  some  way  in  which  he  might  es- 
cape from  the  room,  or  from  a  window  might  cry  the 
alarm.  But  he  could  not  bring  his  mind  to  a  point. 
Instead,  in  lightning  flashes  he  foresaw  what  must 
happen :  his  betrothed  in  the  hands  of  the  murderers, 
the  fair  face  that  had  smiled  on  him  frozen  with 
terror ;  brave  men,  the  fighters  of  Montauban,  the  de- 
fenders of  Angely,  strewn  dead  through  the  dark 
lanes  of  the  city.  And  now  a  gust  of  passion,  and 
now  a  shudder  of  fear,  seized  him ;  and  in  any  other 


THE  EVE   OF  THE  FEAST.  39 

assembly  his  agitation  must  have  led  to  detection. 
But  in  that  room  were  many  twitching  faces  and 
trembling  hands.  Murder,  cruel,  midnight,  and  most 
foul,  wrung  even  from  the  murderers  her  toll  of  hor- 
ror. While  some,  to  hide  the  nervousness  they  felt, 
babbled  of  what  they  would  do,  others  betrayed  by 
the  intentness  with  which  they  awaited  the  signal,  the 
dreadful  anticipations  that  possessed  their  souls. 

Before  he  had  formed  any  plan,  a  movement  took 
place  near  the  door.  The  stairs  shook  beneath  the 
sudden  trampling  of  feet,  a  voice  cried  "De  par  le 
Roi !  De  par  le  Eoi ! "  and  the  babel  of  the  room 
died  down.  The  throng  swayed  and  fell  back  on 
either  hand,  and  Marshal  Tavanues  entered,  wearing 
half  armour,  with  a  white  sash ;  he  was  followed  by 
six  or  eight  gentlemen  in  like  guise.  Amid  cries  of 
"Jarnac!  Jarnac!" — for  to  him  the  credit  of  that 
famous  fight,  nominally  won  by  the  King's  brother, 
was  popularly  given — he  advanced  up  the  room,  met 
the  Provost  of  the  merchants,  and  began  to  confer 
with  him.  Apparently  he  asked  the  latter  to  select 
some  men  who  could  be  trusted  on  a  special  mission, 
for  the  Provost  looked  round  and  beckoned  to  his  side 
one  or  two  of  higher  rank  than  the  herd,  and  then 
one  or  two  of  the  most  truculent  aspect. 

Tignonville  trembled  lest  he  should  be  singled  out. 
He  had  hidden  himself  as  well  as  he  could  at  the  rear 
of  the  crowd  by  the  door;  but  his  dress,  so  much 
above  the  common,  rendered  him  conspicuous.  He 
fancied  that  the  Provost's  eye  ranged  the  crowd  for 
him ;  and  to  avoid  it  and  efface  himself  he  moved  a 
pace  to  his  left. 

The  step  was  fatal.  It  saved  him  from  the  Provost, 
but  it  brought  him  face  to  face  and  eye  to  eye  with 


40  COUNT   HANNIBAL. 

Count  Haimibal,  who  stood  in  the  first  rank  at  his 
brother's  elbow.  Tavaimes  stared  an  instant  as  if  he 
doubted  his  eyesight.  Then,  as  doubt  gave  slow  place 
to  certainty,  and  surprise  to  amazement,  he  smiled. 
And  after  a  moment  he  looked  another  way. 

Tignouville's  heart  gave  a  great  bump  and  seemed 
to  stand  still.  The  lights  whirled  before  his  eyes, 
there  was  a  roaring  in  his  ears.  He  waited  for  the 
word  that  should  denounce  him.  It  did  not  come. 
And  still  it  did  not  come ;  and  Marshal  Tavannes  was 
turning.  Yes,  turning,  and  going ;  the  Provost,  bow- 
ing low,  was  attending  him  to  the  door;  his  suite 
were  opening  on  either  side  to  let  him  pass.  And 
Count  HaunibaH  Count  Hannibal  was  following 
also,  as  if  nothing  had  occurred.  As  if  he  had  seen 
nothing ! 

The  young  man  caught  his  breath.  Was  it  pos- 
sible that  he  had  imagined  the  start  of  recognition, 
the  steady  scrutiny,  the  sinister  smile?  No;  for  as 
Tavanues  followed  the  others,  he  hung  an  instant  on 
his  heel,  their  eyes  met  again,  and  once  more  he 
smiled.  In  the  next  breath  he  was  gone  through  the 
doorway,  his  spurs  rang  on  the  stairs ;  and  the  babel 
pf  the  crowd,  unchecked  by  the  great  man's  presence, 
broke  out  anew,  and  louder. 

Tignonville  shuddered.  He  was  saved  as  by  a  mir- 
acle, saved  he  did  not  know  how.  But  the  respite, 
though  its  strangeness  diverted  his  thoughts  for  a 
while,  brought  short  relief.  The  horrors  which  im- 
pended over  others  surged  afresh  into  his  mind,  and 
filled  him  with  a  maddening  sense  of  impotence.  To 
be  one  hour,  only  one  short  half -hour  without!  To 
run  through  the  sleeping  streets,  and  scream  in  the 
dull  ears  which  a  King's  flatteries  had  stopped  as 


THE  EYE  OF  THE  FEAST.  41 

with  wool !  To  go  up  aiid  down  and  shake  into  life  the 
guests  whose  royal  lodgings  daybreak  would  turn  to  a 
shambles  reeking  with  their  blood!  They  slept,  the 
gentle  Teligny,  the  brave  Pardaillan,  the  gallant 
Rochefoucauld,  Piles  the  hero  of  St.  Jean,  while  the 
cruel  city  stirred  rustling  about  them,  and  doom  crept 
whispering  to  the  door.  They  slept,  they  and  a  thou- 
sand others,  gentle  and  simple,  young  and  old ;  while 
the  half-mad  Valois  shifted  between  two  opinions, 
and  the  Italian  woman,  accursed  daughter  of  an  ac- 
cursed race,  cried  "  Hark ! "  at  her  window,  and 
looked  eastwards  for  the  dawn. 

And  the  women  ?  The  woman  he  was  to  marry  ? 
And  the  others?  In  an  access  of  passion  he  thrust 
aside  those  who  stood  between,  he  pushed  his  way, 
disregarding  complaints,  disregarding  opposition,  to 
the  door.  But  the  pikes  lay  across  it,  and  he  could 
not  utter  a  syllable  to  save  his  life.  He  would  have 
flung  himself  on  the  door-keepers,  for  he  was  losing 
control  of  himself;  but  as  he  drew  back  for  the 
spring,  a  hand  clutched  his  sleeve,  and  a  voice  he 
loathed  hummed  in  his  ear. 

"No,  fair  play,  noble  sir;  fair  play!  "the  cripple 
Jehan  muttered,  forcibly  drawing  him  aside.  "All 
start  together,  and  it's  no  man's  loss.  But  if  there  is 
any  little  business, "  he  continued,  lowering  his  tone 
and  peering  with  a  cunning  look  into  the  other's  face, 
"of  your  own,  noble  sir,  or  your  friends',  anything 
or  anybody  you  want  despatched,  count  on  me.  It 
were  better,  perhaps,  you  didn't  appear  in  it  your- 
self, and  a  man  you  can  trust " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  the  young  man  cried,  re- 
coiling from  him. 

"  No  need  to  look  surprised,   noble  sir, "  the  lean 


42  COUNT   HANNIBAL. 

man,  who  had  joined  them,  answered  in  a  soothing 
tone.  "Who  kills  to-night  does  God  service,  and 
who  serves  God  much  may  serve  himself  a  little. 
'Thou  shalt  not  muzzle  the  ox  that  treadeth  out  the 
corn, '  says  good  Father  Pezelay. " 

"  Hear,  hear ! "  the  cripple  chimed  in  eagerly,  his 
impatience  such  that  he  danced  on  his  toes.  "He 
preaches  as  well  as  the  good  father  his  master !  So 
frankly,  noble  sir,  what  is  it?  What  is  it?  A  wo- 
man grown  ugly?  A  rich  man  grown  old,  with  per- 
chance a  will  in  his  chest?  Or  a  young  heir  that 
stands  in  my  lord's  way?  Whichever  it  be,  or  what- 
ever it  be,  trust  me  and  our  friend  here,  and  my 
butcher's  gully  shall  cut  the  knot." 

Tignonville  shook  his  head. 

" But  something  there  is,"  the  lean  man  persisted 
obstinately;  and  he  cast  a  suspicious  glance  at  Tig- 
nonville's  clothes.  It  was  evident  that  the  two  had 
discussed  him,  and  the  motives  of  his  presence  there. 
"  Have  the  dice  proved  fickle,  my  lord,  and  are  you 
for  the  jewellers'  shops  on  the  bridge  to  fill  your 
purse  again  ?  If  so,  take  my  word,  it  were  better  to 
go  three  than  one,  and  we'll  enlist." 

"Ay,  we  know  shops  on  the  bridge  where  you  can 
plunge  your  arm  elbow-deep  in  gold,"  the  cripple 
muttered,  his  eyes  sparkling  greedily.  "There's 
Baillet's,  noble  sir!  There's  a  shop  for  you!  And 
there's  the  man's  shop  who  works  for  the  King. 
He's  lame  like  me.  And  I  know  the  way  to  all.  Oh, 
it  will  be  a  merry  night  if  they  ring  before  the  dawn. 
It  must  be  near  daybreak  now.  And  what's  that?  " 

Ay,  what  was  it?  A  score  of  voices  called  for 
silence;  a  breathless  hush  fell  on  the  crowd.  A  mo- 
ment the  fiercest  listened,  with  parted  lips  and 


THE   EVE  OF   THE   FEAST.  43 

starting  eyes.  Then,  "  It  was  the  bell ! "  cried  one, 
"let  us  out!"  "It  was  not!"  cried,  another.  "It 
was  a  pistol  shot!"  "Anyhow  let  us  out!"  the 
crowd  roared  in  chorus;  "let  us  out!"  And  they 
pressed  in  a  furious  mass  towards  the  door,  as  if  they 
would  force  it,  signal  or  no  signal. 

But  the  pikemen  stood  fast,  and  the  throng,  checked 
in  their  first  rush,  turned  on  one  another,  and  broke 
into  wrangling  and  disputing;  boasting,  and  calling 
Heaven  and  the  saints  to  witness  how  thoroughly, 
how  pitilessly,  how  remorselessly  they  would  purge 
Paris  of  this  leprosy  when  the  signal  did  sound.  Un- 
til again  above  the  babel  a  man  cried  "Silence! "  and 
again  they  lis.<3ned.  And  this  time,  dulled  by  walls 
and  distance,  but  unmistakable  by  the  ears  of  fear 
or  hate,  the  heavy  note  of  a  bell  came  to  them  on  the 
hot  night-air.  It  was  the  boom,  sullen  and  menac- 
ing, of  the  death  signal. 

The  door-keepers  lowered  their  pikes,  and  with  a 
wild  rush  as  of  wolves  swarming  on  their  prey,  the 
band  stormed  the  door,  and  thrust  and  struggled 
and  battled  a  way  down  the  narrow  staircase,  and 
along  the  narrow  passage.  "A  bas  les  Huguenots! 
Mort  aux  Huguenots ! "  they  shouted ;  and  shrieking, 
sweating,  spurning  with  vile  hands  viler  faces,  they 
poured  pell-mell  into  the  street,  and  added  their 
clamour  to  the  boom  of  the  tocsin  that,  as  by  magic 
and  in  a  moment,  turned  the  streets  of  Paris  into  a 
hell  of  blood  and  cruelty.  For  as  it  was  here,  so  it 
was  in  a  dozen  other  quarters. 

Quickly  as  they  streamed  out — and  to  have  issued 
more  quickly  would  have  been  impossible — fiercely  as 
they  pushed  and  fought  and  clove  their  way,  Tignon- 
ville  was  of  the  foremost.  And  for  a  moment,  seeing 


44  COUNT   HANNIBAL. 

the  street  clear  before  him  and  almost  empty,  the 
Huguenot  thought  that  he  might  do  something.  He 
might  outstrip  the  stream  of  rapine,  he  might  carry 
the  alarm ;  at  worst  he  might  reach  his  betrothed  be- 
fore harm  befel  her.  But  when  he  had  sped  fifty  yards, 
his  heart  sank.  True,  none  passed  him ;  but  under  the 
spell  of  the  alarm-bell  the  stones  themselves  seemed 
to  turn  to  men.  Houses,  courts,  alleys,  the  very 
churches  vomited  men.  In  a  twinkling  the  street  was 
alive  with  men,  roared  with  them  as  with  a  rushing 
tide,  gleamed  with  their  lights  and  weapons,  thundered 
with  the  volume  of  their  thousand  voices.  He  was 
no  longer  ahead,  men  were  running  before  him,  be- 
hind him,  on  his  right  hand  and  on  his  left.  In  every 
side-street,  every  passage,  men  were  running ;  and 
not  men  only,  but  women,  children,  furious  creatures 
without  age  or  sex.  And  all  the  time  the  bell  tolled 
overhead,  tolled  faster  and  faster,  and  louder  and 
louder ;  and  shots  and  screams,  and  the  clash  of  arms, 
and  the  fall  of  strong  doors  began  to  swell  the  mael- 
strom of  sound. 

He  was  in  the  Eue  St.  Honore  now,  and  speeding 
westward.  But  the  flood  still  rose  with  him,  and 
roared  abreast  of  him.  Nay,  it  outstripped  him. 
When  he  came,  panting,  within  sight  of  his  goal,  and 
lacked  but  a  hundred  paces  of  it,  he  found  his  pas- 
sage barred  by  a  dense  mass  of  people  moving  slowly 
to  meet  him.  In  the  heart  of  the  press  the  light  of  a 
dozen  torches  shone  on  half  as  many  riders  mailed 
and  armed;  whose  eyes,  as  they  moved  on,  and  the 
furious  gleaming  eyes  of  the  rabble  about  them,  never 
left  the  gabled  roofs  on  their  right.  On  these  from 
time  to  time  a  white -clad  figure  showed  itself,  and 
passed  from  chimney-stack  to  chimney-stack,  or, 


THE  EVE   OF   THE  FEAST.  45 

stooping  low,  ran  along  the  parapet.  Every  time 
that  this  happened,  the  men  on  horseback  pointed 
upwards  and  the  mob  foamed  with  rage. 

Tiguonville  groaned,  but  he  could  not  help.  Un- 
able to  go  forward,  he  turned,  and  with  others  hurry- 
ing, shouting,  and  brandishing  weapons,  he  pressed 
into  the  Eue  du  Eoule,  passed  through  it,  and  gained 
the  Bethizy.  But  here,  as  he  might  have  foreseen, 
all  passage  was  barred  at  the  Hotel  Pouthieu  by  a 
horde  of  savages,  who  danced  and  yelled  and  sang 
songs  round  the  Admiral's  body,  which  lay  in  the 
middle  of  the  way ;  while  to  right  and  left  men  were 
bursting  into  houses  and  forcing  new  victims  into  the 
street.  The  worst  had  happened  there,  and  he  turned 
panting,  regained  the  Eue  St.  Honore  and,  crossing  it 
and  turning  left-handed,  darted  through  side  streets 
until  he  came  again  into  the  main  thoroughfare  a  lit- 
tle beyond  the  Croix  du  Tiroir,  that  marked  the  cor- 
ner of  Mademoiselle's  house. 

Here  his  last  hope  left  him.  The  street  swarmed 
with  bands  of  men  hurrying  to  and  fro  as  in  a  sacked 
city.  The  scum  of  the  Halles,  the  rabble  of  the  quar- 
ter poured  this  way  and  that,  here  at  random,  there 
swayed  and  directed  by  a  few  knots  of  men-at-arms, 
whose  corselets  reflected  the  glare  of  a  hundred 
torches.  At  one  time  and  within  sight,  three  or  four 
houses  were  being  stormed.  On  every  side  rose  heart- 
rending cries,  mingled  with  brutal  laughter,  with  sav- 
age jests,  with  cries  of  "To  the  river!"  The  most 
cruel  of  cities  had  burst  its  bounds  and  was  not  to  be 
stayed ;  nor  would  be  stayed  until  the  Seine  ran  red 
to  the  sea,  and  leagues  below,  in  pleasant  Normandy 
hamlets,  men,  for  fear  of  the  pestilence,  pushed  the 
corpses  from  the  bridges  with  poles  and  boat-hooks. 


46  COUNT   HANNIBAL. 

All  this  Tiguouville  saw,  though  his  eyes,  leaping 
the  turmoil,  looked  only  to  the  door  at  which  he  had 
left  Mademoiselle  a  few  hours  earlier.  There  a 
crowd  of  men  pressed  and  struggled;  but  from  the 
spot  where  he  stood  he  could  see  no  more.  That  was 
enough,  however.  Rage  nerved  him,  and  despair; 
his  world  was  dying  round  him.  If  he  could  not  save 
her  he  would  avenge  her.  Eecklessly  he  plunged 
into  the  tumult ;  blade  in  hand,  with  vigorous  blows 
he  thrust  his  way  through,  his  white  sleeve  and  the 
white  cross  in  his  hat  gaining  him  passage  until  he 
reached  the  fringe  of  the  band  who  beset  the  door. 
Here  his  first  attempt  to  pass  failed ;  and  he  might 
have  remained  hampered  by  the  crowd  if  a  squad 
of  archers  had  not  ridden  up.  As  they  spurred  to 
the  spot,  heedless  over  whom  they  rode,  he  clutched 
a  stirrup,  and  was  borne  with  them  into  the  heart  of 
the  crowd.  In  a  twinkling  he  stood  on  the  threshold 
of  the  house,  face  to  face  and  foot  to  foot  with  Count 
Hannibal,  who  stood  also  on  the  threshold,  but  with 
his  back  to  the  door,  which,  unbarred  and  unbolted, 
gaped  open  behind  him. 


CHAPTER  Y. 

A   ROUGH   WOOING. 

THE  young  man  had  caught  the  delirium  that  was 
abroad  that  night.  The  rage  of  the  trapped  beast  was 
in  his  heart,  his  hand  held  a  sword.  To  strike  blind- 
ly, to  strike  without  question  the  first  who  withstood 
him  was  the  wild-beast  instinct ;  and  if  Count  Hanni- 
bal had  not  spoken  on  the  instant,  the  Marshal's 
brother  had  said  his  last  word  in  the  world. 

Yet  as  he  stood  there,  a  head  above  the  crowd,  he 
seemed  unconscious  alike  of  Tignonville  and  the  point 
that  all  but  pricked  his  breast.  Swart  and  grim- 
visaged,  his  harsh  features  distorted  by  the  glare 
which  shone  upon  him,  he  looked  beyond  the  Hugue- 
not to  the  sea  of  tossing  arms  and  raging  faces  that 
surged  about  the  saddles  of  the  horsemen.  It  was  to 
these  he  spoke. 

"Begone,  dogs!"  he  cried,  in  a  voice  that  startled 
the  nearest,  "or  I  will  whip  you  away  with  my  stir- 
rup-leathers! Do  you  hear?  Begone!  This  house  is 
not  for  you !  Burn,  kill,  plunder  where  you  will,  but 
go  hence ! "  . 

"But  'tis  on  the  list!"  one  of  the  wretches  yelled. 
"'Tis  on  the  list!  "  And  he  pushed  forward  until  he 
stood  at  Tignonville 's  elbow. 

"  And  has  no  cross ! "  shrieked  another,  thrusting 
himself  forward  in  his  turn.  "See  you,  let  us  by, 


48  COUNT   HANNIBAL. 

whoever  you  are !  lu  the  King's  name,  kill !  It  has 
no  cross ! " 

"Then,"  Tavauues  thundered,  "will  I  nail  you  for 
a  cross  to  the  front  of  it !  No  cross,  say  you  ?  I  will 
make  one  of  you,  foul  crow !  " 

And  as  he  spoke,  his  arm  shot  out;  the  man  re- 
coiled, his  fellow  likewise.  But  one  of  the  mounted 
archers  took  up  the  matter. 

"  Nay,  but,  my  lord, "  he  said — he  knew  Tavannes 
— "it  is  the  King's  will  there  be  no  favour  shown 
to-night  to  any,  small  or  great.  And  this  house  is 
registered,  and  is  full  of  heretics. " 

"And  has  no  cross! "  the  rabble  urged  in  chorus. 
And  they  leapt  up  and  down  in  their  impatience,  and 
to  see  the  better.  "  And  has  no  cross ! "  they  per- 
sisted. They  could  understand  that.  Of  what  use 
crosses,  if  they  were  not  to  kill  where  there  was  no 
cross?  Daylight  was  not  plainer. 

Tavannes'  face  grew  dark,  and  he  shook  his  finger 
at  the  archer  who  had  spoken.  "Rogue,"  he  cried, 
"does  the  King's  will  run  here  only?  Are  there  no 
other  houses  to  sack  or  men  to  kill,  that  you  must 
beard  me?  And  favour?  You  will  have  little  of 
mine,  if  you  do  not  budge  and  take  your  vile  tail  with 
you !  Off !  Or  must  I  cry  '  Tavannes ! '  and  bid  my 
people  sweep  you  from  the  streets?  " 

The  foremost  rank  hesitated,  awed  by  his  manner 
and  his  name ;  while  the  rearmost,  attracted  by  the 
prospect'of  easier  pillage,  had  gone  off  already.  The 
rest  wavered ;  and  another  and  another  broke  away. 
The  archer  who  had  put  himself  forward  saw  which 
way  the  wind  was  blowing,  and  he  shrugged  his 
shoulders.  "Well,  my  lord,  as  you  will,"  he  said 
sullenly.  "All  the  same  I  would  advise  you  to  close 


A  EOUGH   WOOING.  49 

the  door  and  bolt  and  bar.  We  shall  not  be  the  last 
to  call  to-day."  And  he  turned  his  horse  in  ill- 
humour,  and  forced  it,  snorting  and  plunging,  through 
the  crowd. 

"Bolt  and  bar?  "  Tavannes  cried  after  him  in  fury. 
"See  you  my  answer  to  that!"  And  turning  on  the 
threshold,  "Within  there!"  he  cried.  "Open  the 
shutters  and  set  lights,  and  the  table !  Light,  I  say ; 
light !  And  lay  on  quickly,  if  you  value  your  lives ! 
And  throw  open,  for  I  sup  with  your  mistress  to- 
night, if  it  rain  blood  without!  Do  you  hear  me, 
rogues  ?  Set  on ! " 

He  flung  the  last  word  at  the  quaking  servants; 
then  he  turned  again  to  the  street.  He  saw  that  the 
crowd  was  melting,  and,  looking  in  Tignonville's 
face,  he  laughed  aloud.  "Does  Monsieur  sup  with 
us?"  he  said.  "To  complete  the  party?  Or  will  he 
choose  to  sup  with  our  friends  yonder?  It  is  for 
him  to  say.  I  confess,  for  my  part,"  with  an  awful 
smile,  "their  hospitality  seems  a  trifle  crude,  and 
boisterous. " 

Tiguonville  looked  behind  him  and  shuddered. 
The  same  horde  which  had  so  lately  pressed  about 
the  door  had  found  a  victim  lower  down  the  street, 
and,  as  Tavaunes  spoke,  came  driving  back  along 
the  roadway,  a  mass  of  tossing  lights  and  leaping, 
running  figures,  from  the  heart  of  which  rose  the 
screams  of  a  creature  in  torture.  So  terrible  were 
the  sounds  that  Tignonville  leant  half  swooning 
against  the  door-post ;  and  even  the  iron  heart  of 
Tavaunes  seemed  moved  for  a  moment. 

For  a  moment  only :  then  he  looked  at  his  compan- 
ion, and  his  lip  curled.  "You'll  join  us,  I  think?" 
he  said  with  an  undisguised  sneer.  "Then,  after 
4 


50  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

you,  Monsieur.  They  are  opening  the  shutters. 
Doubtless  the  table  is  laid,  and  Mademoiselle  is  ex- 
pecting us.  After  you,  Monsieur,  if  you  please.  A 
few  hours  ago  I  should  have  gone  first,  for  you,  in 
this  house" — with  a  sinister  smile — "were  at  home! 
Now,  we  have  changed  places." 

Whatever  he  meant  by  the  gibe — and  some  smack 
of  an  evil  jest  lurked  in  his  tone — he  played  the  host 
so  far  as  to  urge  his  bewildered  companion  along  the 
passage  and  into  the  living-chamber  on  the  left,  where 
he  had  seen  from  without  that  his  orders  to  light  and 
lay  were  being  executed.  A  dozen  candles  shone  on 
the  board,  and  lit  up  the  apartment.  What  the  house 
contained  of  food  and  wine  had  been  got  together 
and  set  on  the  table;  from  the  low,  wide  window, 
beetle-browed  and  diamond-paned,  which  extended 
the  whole  length  of  the  room  and  looked  on  the  street 
at  the  height  of  a  man's  head  above  the  roadway,  the 
shutters  had  beeu  removed — doubtless  by  trembling 
and  reluctant  fingers.  To  such  eyes  of  passers-by  as 
looked  in,  from  the  inferno  of  driving  crowds  and 
gleaming  weapons  which  prevailed  outside — and  not 
outside  only,  but  throughout  Paris — the  brilliant 
room  and  the  laid  table  must  have  seemed  strange 
indeed ! 

To  Tignonville,  all  that  had  happened,  all  that  was 
happening,  seemed  a  dream:  a  dream  his  entrance 
under  the  gentle  impulsion  of  this  man  who  domi- 
nated him;  a  dream  Mademoiselle  standing  behind 
the  table  with  blanched  face  and  stony  eyes ;  a  dream 
the  cowering  servants  huddled  in  a  corner  beyond 
her ;  a  dream  his  silence,  her  silence,  the  moment  of 
waiting  before  Count  Hannibal  spoke. 

When  he  did  speak  it  was  to  count  the  servants. 


A  BOUGH  WOOING.  51 

"One,  two,  three,  four,  five,"  he  said.  "And  two  of 
them  women.  Mademoiselle  is  but  poorly  attended. 
Are  there  not  "—and  he  turned  to  her — "  some  lack- 
ing?" 

The  girl  opened  her  lips  twice,  but  no  sound  issued. 
The  third  time,  "  Two  went  out, "  she  muttered  in  a 
hoarse,  strangled  voice,  "and  have  not  returned." 

"And  have  not  returned?"  he  answered,  raising 
his  eyebrows.  "  Then  I  fear  we  must  not  wait  for 
them.  We  might  wait  long ! "  And  turning  sharply 
to  the  panic-stricken  servants,  "Go  you  to  your 
places !  Do  you  not  see  that  Mademoiselle  waits  to 
be  served  ? " 

The  girl  shuddered  and  spoke. 

"Do  you  wish  me,"  she  muttered,  in  the  same 
strangled  tone,  "to  play  this  farce — to  the  end?  " 

"The  end  may  be  better,  Mademoiselle,  than  you 
think, "  he  answered,  bowing.  And  then  to  the  mis- 
erable servants,  who  hung  back  afraid  to  leave  the 
shelter  of  their  mistress's  skirts,  "To  your  places!" 
he  cried.  "Set  Mademoiselle's  chair.  Are  you  so 
remiss  on  other  days?  If  so,"  with  a  look  of  terrible 
meaning,  "you  will  be  the  less  loss!  Now,  Mademoi- 
selle, may  I  have  the  honour?  And  when  we  are  at 
table  we  can  talk." 

He  extended  his  hand,  and,  obedient  to  his  gesture, 
she  moved  to  the  place  at  the  head  of  the  table,  but 
without  letting  her  fingers  come  into  contact  with  his. 
He  gave  no  sign  that  he  noticed  this,  but  he  strode  to 
the  place  on  her  right,  and  signed  to  Tignonville  to 
take  that  on  her  left.  "  Will  you  not  be  seated  ?  "  he 
continued.  For  she  kept  her  feet. 

She  turned  her  head  stiffly,  until  for  the  first  time 
her  eyes  looked  into  his.  A  shudder  more  violent 


52  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

than  the  last  shook  her.  "Had  you  not  better — kill 
us  at  once  ? "  she  whispered.  The  blood  had  for- 
saken even  her  lips.  Her  face  was  the  face  of  a  statue 
— white,  beautiful,  lifeless. 

"I  think  not,"  he  said  gravely.  "Be  seated,  and 
let  us  hope  for  the  best.  And  you,  sir, "  he  contin- 
ued, turning  to  Carlat,  "serve  your  mistress  with 
wine.  She  needs  it." 

The  steward  filled  for  her,  and  then  for  each  of  the 
men,  his  shaking  hand  spilling  as  much  as  it  poured. 
Nor  was  this  strange.  Above  the  din  and  uproar  of 
the  street,  above  the  crash  of  distant  doors,  above 
the  tocsin  that  still  rang  from  the  reeling  steeple 
of  St.  Germain's,  the  great  bell  of  the  Palais  on  the 
island  had  just  begun  to  hurl  its  note  of  doom  upon 
the  town.  A  woman  crouching  at  the  end  of  the 
chamber  burst  into  hysterical  weeping,  but,  at  a 
glance  from  Tavannes'  terrible  eye,  was  mute  again. 

Tiguonville  found  voice  at  last.  "Have  they — 
killed  the  Admiral?"  he  muttered,  his  eyes  on  the 
table. 

"  M.  Coligny  !     An  hour  ago. " 

"AndTeligny?" 

"Him  also." 

"M.  de  Eochefoucauld?" 

"They  are  dealing  with  M.  le  Comte  now,  I  be- 
lieve," Tavannes  answered.  "He  had  his  chance,  and 
cast  it  away. "  And  he  began  to  eat. 

The  man  at  the  table  shuddered.  The  woman  con- 
tinued to  look  before  her,  but  her  lips  moved  as  if 
she  prayed.  Suddenly  a  rush  of  feet,  a  roar  of  voices 
surged  past  the  window ;  for  a  moment  the  glare  of 
the  torches  which  danced  ruddily  on  the  walls  of  the 
room,  showed  a  severed  head  borne  above  the  multi- 


A  EOUGH  WOOING.  53 

tude  on  a  pike.  Mademoiselle,  with  a  low  cry,  made 
an  effort  to  rise,  but  Count  Hannibal  grasped  her 
wrist  and  she  sank  back  half  fainting.  Then  the 
nearer  clamour  sank  a  little,  and  the  bells,  unchal- 
lenged, flung  their  iron  tongues  above  the  maddened 
city.  In  the  east  the  dawn  was  growing;  soon  its 
grey  light  would  fall  on  cold  hearths,  on  battered 
doors  and  shattered  weapons,  on  hordes  of  wretches 
drunk  with  greed  and  hate. 

When  he  could  be  heard,  "What  are  you  going  to 
do  with  us?  "  the  man  asked  hoarsely. 

"That  depends,"  Count  Hannibal  replied  after  a 
moment's  thought. 

"On  what ?" 

"On  Mademoiselle  de  Vrillac." 

The  other's  eyes  gleamed  with  passion.  He  leaned 
forward.  "What  has  she  to  do  with  it?"  he  cried. 
And  he  stood  up  and  sat  down  again  in  a  breath. 

Tavaunes  raised  his  eyebrows  with  a  blanduess 
that  seemed  at  odds  with  his  harsh  visage.  "  I  will  an- 
swer that  question  by  another  question, "  he  replied. 
"How  many  are  there  in  the  house,  my  friend?" 

"You  can  count." 

Tavaunes  counted  again.     "Seven?"  he  said. 

Tignonville  nodded  impatiently. 

"Seven  lives?" 

"Well?" 

"Well,  Monsieur,  you  know  the  King's  will?" 

"I  can  guess  it,"  the  other  replied  furiously.  And 
he  cursed  the  King,  and  the  King's  mother,  calling 
her  Jezebel. 

"You  can  guess  it? "  Tavannes  answered;  and  then 
with  sudden  heat,  as  if  that  which  he  had  to  say  could 
not  be  said  even  by  him  in  cold  blood,  "Nay,  you 


54  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

know  it !  You  heard  it  from  the  archer  at  the  door. 
You  heard  him  say,  'No  favour,  no  quarter  for  man, 
for  woman,  or  for  child.  So  says  the  King.'  You 
heard  it,  but  you  fence  with  me.  Foucauld,  with 
whom  his  Majesty  played  to-night,  hand  to  hand  and 
face  to  face — Foucauld  is  dead !  And  you  think  to 
live  ?  You  1 "  he  continued,  lashing  himself  into 
passion.  "I  know  not  by  what  chance  you  came 
where  I  saw  you  an  hour  gone,  nor  by  what  chance 
you  came  by  that  and  that " — pointing  with  accusing 
finger  to  the  badges  the  Huguenot  wore.  "But  this  I 
know!  I  have  but  to  cry  your  name  from  yonder 
casement,  nay,  Monsieur,  I  have  but  to  stand  aside 
when  the  mob  go  their  rounds  from  house  to  house, 
as  they  will  go  presently,  and  you  will  perish  as  cer- 
tainly as  you  have  hitherto  escaped !  " 

For  the  second  time  Mademoiselle  turned  and 
looked  at  him.  "Then,"  she  whispered,  with  white 
lips,  "to  what  end  this — mockery?" 

"To  the  end  that  seven  lives  may  be  saved,  Ma- 
demoiselle," he  answered,  bowing. 

"At  a  price? "  she  muttered. 

"At  a  price,"  he  answered.  "A  price  which  wo- 
men do  not  find  it  hard  to  pay — at  Court.  'Tis  paid 
every  day  for  pleasure  or  a  whim,  for  rank  or  the 
entree,  for  robes  and  gewgaws.  Few,  Mademoiselle, 
are  privileged  to  buy  a  life ;  still  fewer,  seven !  " 

She  began  to  tremble.  "  I  would  rather  die — seven 
times ! "  she  cried,  her  voice  quivering.  And  she 
tried  to  rise,  but  sat  down  again. 

"  And  these  ?  "  he  said,  indicating  the  servants. 

"Far,  far  rather!  "  she  repeated  passionately. 

"  And  Monsieur  ?  And  Monsieur  !  "  he  urged  with 
stern  persistence,  while  his  eyes  passed  lightly  from 


A   BOUGH  WOOING.  55 

her  to  Tignonville  and  back  to  her  again,  their  depths 
inscrutable.  "If  you  love  Monsieur,  Mademoiselle, 
and  I  believe  you  do  -  " 

"  I  can  die  with  him  !  "  she  cried. 

"And  he  with  you!  " 

She  writhed  in  her  chair. 

"And  he  with  you?"  Count  Hannibal  repeated, 
with  emphasis;  and  he  thrust  forward  his  head. 
"For  that  is  the  question.  Think,  think,  Mademoi- 
.^lle.  It  is  in  my  power  to  save  from  death  him 
whom  you  love  ;  to  save  you  ;  to  save  this  canaille,  if 
it  so  please  you.  It  is  in  my  power  to  save  him,  to 
save  you,  to  save  all  ;  and  I  will  save  all  —  at  a  price  ! 
If,  on  the  other  hand,  you  deny  me  that  price,  I  will 
as  certainly  leave  all  to  perish,  as  perish  they  will, 
before  the  sun  that  is  now  rising  sets  to-night  !  " 

Mademoiselle  looked  straight  before  her,  the  nicker 
of  a  dreadful  prescience  in  her  eyes.  "And  the 
price?  "  she  muttered.  "The  price?  " 

"You,  Mademoiselle." 


"  Yes,  you  !  Nay.  why  fence  with  me  ?  "  he  con- 
tinued gently.  "You  knew  it,  you  have  said  it.  You 
have  read  it  in  my  eyes  these  seven  days." 

She  did  not  speak,  move,  or  seem  to  breathe.  As 
he  said,  she  had  foreseen,  she  had  known  the  answer. 
But  Tignonville,  it  seemed,  had  not.  He  sprang  to 
his  feet.  "M.  de  Tavannes,"  he  cried,  "you  are  a 
villain  !  " 

"Monsieur?" 

"  You  are  a  villain  !  But  you  shall  pay  for  this  !  " 
the  young  man  continued  vehemently.  "You  shall 
not  leave  this  room  alive!  You  shall  pay  for  this 
insult!" 


56  COUNT   HANNIBAL. 

"  Insult  ?  "  Tavaunes  answered  in  apparent  sur- 
prise; and  then,  as  if  comprehension  broke  upon 
him,  "Ah!  Monsieur  mistakes  me,"  he  said,  with  a 
generous  sweep  of  his  hand.  "And  Mademoiselle 
also,  perhaps?  Oh!  be  content,  she  shall  have  bell, 
book,  and  candle ;  she  shall  be  tied  as  tight  as  Holy 
Church  can  tie  her !  Or,  if  she  please,  and  one  sur- 
vive, she  shall  have  a  priest  of  her  own  church — you 
call  it  a  church  ?  She  shall  have  whichever  of  the  two 
will  serve  her  better.  "Pis  one  to  me !  But  for  pay- 
ing me,  Monsieur,"  he  continued  with  irony  in  voice 
and  manner ;"  when,  I  pray  you ?  In  Eternity!  For 
if  you  refuse  my  offer,  you  have  done  with  time. 
Now  ?  I  have  but  to  sound  this  whistle  " — he  touched 
a  silver  whistle  which  hung  at  his  breast — "and  there 
are  those  within  hearing  will  do  your  business  before 
you  make  two  passes.  Dismiss  the  notion,  sir,  and 
understand.  You  are  in  my  power.  Paris  runs  with 
blood,  as  noble  as  yours,  as  innocent  as  hers.  If  you 
would  not  perish  with  the  rest,  decide !  And  quick- 
ly !  For  what  you  have  seen  are  but  the  forerunners, 
what  you  have  heard  are  but  the  gentle  whispers  that 
predict  the  gale.  Do  not  parley  too  long;  so  long 
that  even  I  may  no  longer  save  you." 

"I  would  rather  die!"  Mademoiselle  moaned,  her 
face  covered.  "  I  would  rather  die !  " 

"And  see  him  die?"  he  answered  quietly.  "And 
see  these  die?  Think,  think,  child!" 

"You  will  not  do  it!"  she  gasped.  She  shook 
from  head  to  foot. 

"I  shall  do  nothing,"  he  answered  firmly.  "I  shall 
but  leave  you  to  your  fate,  and  these  to  theirs.  In 
the  King's  teeth  I  dare  save  my  wife  and  her  people; 
but  no  others.  You  must  choose — and  quickly." 


A  ROUGH  WOOING.  57 

One  of  the  frightened  women — it  was  Mademoi- 
selle's tiring-maid,  a  girl  called  Javette — made  a 
movement,  as  if  to  throw  herself  at  her  mistress's 
feet.  Tignonville  drove  her  to  her  place  with  a  word. 
He  turned  to  Count  Hannibal.  "But,  M.  le  Comte," 
he  said,  "  you  must  be  mad !  Mad,  to  wish  to  marry 
her  in  this  way !  You  do  not  love  her.  You  do  not 
want  her.  What  is  she  to  you  more  than  other  wo- 
men ? " 

"What  is  she  to  you  more  than  other  women?  "  Ta- 
vanues  retorted  in  a  tone  so  sharp  and  incisive  that 
Tignonville  started,  and  a  faint  touch  of  colour  crept 
into  the  wan  cheek  of  the  girl,  who  sat  between  them, 
the  prize  of  the  contest.  "  What  is  she  more  to  you 
than  other  women?  Is  she  more?  And  yet — you 
want  her ! " 

"She  is  more  to  me,"  Tignonville  answered. 

"  Is  she  ?  "  the  other  retorted,  with  a  ring  of  keen 
meaning.  "Is  she?  But  we  bandy  words  and  the 
storm  is  rising,  as  I  'warned  you  it  would  rise. 
Enough  for  you  that  I  do  want  her.  Enough  for  you 
that  I  will  have  her.  She  shall  be  the  wife,  the  will- 
ing wife,  of  Hannibal  de  Tavannes — or  I  leave  her  to 
her  fate,  and  you  to  yours !  " 

"  Ah,  God ! "  she  moaned.     "  The  willing  wife ! " 

"Ay,  Mademoiselle,  the  willing  wife,"  he  answered 
sternly.  "  Or  no  man's  wife ! " 


CHAPTEE  VI. 

WHO   TOUCHES  TAVANNES? 

IN  saying  that  the  storm  was  rising  Count  Hannibal  had 
said  no  more  than  the  truth.  A  new  mob  had  a  min- 
ute before  burst  from  the  eastward  into  the  Rue  St. 
Honore ;  and  the  roar  of  its  thousand  voices  swelled 
louder  than  the  importunate  clangour  of  the  bells. 
Behind  its  moving  masses  the  dawn  of  a  new  day — 
Sunday,  the  24th  of  August,  the  feast  of  St.  Barthol- 
omew— was  breaking  over  the  Bastille,  as  if  to  aid  the 
crowd  in  its  cruel  work.  The  gabled  streets,  the  lanes, 
and  gothic  courts,  the  stifling  wynds,  where  the  work 
awaited  the  workers,  still  lay  in  twilight;  still  the 
gleam  of  the  torches,  falling  On  the  house -fronts,  her- 
alded the  coming  of  the  crowd.  But  the  dawn  was 
growing,  the  sun  was  about  to  rise.  Soon  the  day 
would  be  here,  giving  up  the  lurking  fugitive  whom 
darkness,  more  pitiful,  had  spared,  and  stamping  with 
legality  the  horrors  that  night  had  striven  to  hide. 

And  with  day,  with  the  full  light,  killing  would 
grow  more  easy,  escape  more  hard.  Already  they 
were  killing  on  the  bridge  where  the  rich  goldsmiths 
lived,  on  the  wharves,  on  the  river.  They  were  kill- 
ing at  the  Louvre,  in  the  courtyard  under  the  King's 
eyes,  and  below  the  windows  of  the  Medicis.  They 
were  killing  in  St.  Martin  and  St.  Denis  and  St.  An- 
toine;  wherever  hate,  or  bigotry,  or  private  malice 
impelled  the  hand.  From  the  whole  city  went  up 


WHO   TOUCHES  TAVANNES  ?  59 

a  din  of  lamentation,  and  wrath,  and  foreboding. 
From  the  Cour  des  Miracles,  from  the  markets,  from 
the  Boucherie,  from  every  haunt  of  crime  and  misery, 
hordes  of  wretched  creatures  poured  forth;  some  to 
rob  on  their  own  account,  and  where  they  listed,  none 
gainsaying;  more  to  join  themselves  to  one  of  the 
armed  bands  whose  business  it  was  to  go  from  street 
to  street,  and  house  to  house,  quelling  resistance,  and 
executing  through  Paris  the  high  justice  of  the  King. 

It  was  one  of  these  swollen  bands  which  had  en- 
tered the  street  while  Tavannes  spoke ;  nor  could  he 
have  called  to  his  aid  a  more  powerful  advocate.  As 
the  deep  "A  bas!  A  bas!"  rolled  like  thunder  along 
the  fronts  of  the  houses,  as  the  more  strident  "  Tuez ! 
Tuez !  "  drew  nearer  and  nearer,  and  the  lights  of  the 
oncoming  multitude  began  to  flicker  on  the  shut- 
tered gables,  the  fortitude  of  the  servants  gave  way. 
Madame  Carlat,  shivering  in  every  limb,  burst  into 
moaning;  the  tiring-maid,  Javette,  flung  herself  in 
terror  at  Mademoiselle's  knees,  and,  writhing  herself 
about  them,  shrieked  to  her  to  save  her,  only  to  save 
her!  One  of  the  men  moved  forward  on  impulse,  as 
if  he  would  close  the  shutters ;  and  only  old  Carlat 
remained  silent,  praying  mutely  with  moving  lips 
and  a  stern,  set  face. 

And  Count  Hannibal  ?  As  the  glare  of  the  links  in 
the  street  grew  brighter,  and  ousted  the  sickly  day- 
light, his  form  seemed  to  dilate.  He  stilled  the 
shrieking  woman  by  a  glance.  "  Choose !  Mademoi- 
selle, and  quickly !  "  he  said.  "  For  I  can  only  save 
my  wife  and  her  people!  Quick,  for  the  pinch  is 
coming,  and  'twill  be  no  boy's  play." 

A  shot,  a  scream  from  the  street,  a  rush  of  racing 
feet  before  the  window  seconded  his  words. 


60  COUNT   HANNIBAL. 

"Quick,  Mademoiselle!  "  lie  cried.  And  his  breath 
came  a  little  faster.  "Quick,  before  it  be  too  late! 
"Will  you  save  life,  or  will  you  kill! " 

She  looked  at  her  lover  with  eyes  of  agony,  dumbly 
questioning  him.  But  he  made  no  sign,  and  only  Ta- 
vannes  marked  the  look.  "  Monsieur  has  done  what 
he  can  to  save  himself,"  he  said  with  a  sneer.  "He 
has  donned  the  livery  of  the  King's  servants ;  he  has 
said,  'Whoever  perishes,  I  will  live!'  But " 

"  Curse  you ! "  the  young  man  cried,  and,  stung 
to  madness,  he  tore  the  cross  from  his  cap  and  flung 
it  on  the  ground.  He  seized  his  white  sleeve  and 
ripped  it  from  shoulder  to  elbow.  Then,  when  it 
hung  by  the  string  only,  he  held  his  hand. 

"Curse  you!"  he  cried  furiously.  "I  will  not  at 
your  bidding !  I  may  save  her  yet !  I  will  save  her !  " 

"Fool!"  Tavannes  answered — but  his  words  were 
barely  audible  above  the  deafening  uproar.  "Can 
you  fight  a  thousand?  Look!  Look!"  and  seiz- 
ing the  other's  wrist  he  pointed  to  the  window. 
The  street  glowed  like  a  furnace  in  the  red  light  of 
torches,  raised  on  poles  above  a  sea  of  heads ;  an  end- 
less sea  of  heads,  and  gaping  faces,  and  tossing  arms 
which  swept  on  and  on,  and  on  and  by.  For  a  while 
it  seemed  that  the  torrent  would  flow  past  them  and 
would  leave  them  safe.  Then  came  a  check,  a  con- 
fused outcry,  a  surging  this  way  and  that ;  the  torches 
reeled  to  and  fro,  and  finally  with  a  dull  roar  of 
"  Open !  Open ! "  the  mob  faced  about  to  the  house 
and  the  lighted  window. 

For  a  second  it  seemed  that  even  Count  Hannibal's 
iron  nerves  shook  a  little.  He  stood  between  the  sul- 
len group  that  surrounded  the  disordered  table  and 
the  maddened  rabble,  that  gloated  on  the  victims  be- 


WHO   TOUCHES   TAVANNES  ?  61 

fore  they  tore  them  to  pieces.  "Open!  Open!"  the 
inob  howled :  and  a  man  dashed  in  the  window  with 
his  pike. 

In  that  crisis  Mademoiselle's  eyes  met  Tavannes' 
for  the  fraction  of  a  second.  She  did  not  speak ;  nor, 
had  she  retained  the  power  to  frame  the  words,  would 
they  have  been  audible.  But  something  she  must  have 
looked,  and  something  of  import,  though  no  other  than 
he  marked  or  understood  it.  For  in  a  flash  he  was 
at  the  window  and  his  hand  was  raised  for  silence. 

"Back!"  he  thundered.  "Back,  knaves!"  And 
he  whistled  shrilly.  "Do  what  you  will,"  he  contin- 
ued in  the  same  tone,  "but  not  here!  Pass  on!  Pass 
on ! — do  you  hear  ?  " 

But  the  crowd  were  not  to  be  lightly  diverted.  With 
a  persistence  brutal  and  unquestioning  they  con- 
tinued to  howl  "Open!  Open!"  while  the  man  who 
had  broken  the  window  the  moment  before,  Jehau, 
the  cripple  with  the  hideous  face,  seized  the  lead- 
work,  and  tore  away  a  great  piece  of  it.  Then  laying 
hold  of  a  bar,  he  tried  to  drag  it  out,  setting  one  foot 
against  the  wall  below. 

Tavannes  saw  what  he  did,  and  his  frame  seemed 
to  dilate  with  the  fury  and  violence  of  his  character. 
"Dogs!  "  he  shouted,  "must  I  call  out  my  riders  and 
scatter  you?  Must  I  flog  you  through  the  streets 
with  stirrup-leathers?  I  am  Tavanues,  beware  of  me ! 
I  have  claws  and  teeth  and  I  bite ! "  he  continued, 
the  scorn  in  his  words  exceeding  even  the  rage  of  the 
crowd,  at  which  he  flung  them.  "Kill  where  you 
please,  rob  where  you  please,  but  not  where  I  am ! 
Or  I  will  hang  you  by  the  heels  on  Montfaucou,  man 
by  man!  I  will  flay  your  backs.  Go!  go!  I  am 
Tavannes ! " 


62  COUNT   HANNIBAL. 

But  the  mob,  cowed  for  a  moment  by  the  thunder  of 
his  voice,  by  his  arrogance  and  recklessness,  showed 
at  this  that  their  patience  was  exhausted.  With  a 
yell  which  drowned  his  tones  they  swayed  for- 
ward; a  dozen  thundered  on  the  door,  crying,  "In 
the  King's  name!"  As  many  more  tore  out  the  re- 
mainder of  the  casement,  seized  the  bars  of  the  win- 
dow, and  strove  to  pull  them  out  or  to  climb  between 
them.  Jehan,  the  cripple,  with  whom  Tignonville  had 
rubbed  elbows  at  the  rendezvous,  led  the  way. 

Count  Hannibal  watched  them  a  moment,  his  harsh 
face  bent  down  to  them,  his  features  plain  in  the 
glare  of  the  torches.  But  when  the  cripple,  raised 
on  the  others'  shoulders,  and  emboldened  by  his  ad- 
versary's inactivity,  began  to  squeeze  himself  through 
the  bars,  Tavannes  raised  a  pistol,  which  he  had  held 
unseen  behind  him,  cocked  it  at  leisure,  and  levelled 
it  at  the  foul  face  which  leered  close  to  his.  The  dwarf 
saw  the  weapon  and  tried  to  retreat ;  but  it  was  too 
late.  A  flash,  a  scream,  and  the  wretch,  shot  through 
the  throat,  flung  up  his  hands,  and  fell  back  into  the 
arms  of  a  lean  man  in  black  who  had  lent  him  his 
shoulder  to  ascend. 

For  a  few  seconds  the  smoke  of  the  pistol  filled  the 
window  and  the  room.  There  was  a  cry  that  the  Hu- 
guenots were  escaping,  that  the  Huguenots  were  re- 
sisting, that  it  was  a  plot ;  and  some  shouted  to  guard 
the  back  and  some  to  watch  the  roof,  and  some  to  be 
gone.  But  when  the  fumes  cleared  away,  the  mob 
saw,  with  stupor,  that  all  was  as  it  had  been.  Count 
Hannibal  stood  where  he  had  stood  before,  a  grim 
smile  on  his  lips. 

"Who  comes  next!  "  he  cried  in  a  tone  of  mockery. 
"I  have  more  pistols!"  And  then  with  a  sudden 


WHO   TOUCHES   TAVANNES  !  63 

change  to  ferocity,  "You  dogs!  "  he  went  on.  "Yon 
scum  of  a  filthy  city,  sweepings  of  the  Halles !  Do 
you  think  to  beard  me  ?  Do  you  think  to  frighten  me 
or  murder  me  ?  I  am  Tavannes,  and  this  is  my  house, 
and  were  there  a  score  of  Huguenots  in  it,  you  should 
not  touch  one,  nor  harm  a  hair  of  his  head !  Begone, 
I  say  again,  while  you  may !  Seek  women  and  chil- 
dren, and  kill  them.  But  not  here !  " 

For  an  instant  the  mingled  scorn  and  brutality  of 
his  words  silenced  them.  Then  from  the  rear  of  the 
crowd  came  an  answer — the  roar  of  an  arquebuse. 
The  ball  whizzed  past  Count  Hannibal's  head,  and, 
splashing  the  plaster  from  the  wall  within  a  pace  of 
Tignonville,  dropped  to  the  ground. 

Tavannes  laughed.  "Bungler!  "  he  cried.  "Were 
you  in  my  troop  I  would  dip  your  trigger-finger  in 
boiling  oil  to  teach  you  to  shoot !  But  you  weary  me, 
dogs.  I  must  teach  you  a  lesson,  must  I  *? "  And  he 
lifted  a  pistol  and  levelled  it.  The  crowd  did  not 
know  whether  it  was  the  one  he  had  discharged  or 
another,  but  they  gave  back  with  a  sharp  gasp. 
"I  must  teach  you,  must  I?  "  he  continued  with  scorn. 
"Here  Bigot,  Badelon,  drive  me  these  blusterers! 
Rid  the  street  of  them !  A  Tavaunes !  A  Tavannes ! " 

Not  by  word  or  look  had  he  before  this  betrayed  that 
he  had  supports.  But  as  he  cried  the  name,  a  dozen 
men  armed  to  the  teeth,  who  had  stood  motionless 
under  the  Croix  du  Tiroir,  fell  in  a  line  on  the  right 
flank  of  the  crowd.  The  surprise  for  those  nearest 
them  was  complete.  With  the  flash  of  the  pikes  be- 
fore their  eyes,  with  the  cold  steel  in  fancy  between 
their  ribs,  they  fled  every  way,  uncertain  how  many 
pursued,  or  if  any  pursuit  there  was.  For  a  moment 
the  mob,  which  a  few  minutes  before  had  seemed  so 


64  COUKT   HAKNTBAL. 

formidable  that  a  regiment  might  have  quailed  before 
it,  bade  fair  to  be  routed  by  a  dozen  pikes. 

And  so,  had  all  in  the  crowd  been  what  he  termed 
them,  the  rabble  and  sweepings  of  the  streets,  it 
would  have  been.  But  in  the  heart  of  it,  and  felt 
rather  than  seen,  were  a  handful  of  another  kidney ; 
Sorbonne  students  and  fierce-eyed  priests,  with  three 
or  four  mounted  archers,  the  nucleus  that,  mov- 
ing through  the  streets,  had  drawn  together  this 
concourse.  And  these  with  threats  and  curses  and 
gleaming  eyes  stood  fast,  even  Tavannes'  dare-devils 
recoiling  before  the  tonsure.  The  check  thus  caused 
allowed  those  who  had  budged  a  breathing  space. 
They  rallied  behind  the  black  robes,  and  began  to 
stone  the  pikes;  who  in  their  turn  withdrew  until 
they  formed  two  groups,  standing  on  their  defence, 
the  one  before  the  window  the  other  before  the  door. 

Count  Hannibal  had  watched  the  attack  and  the 
check,  as  a  man  watches  a  play ;  with  smiling  inter- 
est. In  the  panic,  the  torches  had  been  dropped  or 
extinguished,  and  now  between  the  house  and  the 
sullen  crowd  which  hung  back,  yet  grew  moment  by 
moment  more  dangerous,  the  daylight  fell  cold  on  the 
littered  street  and  the  cripple's  huddled  form  prone 
in  the  gutter.  A  priest  raised  on  the  shoulders  of  the 
lean  man  in  black  began  to  harangue  the  mob,  and  the 
dull  roar  of  assent,  the  brandished  arms  which  greeted 
his  appeal,  had  their  effect  on  Tavaunes'  men.  They 
looked  to  the  window,  and  muttered  among  them- 
selves. It  was  plain  that  they  had  no  stomach  for 
a  fight  with  the  Church,  and  were  anxious  for  the 
order  to  withdraw. 

But  Count  Hannibal  gave  no  order,  and,  much  as 
his  people  feared  the  cowls,  they  feared  him  more. 


WHO   TOUCHES   TAYANNES  t  65 

Meanwhile  the  speaker's  eloquence  rose  higher;  he 
pointed  with  frenzied  gestures  to  the  house.  The 
mob  groaned,  and  suddenly  a  volley  of  stones  fell 
among  the  pikemeu,  whose  corselets  rattled  under  the 
shower.  The  priest  seized  that  moment.  He  sprang 
to  the  ground,  and  to  the  front.  He  caught  up  his 
robe  and  waved  his  hand,  and  the  rabble,  as  if  impelled 
by  a  single  will,  rolled  forward  in  a  huge  one-fronted 
thundering  wave,  before  which  the  two  handfuls  of 
pikemen — afraid  to  strike,  yet  afraid  to  fly — were 
swept  away  like  straws  upon  the  tide. 

But  against  the  solid  walls  and  oak-barred  door  of 
the  house  the  wave  beat,  only  to  fall  back  again,  a 
broken,  seething  mass  of  brandished  arms  and  raven- 
ing faces.  One  point  alone  was  vulnerable,  the  win- 
dow, and  there  in  the  gap  stood  Tavannes.  Quick  as 
thought  he  fired  two  pistols  into  the  crowd;  then, 
while  the  smoke  for  a  moment  hid  all,  he  whistled. 

Whether  the  signal  was  a  summons  to  his  men  to 
fight  their  way  back — as  they  were  doing  to  the  best 
of  their  power — or  he  had  resources  still  unseen,  was 
not  to  be  known.  For  as  the  smoke  began  to  rise,  and 
while  the  rabble  before  the  window,  cowed  by  the  fall 
of  two  of  their  number,  were  still  pushing  backward 
instead  of  forward,  there  rose  behind  them  strange 
sounds — yells,  and  the  clatter  of  hoofs,  mingled  with 
screams  of  alarm.  A  second,  and  into  the  loose  skirts 
of  the  crowd  came  charging  helter-skelter,  pell-mell, 
a.  score  of  galloping,  shrieking,  cursing  horsemen, 
attended  by  twice  as  many  footmen,  who  clung  to 
their  stirrups  or  to  the  tails  of  the  horses,  and  yelled 
and  whooped,  and  struck  in  unison  with  the  mad- 
dened riders. 

"  On !  on !  "  the  foremost  shrieked,  rolling  in  his 
5 


66  COUNT   HANNIBAL. 

saddle,  and  foaming  at  the  mouth.  "Bleed  in  Au- 
gust, bleed  in  May !  Kill ! "  And  he  fired  a  pistol 
among  the  rabble,  who  fled  every  way  to  escape  his 
rearing,  plunging  charger. 

"Kill!  Kill!"  cried  his  followers,  cutting  the  air 
with  their  swords,  and  rolling  to  and  fro  on  their 
horses  in  drunken  emulation.  "Bleed  in  August, 
bleed  in  May !  " 

"  On !  On ! "  cried  the  leader,  as  the  crowd  which 
beset  the  house  fled  every  way  before  his  reckless 
onset.  "  Bleed  in  August,  bleed  in  May ! " 

The  rabble  fled,  but  not  so  quickly  but  that  one 
or  two  were  ridden  down,  and  this  for  an  instant 
checked  the  riders.  Before  they  could  pass  on, 
"  Ohe ! "  cried  Count  Hannibal  from  his  window. 
"Ohe!"  with  a  shout  of  laughter,  "ride  over  them, 
dear  brother !  Make  me  a  clean  street  for  my  wed- 
ding ! " 

Marshal  Tavannes — for  he,  the  hero  of  Jarnac,  was 
the  leader  of  this  wild  orgy — turned  that  way,  and 
strove  to  rein  in  his  horse.  "What  ails  them?"  he 
cried,  as  the  maddened  animal  reared  upright,  its 
iron  hoofs  striking  fire  from  the  slippery  pavement. 

"They  are  rearing  like  thy  Bayard!"  Count  Han- 
nibal answered.  "Whip  them,  whip  them  for  me! 
Tavannes !  Tavannes !  " 

"  What  I     This  canaille  !  " 

"  Ay,  that  canaille ! " 

"  Who  touches  my  brother,  touches  Tavaunes ! " 
the  Marshal  replied,  and  spurred  his  horse  among  the 
rabble,  who  had  fled  to  the  sides  of  the  street  and 
now  strove  hard  to  efface  themselves  against  the 
walls.  "Begone,  dogs;  begone!  "  he  cried,  still  hunt- 
ing them.  And  then,  "You  would  bite,  would  you? " 


WHO  TOUCHES   TAVAXFES  1  67 

And  snatching  another  pistol  from  his  boot,  he  fired 
it  among  them,  careless  whom  he  hit.  "Ha!  ha! 
That  stirs  you,  does  it !  "  he  continued  as  the  wretches 
fled  headlong.  "Who  touches  my  brother,  touches 
Tavannes!  On!  On!" 

Suddenly,  from  a  doorway  near  at  hand,  a  sombre 
figure  darted  into  the  roadway,  caught  the  Marshal's 
rein,  and  for  a  second  checked  his  course.  The  priest 
— for  a  priest  it  was,  Father  Pezelay,  the  same  who 
had  addressed  the  mob — held  up  a  warning  hand. 
"Halt!"  he  cried,  with  burning  eyes.  "Halt,  my 
lord !  It  is  written,  thou  shalt  not  spare  the  Canaan - 
itish  woman.  'Tis  not  to  spare  the  King  has  given 
command  and  a  sword,  but  to  kill !  'Tis  not  to  har- 
bour, but  to  smite !  To  smite ! " 

"Then  smite  I  will!"  the  Marshal  retorted,  and 
with  the  butt  of  his  pistol  struck  the  zealot  down. 
Then,  with  as  much  indifference  as  he  would  have 
treated  a  Huguenot,  he  spurred  his  horse  over  him, 
with  a  mad  laugh  at  his  jest.  "Who  touches  my 
brother,  touches  Tavannes!"  he  yelled.  "Touches 
Tavanues!  On!  On!  Bleed  in  August,  bleed  in 
May!" 

"On!"  shouted  his  followers,  striking  about  them 
in  the  same  desperate  fashion.  They  were  young  no- 
bles who  had  spent  the  night  feasting  at  the  Palace, 
and,  drunk  with  wine  and  mad  with  excitement,  had 
left  the  Louvre  at  daybreak  to  rouse  the  city.  "A 
Jarnac !  A  Jarnac ! "  they  cried,  and  some  saluted 
Count  Hannibal  as  they  passed.  And  so,  shouting 
and  spurring  and  following  their  leader,  they  swept 
away  down  the  now  empty  street,  carrying  terror  and 
a  flame  wherever  their  horses  bore  them  that  morn- 
ing. 


68  COUNT   HANNIBAL. 

Tavannes,  his  hands  on  the  ledge  of  the  shattered 
window,  leaned  out  laughing,  and  followed  them  with 
his  eyes.  A  moment,  and  the  mob  was  gone,  the 
street  was  empty;  and  one  by  one,  with  sheepish 
faces,  his  pikemeu  emerged  from  the  doorways  and 
alleys  in  which  they  had  taken  refuge.  They  gath- 
ered about  the  three  huddled  forms  which  lay  prone 
and  still  in  the  gutter:  or,  not  three — two.  For 
even  as  they  approached  them,  one,  the  priest,  rose 
slowly  and  giddily  to  his  feet.  He  turned  a  face 
bleeding,  lean,  and  relentless  towards  the  window  at 
which  Tavannes  stood.  Solemnly,  with  the  sign  of 
the  cross,  and  with  uplifted  hands,  he  cursed  him  in 
bed  and  at  board,  by  day  and  by  night,  in  walking, 
in  riding,  in  standing,  in  the  day  of  battle,  and  at  the 
hour  of  death.  The  pikejnen  fell  back  appalled,  and 
hid  their  eyes;  and  those  who  were  of  the  north 
crossed  themselves,  and  those  who  came  from  the 
south  bent  two  fingers  horse-shoe  fashion.  But  Han- 
nibal de  Tavannes  laughed;  laughed  in  his  mous- 
tache, his  teeth  showing,  and  bade  them  move  that 
carrion  to  a  distance,  for  it  would  smell  when  the  sun 
was  high.  Then  he  turned  his  back  on  the  street, 
and  looked  into  the  room. 


CHAPTER   VH. 

IN  THE  AMPHITHEATRE. 

THE  movements  of  the  women  had  overturned  two 
of  the  candles ;  a  third  had  guttered  out.  The  three 
which  still  burned,  contending  pallidly  with  the  day- 
light that  each  moment  grew  stronger,  imparted  to 
the  scene  the  air  of  a  debauch  too  long  sustained. 
The  disordered  board,  the  wan  faces  of  the  servants 
cowering  in  their  corner,  Mademoiselle's  frozen  look 
of  misery,  all  increased  the  likeness;  which  a  com- 
mon exhaustion  so  far  strengthened  that  when  Ta- 
vannes  turned  from  the  window,  and,  flushed  with  his 
triumph,  met  the  others'  eyes,  his  seemed  the  only 
vigour,  and  he  the  only  man  in  the  company.  True, 
beneath  the  exhaustion,  beneath  the  collapse  of  his 
victims,  there  burned  passions,  hatreds,  repulsions,  as 
fierce  as  the  hidden  fires  of  the  volcano ;  but  for  the 
time  they  smouldered  ash -choked  and  inert. 

He  flung  the  discharged  pistols  on  the  table.  "If 
yonder  raven  speak  truth,"  he  said,  "I  am  like  to 
pay  dearly  for  my  wife,  and  have  short  time  to  call 
her  wife.  The  more  need,  Mademoiselle,  for  speed, 
therefore.  You  know  the  old  saying,  '  Short  signing, 
long  seisin'  ?  Shall  it  be  my  priest,  or  your  minister  ?  " 

M.  de  Tignouville  started  forward.  "She  prom- 
ised nothing ! "  he  cried.  And  he  struck  his  hand  on 
the  table. 


70  COUNT   HANNIBAL. 

Count  Hannibal  smiled,  his  lip  curling.  "That," 
he  replied,  "is  for  Mademoiselle  to  say." 

"But  if  she  says  it?  If  she  says  it,  Monsieur? 
What  then?" 

Tavanues  drew  forth  a  comfit-box,  such  as  it  was  the 
fashion  of  the  day  to  carry,  as  men  of  a  later  time 
carried  a  snuff-box.  He  slowly  chose  a  prune.  "If 
she  says  it?  "  he  answered.  "Then  M.  de  Tignonville 
has  regained  his  sweetheart.  And  M.  de  Tavannes 
has  lost  his  bride." 

"  You  say  so ! " 

"Yes.     But " 

"But  what?" 

"But  she  will  not  say  it,"  Tavannes  replied  coolly. 

"Why  not?" 

"Why  not?" 

"Yes,  Monsieur,  why  not?"  the  younger  man  re- 
peated trembling. 

"Because,  M.  de  Tignonville,  it  is  not  true." 

"  But  she  did  not  speak  I "  Tignonville  retorted, 
with  passion — the  futile  passion  of  the  bird  which 
beats  its  wings  against  a  cage.  "She  did  not  speak. 
She  could  not  promise,  therefore. " 

Tavannes  ate  the  prune  slowly,  seemed  to  give  a 
little  thought  to  its  flavour,  approved  it  a  true  Agen 
plum,  and  at  last  spoke.  "It  is  not  for  you  to  say 
whether  she  promised,"  he  returned  drily,  "nor  for 
me.  It  is  for  Mademoiselle." 

"  You  leave  it  to  her  ?  " 

"I  leave  it  to  her  to  say  whether  she  promised." 

"Then  she  must  say  No!"  Tignonville  cried  in  a 
tone  of  triumph  and  relief.  "For  she  did  not  speak. 
Mademoiselle,  listen ! "  he  continued,  turning  with 
outstretched  hands  and  appealing  to  her  with  passion. 


IN   THE  AMPHITHEATEE.  71 

"Do  you  hear?  Do  you  understand?  You  have  but 
to  speak  to  be  free !  You  have  but  to  say  the  word, 
and  Monsieur  lets  you  go!  In  God's  name,  speak! 
Speak  then,  Clotilde !  Oh ! "  with  a  gesture  of  de- 
spair, as  she  did  not  answer,  but  continued  to  sit 
stony  and  hopeless,  looking  straight  before  her,  her 
hands  picking  convulsively  at. the  fringe  of  her  girdle. 
"She  does  not  understand!  Fright  has  stunned  her! 
Be  merciful,  Monsieur.  Give  her  time  to  recover,  to 
know  what  she  does.  Fright  has  turned  her  brain. " 

Count  Hannibal  smiled.  "I  knew  her  father  and 
her  uncle,"  he  said,  "and  in  their  time  the  Vrillacs 
were  not  wont  to  be  cowards.  Monsieur  forgets,  too," 
he  continued  with  fine  irony,  "that  he  speaks  of  my 
betrothed. " 

"It  is  a  lie!" 

Tavannes  raised  his  eyebrows.  "You  are  in  my 
power,"  he  said.  "For  the  rest,  if  it  be  a  lie,  Ma- 
demoiselle has  but  to  say  so." 

"  You  hear  him  ?  "  Tignouville  cried.  "  Then  speak, 
Mademoiselle!  Clotilde,  speak!  Say  you  never 
spoke,  you  never  promised  him ! " 

The  young  man's  voice  quivered  with  indignation, 
with  rage,  with  pain ;  but  most,  if  the  truth  be  told, 
with  shame — the  shame  of  a  position  strange  and  un- 
paralleled. For  in  proportion  as  the  fear  of  death 
instant  and  ATiolent  was  lifted  from  him,  reflection 
awoke,  and  the  situation  in  which  he  stood  took  uglier 
shape.  It  was  not  so  much  love  that  cried  to  her, 
love  that  suffered,  anguished  by  the  prospect  of  love 
lost;  as  in  the  highest  natures  it  might  have  been. 
Bather  it  was  the  man's  pride  which  suffered;  the 
pride  of  a  high  spirit  which  found  itself  helpless  be- 
tween the  hammer  and  the  anvil,  in  a  position  so  false 


72  COUNT   HANNIBAL. 

that  hereafter  men  might  say  of  the  unfortunate  that 
he  had  bartered  his  mistress  for  his  life.  He  had 
not!  But  he  had  perforce  to  stand  by;  he  had  to 
be  passive  under  stress  of  circumstances,  and  by  the 
sacrifice,  if  she  consummated  it,  he  would  in  fact  be 
saved. 

There  was  the  pinch.  No  wonder  that  he  cried  to 
her  in  a  voice  which  roused  even  the  servants  from 
their  lethargy  of  fear.  "Say  it!"  he  cried.  "Say 
it,  before  it  be  too  late.  Say  you  did  not  promise !  " 

Slowly  she  turned  her  face  to  him.  "I  cannot,"  she 
whispered;  "I  cannot.  Go,"  she  continued,  a  spasm 
distorting  her  features.  "Go,  Monsieur.  Leave 
me.  It  is  over. " 

"What?"  he  exclaimed.     "  You  promised  him  ?" 

She  bowed  her  head. 

"Then,"  the  young  man  cried,  in  a  transport  of 
resentment,  "I  will  be  no  part  of  the  price.  See! 
There !  And  there ! "  He  tore  the  white  sleeve 
wholly  from  his  arm,  and,  rending  it  in  twain,  flung 
it  on  the  floor  and  trampled  on  it.  "  It  shall  never 
be  said  that  I  stood  by  and  let  you  buy  my  life !  I 
go  into  the  street  and  I  take  my  chance."  And  he 
turned  to  the  door. 

But  Tavauues  was  before  him.  "No!"  he  said; 
"  you  will  stay  here,  M.  de  Tignonville !  "  And  he  set 
his  back  against  the  door. 

The  young  man  looked  at  him,  his  face  convulsed 
with  passion.  "  I  shall  stay  here  ?"  he  cried.  "And 
why,  Monsieur?  "What  is  it  to  you  if  I  choose  to  per- 
ish?" 

"Only  this,"  Tavannes  retorted.  "I  am  answerable 
to  Mademoiselle  now,  in  an  hour  I  shall  be  answer- 
able to  my  wife — for  your  life.  Live,  then,  Monsieur ; 


IN   THE   AMPHITHEATKE.  73 

you  have  no  choice.  In  a  month  you  will  thank  me 
— and  her." 

"I  am  your  prisoner?  " 

"Precisely." 

"And  I  must  stay  here — to  be  tortured?"  Tignou- 
ville  cried. 

Count  Hannibal's  eyes  sparkled.  Sudden  stormy 
changes,  from  indifference  to  ferocity,  from  irony 
to  invective,  were  characteristic  of  the  man.  "Tor- 
tured!" he  repeated  grimly.  "You  talk  of  torture 
while  Piles  and  Pardaillau,  Teligny  and  Kochefou- 
cauld  lie  dead  in  the  street !  While  your  cause  sinks 
withered  in  a  night,  like  a  gourd !  While  your  ser- 
vants fall  butchered,  and  France  rises  round  you  in  a 
tide  of  blood !  Bah !  " — with  a  gesture  of  disdain — 
"you  make  me  also  talk,  and  I  have  no  love  for  talk, 
and  small  time.  Mademoiselle,  you  at  least  act  and 
do  not  talk.  By  your  leave  I  return  in  an  hour,  and 
I  bring  with  me — shall  it  be  my  priest,  or  your  minis- 
ter?" 

She  looked  at  him  with  the  face  of  one  who  awakes 
slowly  to  the  full  horror,  the  full  dread,  of  her  posi- 
tion. For  a  moment  she  did  not  answer.  Then,  "A 
minister,"  she  murmured,  her  voice  scarcely  audible. 

He  nodded.  "A  minister?"  he  said  lightly. 
"  Very  well,  if  I  can  find  one. "  And  walking  to  the 
shattered,  gaping  casement — through  which  the  cool 
morning  air  blew  into  the  room  and  gently  stirred 
the  hair  of  the  unhappy  girl — he  said  some  words  to 
the  man  on  guard  outside.  Then  he  turned  to  the 
door,  but  on  the  threshold  he  paused,  looked  with  a 
strange  expression  at  the  pair,  and  signed  to  Carlat 
and  the  servants  to  go  out  before  him. 

"Up,  and  lie  close  above!"  he  growled.     "Open  a 


74  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

window  or  look  out,  and  you  will  pay  dearly  for  it ! 
Do  you  hear?  Up!  Up!  You,  too,  old  crop -ears. 
What !  would  you  ?  " — with  a  sudden  glare  as  Carlat 
hesitated — "that  is  better!  Mademoiselle,  until  my 
return. " 

He  saw  them  all  out,  followed  them,  and  closed  the 
door  on  the  two ;  who,  left  together,  alone  with  the 
gaping  window  and  the  disordered  feast,  maintained 
a  strange  silence.  The  girl,  gripping  one  hand  in  the 
other  as  if  to  quell  her  rising  horror,  sat  looking  be- 
fore her,  and  seemed  barely  to  breathe.  The  man, 
leaning  against  the  wall  at  a  little  distance,  bent  his 
eyes  not  on  her,  but  on  the  floor,  his  face  gloomy  and 
distorted. 

His  first  thought  should  have  been  of  her  and  for 
her ;  his  first  impulse  to  console,  if  he  could  not  save 
her.  His  it  should  have  been  to  soften,  were  that 
possible,  the  fate  before  her;  to  prove  to  her  by 
words  of  farewell,  the  purest  and  most  sacred,  that 
the  sacrifice  she  was  making,  not  to  save  her  own  life 
but  the  lives  of  others,  was  appreciated  by  him  who 
paid  with  her  the  price. 

And  all  these  things,  and  more,  may  have  been  in 
M.  de  Tignonville's  mind;  they  may  even  have  been 
uppermost  in  it,  but  they  found  no  expression.  The 
man  remained  sunk  in  a  sombre  reverie.  He  had  the 
appearance  of  thinking  of  himself,  not  of  her ;  of  his 
own  position,  not  of  hers.  Otherwise  he  must  have 
looked  at  her,  he  must  have  turned  to  her ;  he  must 
have  owned  the  subtle  attraction  of  her  unspoken 
appeal  when  she  drew  a  deep  breath  and  slowly 
turned  her  eyes  on  him,  mute,  asking,  waiting  what 
he  should  offer. 

Surely  he  should  have !     Yet  it  was  long  before  he 


IN  THE  AMPHITHEATEB.  75 

responded.  He  sat  buried  in  thought  of  himself,  and 
his  position,  the  vile,  the  unworthy  position  in  which 
her  act  had  placed  him.  At  length  the  constraint  of 
her  gaze  wrought  on  him,  or  his  thoughts  became 
unbearable,  and  he  looked  up  and  met  her  eyes,  and 
with  an  oath  he  sprang  to  his  feet. 

"It  shall  not  be!"  he  cried,  in  a  tone  low,  but 
full  of  fury.  "You  shall  not  do  it!  I  will  kill  him 

first!  I  will  kill  him  with  this  hand!  Or "  a 

step  took  him  to  the  window,  a  step  brought  him 
back — ay,  brought  him  back  exultant,  and  with  a 
changed  face.  "Or  better,  we  will  thwart  him  yet. 
See,  Mademoiselle,  do  you  see  ?  Heaven  is  merciful ! 
For  a  moment  the  cage  is  open ! "  His  eyes  shone 
with  excitement,  the  sweat  of  sudden  hope  stood  on 
his  brow  as  he  pointed  to  the  unguarded  casement. 
"  Come !  it  is  our  one  chance !  "  And  he  caught  her 
by  her  arm,  and  strove  to  draw  her  to  the  window. 

But  she  hung  back,  staring  at  him.  "Oh,  no,  no!  " 
she  cried. 

"Yes,  yes!  I  say!"  he  responded.  "You  do  not 
understand.  The  way  is  open!  We  can  escape,  Clo- 
tilde,  we  can  escape !  " 

"  I  cannot !  I  cannot !  "  she  wailed,  still  resisting  him. 

"You  are  afraid?" 

"  Afraid  ?  "  she  repeated  the  word  in  a  tone  of  won- 
der. "No,  but  I  cannot.  I  promised  him.  I  can- 
not. And,  O  God ! "  she  continued,  in  a  sudden  out- 
burst of  grief,  as  the  sense  of  general  loss,  of  the 
great  common  tragedy  broke  on  her  and  whelmed  for 
the  moment  her  private  misery.  "Why  should  we 
think  of  ourselves?  They  are  dead,  they  are  dying, 
who  were  ours,  whom  we  loved!  Why  should  we 
think  to  live  ?  What  does  it  matter  how  it  fares  with 


76  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

us?  We  cannot  be  happy.  Happy1?"  she  continued 
wildly.  "Are  any  happy  now?  Or  is  the  world  all 
changed  in  a  night?  No,  we  could  not  be  happy. 
And  at  least  you  will  live,  Tignonville.  I  have  that 
to  console  me." 

"Live!"  he  responded  vehemently.  "I  live?  I 
would  rather  die  a  thousand  times.  A  thousand 
times  rather  than  live  shamed!  Thau  see  you  sacri- 
ficed to  that  devil !  Than  go  out  with  a  brand  on  my 
brow,  for  every  man  to  point  at  me !  I  would  rather 
die  a  thousand  times!  " 

"And  do  you  think  that  I  would  not?"  she  an- 
swered, shivering.  "Better,  far  better  die  than — 
than  live  with  him !  " 

"Then  why  not  die?  " 

She  stared  at  him,  wide-eyed,  and  a  sudden  still- 
ness possessed  her.  "How?  "  she  whispered.  "What 
do  you  mean  ?  " 

"That!  "  he  said.  As  he  spoke,  he  raised  his  hand 
and  signed  to  her  to  listen.  A  sullen  murmur,  dis- 
tant as  yet,  but  borne  to  the  ear  on  the  fresh  morning 
air,  foretold  the  rising  of  another  storm.  The  sound 
grew  in  intensity,  even  while  she  listened ;  and  yet  for 
a  moment  she  misunderstood  him.  "O  God!"  she 
cried,  out  of  the  agony  of  nerves  overwrought,  "will 
that  bell  never  stop  1  Will  it  never  stop  ?  Will  no 
one  stop  it?" 

"  'Tis  not  the  bell ! "  he  cried,  seizing  her  hand  as  if 
to  focus  her  attention.  "It  is  the  mob  you  hear. 
They  are  returning.  We  have  but  to  stand  a  moment 
at  this  open  window,  we  have  but  to  show  ourselves 
to  them,  and  we  need  live  no  longer !  Mademoiselle ! 
Clotilde! — if  you  mean  what  you  say,  if  you  are  in 
earnest,  the  way  is  open !  " 


IN  THE   AMPHITHEATER  7? 

"And  we  shall  die — together! " 

"Yes,  together.     But  have  you  the  courage1? " 

"  The  courage !"  she  cried,  a  brave  smile  lighting 
the  whiteness  of  her  face.  "The  courage  were  needed 
to  live.  The  courage  were  needed  to  do  that.  I  am 
ready,  quite  ready.  It  can  be  no  sin !  To  live  with 
that  in  front  of  me  were  the  sin !  Come !  "  For  the 
moment  she  had  forgotten  her  people,  her  promise, 
all !  It  seemed  to  her  that  death  would  absolve  her 
from  all.  "Come!" 

He  moved  with  her  under  the  impulse  of  her  hand 
until  they  stood  at  the  gaping  window.  The  mur- 
mur, which  he  had  heard  indistinctly  a  moment  be- 
fore, had  grown  to  a  roar  of  voices.  The  mob,  on 
its  return  eastward  along  the  Eue  St.  Honor6,  was 
nearing  the  house.  He  stood,  his  arm  supporting 
her,  and  they  waited,  a  little  within  the  window. 
Suddenly  he  stooped,  his  face  hardly  less  white  than 
hers ;  their  eyes  met,  and  he  would  have  kissed  her. 

She  did  not  withdraw  from  his  arm,  but  she  drew 
back  her  face,  her  eyes  half  shut.  "  No ! "  she  mur- 
mured. "  No !  While  I  live  I  am  his.  But  we  die 
together,  Tignonville !  We  die  together.  It  will  not 
last  long,  will  it  ?  And  afterwards " 

She  did  not  finish  the  sentence,  but  her  lips  moved 
in  prayer,  and  over  her  features  came  a  far-away 
look ;  such  a  look  as  that  which  on  the  face  of  an- 
other Huguenot  lady,  Philippine  de  Luns — vilely 
done  to  death  in  the  Place  Maubert  fourteen  years 
before — silenced  the  ribald  jests  of  the  lowest  rabble 
in  the  world.  An  hour  or  two  earlier,  awed  by  the 
abruptness  of  the  outburst,  Mademoiselle  had  shrunk 
from  her  fate ;  she  had  known  fear.  Now  that  she 
stood  out  voluntarily  to  meet  it,  she,  like  many  a  wo- 


78  COUNT   HAXNIBAL. 

man  before  and  since,  feared  no  longer.  She  was 
lifted  out  of  and  above  herself. 

But  death  was  long  in  coming.  Some  cause  beyond 
their  knowledge  stayed  the  onrush  of  the  mob  along 
the  street.  The  din,  indeed,  persisted,  deafened, 
shook  them ;  but  the  crowd  seemed  to  be  at  a  stand  a 
few  doors  down  the  Eue  St.  Honore".  For  a  half- 
minute,  a  long  half-minute,  which  appeared  an  age, 
it  drew  no  nearer.  -Would  it  draw  nearer1?  Would 
it  come  on?  Or  would  it  turn  again? 

The  doubt,  so  much  worse  than  despair,  began  to 
sap  that  courage  of  the  man  which  is  always  better 
fitted  to  do  than  to  suffer.  The  sweat  rose  on  Tig- 
nonville's  brow  as  he  stood  listening,  his  arm  round 
the  girl — as  he  stood  listening  and  waiting.  It  is  pos- 
sible that  when  he  had  said  a  minute  or  two  earlier 
that  he  would  rather  die  a  thousand  times  than  live 
thus  shamed,  he  had  spoken  beyond  the  mark.  Or 
it  is  possible  that  he  had  meant  his  words  to  the  full. 
But  in  this  case  he  had  not  pictured  what  was  to  come, 
he  had  not  gauged  correctly  his  power  of  passive  en- 
durance. He  was  as  brave  as  the  ordinary  man,  as 
the  ordinary  soldier;  but  martyrdom,  the  apotheosis 
of  resignation,  comes  more  naturally  to  women  than 
to  men,  more  hardly  to  men  than  to  women.  Yet 
had  the  crisis  come  quickly  he  might  have  met  it. 
But  he  had  to  wait,  and  to  wait  with  that  howling 
of  wild  beasts  in  his  ears ;  and  for  this  he  was  not 
prepared.  A  woman  might  be  content  to  die  after 
this  fashion ;  but  a  man  ?  His  colour  went  and  came, 
his  eyes  began  to  rove  hither  and  thither.  Was  it 
even  now  too  late  to  escape  ?  Too  late  to  avoid  the 
consequences  of  the  girl's  silly  persistence"?  Too  late 
to ?  Her  eyes  were  closed,  she  hung  half  lifeless 


IN  THE   AMPHITHEATER  79 

on  his  arm.  She  would  not  know,  she  need  not 
know  until  afterwards.  And  afterwards  she  would 
thank  him !  Afterwards — meantime  the  window  was 
open,  the  street  was  empty,  and  still  the  crowd  hung 
back  and  did  not  come. 

He  remembered  that  two  doors  away  was  a  nar- 
row passage,  which  leaving  the  Eue  St.  Honor6  turned 
at  right  angles  under  a  beetling  archway,  to  emerge 
in  the  Eue  du  Eoule.  If  he  could  gain  that  passage 
unseen  by  the  mob !  He  would  gain  it.  With  a  swift 
movement,  his  mind  made  up,  he  took  a  step  forward. 
He  tightened  his  grasp  of  the  girl's  waist,  and,  seiz- 
ing with  his  left  hand  the  end  of  the  bar  which  the 
assailants  had  torn  from  its  setting  in  the  window 
jamb,  he  turned  to  lower  himself.  One  long  step 
would  land  him  in  the  street. 

At  that  moment  she  awoke  from  the  stupor  of  exal- 
tation. She  opened  her  eyes  with  a  startled  move- 
ment ;  and  her  eyes  met  his. 

He  was  in  the  act  of  stepping  backwards  and  down- 
wards, dragging  her  after  him.  But  it  was  not  this 
betrayed  him.  It  was  his  face,  which  in  an  instant 
told  her  all,  and  that  he  sought  not  death,  but  life ! 
She  struggled  upright  and  strove  to  free  herself. 
But  he  had  the  purchase  of  the  bar,  and  by  this  time 
he  was  furious  as  well  as  determined.  Whether  she 
would  or  no,  he  would  save  her,  he  would  drag  her 
out.  Then,  as  consciousness  fully  returned,  she,  too, 
took  fire.  "No!"  she  cried,  "I  will  not!"  and  she 
struggled  more  violently. 

"You  shall ! "  he  retorted  between  his  teeth.  "You 
shall  not  perish  here." 

But  she  had  her  hands  free,  and  as  he  spoke  she 
thrust  him  from  her  passionately,  desperately,  with 


80  COUNT   HANNIBAL. 

all  her  strength.  He  had  his  one  foot  in  the  air 
at  the  moment,  and  in  a  flash  it  was  done.  With  a 
cry  of  rage  he  lost  his  balance,  and,  still  holding  the 
bar,  reeled  backwards  through  the  window;  while 
Mademoiselle,  panting  and  half  fainting,  recoiled — 
recoiled  into  the  arms  of  Hannibal  de  Tavanues,  who, 
unseen  by  either,  had  entered  the  room  a  long  minute 
before.  From  the  threshold,  and  with  a  smile,  all  his 
own,  he  had  watched  the  contest  and  the  result. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

TWO   HENS  AND   AN  EGG. 

M.  DE  TIGNONVILLE  was  shaken  by  the  fall,  and  in 
the  usual  course  of  things  he  would  have  lain  where  he 
was,  and  groaned.  But  when  a  man  has  once  turned 
his  back  on  death  he  is  apt  to  fancy  it  at  his  shoul- 
der. He  has  small  stomach  for  surprises,  and  is  in 
haste  to  set  as  great  a  distance  as  possible  between 
the  ugly  thing  and  himself.  So  it  was  with  the  Hu- 
guenot. Shot  suddenly  into  the  full  publicity  of  the 
street,  he  knew  that  at  any  instant  danger  might  take 
him  by  the  nape ;  and  he  was  on  his  legs  and  glancing 
up  and  down  before  the  clatter  of  his  fall  had  trav- 
elled the  length  of  three  houses. 

The  rabble  were  still  a  hundred  paces  away,  piled 
up  and  pressed  about  a  house  where  men  were  being 
hunted  as  men  hunt  rats.  He  saw  that  he  was  un- 
noted, and  apprehension  gave  place  to  rage.  His 
thoughts  turned  back  hissing  hot  to  the  thing  that 
had  happened,  and  in  a  paroxysm  of  shame  he  shook 
his  fist  at  the  gaping  casement  and  the  sneering  face 
of  his  rival,  dimly  seen  in  the  background.  If  a 
look  would  have  killed  Tavanues — and  her — it  had 
not  been  wanting. 

For  it  was  not  only  the  man  M.   de   Tignonville 

hated  at  this  moment ;  he  hated  Mademoiselle  also, 

the  unwitting  agent  of  the  other's  triumph.     She  had 

thrust  him  from  her ;    she  had  refused  to  be  guided 

6 


82  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

by  him;  she  had  resisted,  thwarted,  shamed  him. 
Then  let  her  take  the  consequences.  She  willed  to 
perish :  let  her  perish ! 

He  did  not  acknowledge  even  to  himself  the  real 
cause  of  offence,  the  proof  to  which  she  had  put 
his  courage,  and  the  failure  of  that  courage  to  stand 
the  test.  Yet  it  was  this,  though  he  had  himself 
provoked  the  trial,  which  burned  up  his  chivalry,  as 
the  smuggler's  fire  burns  up  the  dwarf  heath  upon 
the  Laudes.  It  was  the  discovery  that  in  an  heroic 
hour  he  was  no  hero  that  gave  force  to  his  passion- 
ate gesture,  and  next  moment  sent  him  storming 
down  the  beetling  passage  to  the  Rue  du  Koule,  his 
heart  a  maelstrom  of  fierce  vows  and  fiercer  men- 
aces. 

He  had  reached  the  further  end  of  the  alley  and 
was  on  the  point  of  entering  the  street  before  he  re- 
membered that  he  had  nowhere  to  go.  His  lodgings 
were  no  longer  his,  since  his  landlord  knew  him  to  be 
a  Huguenot,  and  would  doubtless  betray  him.  To 
approach  those  of  his  faith  whom  he  had  frequented 
was  to  expose  them  to  danger ;  and,  beyond  the  reli- 
gion, he  had  few  acquaintances  and  those  of  the  new- 
est. Yet  the  streets  were  impossible.  He  walked 
them  on  the  utmost  edge  of  peril ;  he  lurked  in  them 
under  the  blade  of  an  impending  axe.  And,  whether 
he  walked  or  lurked,  he  went  at  the  mercy  of  the  first 
comers  bold  enough  to  take  his  life. 

The  sweat  stood  on  his  brow  as  he  paused  under 
the  low  arch  of  the  alley-end,  tasting  the  bitter  for- 
loruness  of  the  dog  banned  and  set  for  death  in 
that  sunlit  city.  In  every  window  of  the  gable 
end  which  faced  his  hiding-place  he  fancied  an  eye 
watching  his  movements;  in  every  distant  step  he 


TWO  HENS   AND   AN  EGG.  83 

heard  the  footfall  of  doom  coming  that  way  to  his  dis- 
covery. And  while  he  trembled,  he  had  to  reflect,  to 
think,  to  form  some  plan. 

In  the  town  was  no  place  for  him,  and  short  of  the 
open  country  no  safety.  And  how  could  he  gain  the 
open  country?  If  he  succeeded  in  reaching  one  of 
the  gates — St.  Antoiue,  or  St.  Denis,  in  itself  a  task 
of  difficulty — it  would  only  be  to  find  the  gate  closed, 
and  the  guard  on  the  alert.  At  last  it  flashed  on 
him  that  he  might  cross  the  river;  and  at  the  no- 
tion hope  awoke.  It  was  possible  that  the  massacre 
had  not  extended  to  the  southern  suburb;  possible, 
that  if  it  had,  the  Huguenots  who  lay  there — Fronte- 
nay,  and  Montgomery,  and  Chartres,  with  the  men  of 
the  North — might  be  strong  enough  to  check  it,  and 
even  to  turn  the  tables  on  the  Parisians. 

His  colour  returned.  He  was  no  coward,  as  sol- 
diers go;  if  it  came  to  fighting  he  had  courage 
enough.  He  could  not  hope  to  cross  the  river  by  the 
bridge,  for  there,  where  the  goldsmiths  lived,  the 
mob  were  like  to  be  most  busy.  But  if  he  could 
reach  the  bank  he  might  procure  a  boat  at  some 
deserted  point,  or,  at  the  worst,  he  might  swim 
across. 

From  the  Louvre  at  his  back  came  the  sound  of 
gun-shots ;  from  every  quarter  the  murmur  of  distant 
crowds,  or  the  faint  lamentable  cries  of  victims.  But 
the  empty  street  before  him  promised  an  easy  pas- 
sage, and  he  ventured  into  it  and  passed  quickly 
through  it.  He  met  no  one,  and  no  one  molested 
him;  but  as  he  went  he  had  glimpses  of  pale 
faces  that  from  behind  the  casements  watched  him 
come  and  turned  to  watch  him  go ;  and  so  heavy  on 
Ms  nerves  was  the  pressure  of  this  silent  ominous  at- 


84  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

teution,  that  lie  blundered  at  the  eiid  of  the  street. 
He  should  have  taken  the  southerly  turning ;  instead 
he  held  on,  found  himself  in  the  Rue  Ferronerie,  and 
a  moment  later  was  all  but  in  the  arms  of  a  band  of 
city  guards,  who  were  making  a  house-to-house  visi- 
tation. 

He  owed  his  safety  rather  to  the  condition  of  the 
street  than  to  his  presence  of  mind.  The  Eue  Ferro- 
nerie, narrow  in  itself,  was  so  choked  at  this  date  by 
stalls  and  bulkheads,  that  an  edict  directing  the  re- 
moval of  those  which  abutted  on  the  cemetery  had 
been  issued  a  little  before.  Nothing  had  been  done 
on  it,  however,  and  this  neck  of  Paris,  this  main 
thoroughfare  between  the  east  and  the  west,  between 
the  fashionable  quarter  of  the  Marais  and  the  fashion- 
able quarter  of  the  Louvre,  was  still  a  devious  huddle 
of  sheds  and  pent-houses.  Tignonville  slid  behind 
one  of  these,  found  that  it  masked  the  mouth  of  an 
alley,  and,  heedless  whither  the  passage  led,  ran  hur- 
riedly along  it.  Every  instant  he  expected  to  hear 
the  hue  and  cry  behind  him,  and  he  did  not  halt  or 
draw  breath  until  he  had  left  the  soldiers  far  in  the 
rear,  and  found  himself  astray  at  the  junction  of  four 
noisome  lanes,  over  two  of  which  the  projecting  ga- 
bles fairly  met.  Above  the  two  others  a  scrap  of  sky 
appeared,  but  this  was  too  small  to  indicate  in  which 
direction  the  river  lay. 

Tiguonville  hesitated,  but  not  for  long ;  a  burst  of 
voices  heralded  a  new  danger,  and  he  shrank  into  a 
doorway.  Along  one  of  the  lanes  a  troop  of  chil- 
dren, the  biggest  not  twelve  years  old,  came  dancing 
and  leaping  round  something  which  they  dragged  by 
a  string.  Now  one  of  the  hindmost  would  hurl  it 
onward  with  a  kick,  now  another,  amid  screams  of 


TWO  HENS  AND   AN  EGG.  85 

/ 

childish  laughter,  tripped  headlong  over  the  cord; 
now  at  the  crossways  they  stopped  to  wrangle  and 
question  which  way  they  should  go,  or  whose  turn  it 
was  to  pull  and  whose  to  follow.  At  last  they  started 
afresh  with  a  whoop,  the  leader  singing  and  all 
plucking  the  string  to  the  cadence  of  the  air.  Their 
plaything  leapt  and  dropped,  sprang  forward,  and 
lingered  like  a  thing  of  life.  But  it  was  no  thing  of 
life,  as  Tignonville  saw  with  a  shudder  when  they 
passed  him.  The  object  of  their  sport  was  the  naked 
body  of  a  child,  an  infant ! 

His  gorge  rose  at  the  sight.  Fear  such  as  he  had 
not  before  experienced  chilled  his  marrow.  This  was 
hate  indeed,  a  hate  before  which  the  strong  man 
quailed ;  the  hate  of  which  Mademoiselle  had  spoken 
when  she  said  that  the  babes  crossed  themselves, 
at  her  passing,  and  the  houses  tottered  to  fall  upon 
her! 

He  paused  a  minute  to  recover  himself,  so  deeply 
had  the  sight  moved  him ;  and  as  he  stood,  he  won- 
dered if  that  hate  already  had  its  cold  eye  fixed  on 
him.  Instinctively  his  gaze  searched  the  opposite 
wall,  but  save  for  two  small  double-grated  windows 
it  was  blind ;  time-stained  and  stone-built,  dark  with 
the  ordure  of  the  city  lane,  it  seemed  but  the  back 
of  a  house,  which  looked  another  way.  The  outer 
gates  of  an  arched  doorway  were  open,  and  a  loaded 
hay-cart,  touching  either  side  and  brushing  the  arch 
above,  blocked  the  passage.  His  gaze,  leaving  the 
windows,  dropped  to  this,  he  scanned  it  a  moment; 
and  on  a  sudden  he  stiffened.  Between  the  hay  and 
the  arch  a  hand  flickered  an  instant,  then  vanished. 

Tignonville  stared.  At  first  he  thought  his  eyes 
had  tricked  him.  Then  the  hand  appeared  again, 


86  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

\ 

and  this  time  it  conveyed  an  unmistakable  invitation. 
It  is  not  from  the  unknown  or  the  hidden  that  the 
fugitive  has  aught  to  fear,  and  Tiguonville,  after  cast- 
ing a  glance  down  the  lane — which  revealed  a  single 
man  standing  with  his  face  the  other  way — slipped 
across  and  pushed  between  the  hay  and  the  wall.  He 
coughed. 

A  voice  whispered  to  him  to  climb  up ;  a  friendly 
hand  clutched  him  in  the  act,  and  aided  him.  In  a 
second  he  was  lying  on  his  face,  tight  squeezed  be- 
tween the  hay  and  the  roof  of  the  arch.  Beside  him 
lay  a  man  whose  features  his  eyes,  unaccustomed  to 
the  gloom,  could  not  discern.  But  the  man  knew 
him  and  whispered  his  name. 

"You  know  me?"  Tignonville  muttered  in  aston- 
ishment. 

"  I  marked  you,  M.  de  Tiguonville,  at  the  preach- 
ing last  Sunday, "  the  stranger  answered  placidly. 

"You  were  there? " 

"I  preached." 

"Then  you  are  M.  la  Tribe! " 

"I  am,"  the  clergyman  answered  quietly.  "They 
seized  me  on  my  threshold,  but  I  left  my  cloak  in 
their  hands  and  fled.  One  tore  my  stocking  with  his 
point,  another  my  doublet,  but  not  a  hair  of  my  head 
was  injured.  They  hunted  me  to  the  end  of  the  next 
street,  but  I  lived  and  still  live,  and  shall  live  to  lift 
up  my  voice  against  this  wicked  city. " 

The  sympathy  between  the  Huguenot  by  faith  and 
the  Huguenot  by  politics  was  imperfect.  Tignon- 
ville, like  most  men  of  rank  of  the  younger  genera- 
tion, was  a  Huguenot  by  politics ;  and  he  was  in  a 
bitter  humour.  He  felt,  perhaps,  that  it  was  men 
such  as  this  who  had  driven  the  other  side  to  excesses 


TWO   HENS  AND  AN  EGG.  87 

snch  as  these ;  and  he  hardly  repressed  a  sneer.  "  I 
wish  I  felt  as  sure!"  he  muttered  bluntly.  "You 
know  that  all  our  people  are  dead?  " 

"He  can  save  by  few  or  by  many,"  the  preacher 
answered  devoutly.  "We  are  of  the  few,  blessed  "be 
God,  and  shall  see  Israel  victorious,  and  our  people 
as  a  flock  of  sheep ! " 

"I  see  small  chance  of  it,"  Tignonville  answered 
contemptuously. 

"  I  know  it  as  certainly  as  I  knew  before  you  came, 
M.  de  Tignonville,  that  you  would  come.!  " 

"That  I  should  come?" 

"That  some  one  would  come,"  La  Tribe  answered, 
correcting  himself.  "I  knew  not  who  it  would  be 
until  you  appeared  and  placed  yourself  in  the  door- 
way over  against  me,  even  as  Obadiah  in  the  Holy 
Book  passed  before  the  hiding-place  of  Elijah." 

The  two  lay  on  their  faces  side  by  side,  the  rafters 
of  the  archway  low  on  their  heads.  Tignonville  lifted 
himself  a  little,  and  peered  anew  at  the  other.  He 
fancied  that  La  Tribe's  mind,  shaken  by  the  horrors 
of  the  morning  and  his  narrow  escape,  had  given  way. 
"You  rave,  man,"  he  said.  "This  is  no  time  for 
visions. " 

"I  said  naught  of  visions,"  the  other  answered. 

"Then  why  so  sure  that  we  shall  escape? " 

"I  am  certified  of  it,"  La  Tribe  replied.  "And 
more  than  that,  I  know  that  we  shall  lie  here  some 
days.  The  time  has  not  been  revealed  to  me,  but  it 
will  be  days  and  a  day.  Then  we  shall  leave  this 
place  unharmed,  as  we  entered  it,  and,  whatever  be- 
tide others,  we  shall  live." 

Tignonville  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "I  tell  you, 
you  rave,  M.  la  Tribe,"  he  said  petulantly.  "At  any 


88  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

moment  we  may  be  discovered.     Even  now  I  hear 
footsteps. " 

"They  tracked  me  well-nigh  to  this  place,"  the 
minister  answered  placidly. 

"The  deuce  they  did!"  Tiguonville  muttered,  with 
irritation.  He  dared  not  raise  his  voice.  "I  would 
you  had  told  me  that  before  I  joined  you,  Monsieur, 
and  I  had  found  some  safer  hiding-place !  When  we 
are  discovered— 

"Then,"  the  other  continued  calmly,  "you  will  see." 

"In  any  case  we  shall  be  better  farther  back," 
Tignonville  retorted.  "Here,  we  are  within  an  ace 
of  being  seen  from  the  lane."  And  he  began  to* 
wriggle  himself  backwards. 

The  minister  laid  his  hand  on  him.  "Have  a 
care!  "  he  muttered.  "And  do  not  move,  but  listen. 
And  you  will  understand.  When  I  reached  this 
place — it  would  be  about  five  o'clock  this  morning — 
breathless,  and  expecting  each  minute  to  be  dragged 
forth  to  make  my  confession  before  men,  I  despaired 
as  you  despair  now.  Like  Elijah  under  the  juniper 
tree,  I  said  'It  is  enough,  O  Lord!  Take  my  soul 
also,  for  I  am  no  better  than  my  fellows ! '  All  the 
sky  was  black  before  my  eyes,  and  my  ears  were  filled 
with  the  wailiugs  of  the  little  ones  and  the  lamenta- 
tions of  women.  'O  Lord,  it  is  enough,'  I  prayed. 
'  Take  my  soul,  or,  if  it  be  Thy  will,  then,  as  the  angel 
was  sent  to  take  the  cakes  to  Elijah,  give  me  also  a 
sign  that  I  shall  live. '  " 

For  a  moment  he  paused,  struggling  with  overpow- 
ering emotion.  Even  his  impatient  listener,  hitherto 
incredulous,  caught  the  infection,  and  in  a  tone  of 
awe  murmured,  "Yes  ?  And  then,  M.  la  Tribe!" 

"The  sign  was  given  me.     The  words  were  scarcely 


TWO   HENS   AND   AN  EGG.  89 

out  of  my  mouth  when  a  lieu  flew  up,  aud,  scratching 
a  nest  iu  the  hay  at  my  feet,  presently  laid  an  egg. " 

Tignonville  stared.  "It  was  timely,  I  admit,"  he 
said.  "But  it  is  no  uncommon  thing.  Probably  it 
has  its  nest  here  and  lays  daily. " 

"Young  man,  this  is  new-mown  hay,"  the  minister 
answered  solemnly.  "This  cart  was  brought  here  no 
further  back  than  yesterday.  It  smells  of  the  mead- 
ow, and  the  flowers  hold  their  colour.  No,  the  fowl 
was  sent.  To-morrow  it  will  return,  and  the  next, 
and  the  next,  until  the  plague  be  stayed  and  I  go 
hence.  But  that  is  not  all.  A  while  later  a  second 
hen  appeared,  and  I  thought  it  would  lay  in  the  same 
nest.  But  it  made  a  new  one,  on  the  side  on  which 
you  lie  'and  not  far  from  your  foot.  Then  I  knew 
that  I  was  to  have  a  companion,  and  that  God  had 
laid  also  for  him  a  table  in  the  wilderness." 

"It  did  lay,  then?" 

"  It  is  still  on  the  nest,  beside  your  foot. " 

Tignonville  was  about  to  reply  when  the  preacher 
grasped  his  arm  and  by  a  sign  enjoined  silence.  He 
did  so  not  a  moment  too  soon.  Preoccupied  by  the 
story,  narrator  and  listener  had  paid  no  heed  to  what 
was  passing  in  the  lane,  aud  the  voices  of  men  speak- 
ing close  at  hand  took  them  by  surprise.  From  the 
first  words  which  reached  them,  it  was  clear  that  the 
speakers  were  the  same  who  had  chased  La  Tribe  as 
far  as  the  meeting  of  the  four  ways,  and,  losing  him 
there,  had  spent  the  morning  in  other  business.  Now 
they  had  returned  to  hunt  him  down,  and  but  for  a 
wrangle  which  arose  among  them  and  detained  them, 
they  had  stolen  on  their  quarry  before  their  coming 
was  suspected. 

"  'Twas  this  way  he  ran ! "     "  No,  'twas  the  other ! " 


90  COUNT   HANNIBAL. 

they  contended;  and  their  words,  winged  with  vile 
threats  and  oaths,  grew  noisy  and  hot.  The  two  lis- 
teners dared  scarcely  to  breathe.  The  danger  was  so 
near,  it  was  so  certain  that  if  the  uieu  came  three 
paces  farther,  they  would  observe  and  search  the  hay- 
cart,  that  Tignonville  fancied  the  steel  already  at  his 
throat.  He  felt  the  hay  rustle  under  his  slightest 
movement,  and  gripped  one  hand  with  the  other  to 
restrain  the  tremor  of  overpowering  excitement.  Yet 
when  he  glanced  at  the  minister  he  found  him  un- 
moved, a  smile  on  his  face.  And  M.  de  Tiguonville 
could  have  cursed  him  for  his  folly. 

For  the  men  were  coming  on!  An  instant,  and 
they  perceived  the  cart,  and  the  ruffian  who  had  ad- 
vised this  route  pounced  on  it  in  triumph.  "There! 
Did  I  not  say  so?"  he  cried.  "He  is  curled  up  in 
that  hay,  for  the  Satan's  grub  he  is!  That  is  where 
he  is,  see  you !  " 

"Maybe,"  another  answered  grudgingly,  as  they 
gathered  before  it.  "And  maybe  not,  Simon!  " 

"To  hell  with  your  maybe  not!"  the  first  replied. 
And  he  drove  his  pike  deep  into  the  hay  and  turned 
it  viciously. 

The  two  on  the  top  controlled  themselves.  Tignon- 
ville's  face  was  livid;  of  himself  he  would  have 
slid  down  amongst  them  and  taken  his  chance,  prefer- 
ring to  die  fighting,  to  die  in  the  open,  rather  than  to 
perish  like  a  rat  in  a  stack.  But  La  Tribe  had 
gripped  his  arm  and  held  him  fast. 

The  man  whom  the  others  called  Simon  thrust 
again,  but  too  low  and  without  result.  He  was  for 
trying  a  third  time,  when  one  of  his  comrades  who 
had  gone  to  the  other  side  of  the  lane  announced  that 
the  men  were  on  the  top  of  the  hay. 


TWO  HENS  AND   AN  EGG.  91 

"Can  you  see  them!  " 

"No,  but  there's  room  and  to  spare." 

"  Oh,  a  curse  on  your  room !  "  Simon  retorted. 

"Well,  you  can  look." 

"If  that's  all,  I'll  soon  look!"  was  the  answer. 
And  the  rogue,  forcing  himself  between  the  hay  and 
the  side  of  the  gateway,  found  the  wheel  of  the  cart, 
and  began  to  raise  himself  on  it.  Tiguonville,  who 
lay  on  that  hand,  heard,  though  he  could  not  see  his 
movements.  He  knew  what  they  meant,  he  knew 
that  in  a  twinkling  he  must  be  discovered ;  and  with 
a  last  prayer  he  gathered  himself  for  a  spring. 

It  seemed  an  age  before  the  intruder's  head  ap- 
peared on  a  level  with  the  hay ;  and  then  the  alarm 
came  from  another  quarter.  The  hen  which  had 
made  its  nest  at  Tignonville's  feet,  disturbed  by  the 
movement  or  by  the  newcomer's  hand,  flew  out  with 
a  rush  and  flutter  as  of  a  great  firework.  Upsetting 
the  startled  Simon,  who  slipped  swearing  to  the 
ground,  it  swooped  scolding  and  clucking  over  the 
heads  of  the  other  men,  and  reaching  the  street  in 
safety  scuttled  off  at  speed,  its  outspread  wings  sweep- 
ing the  earth  in  its  rage. 

They  laughed  uproariously  as  Simon  emerged,  rub- 
bing his  elbow.  "There's  for  you!  There's  your 
preacher !  "  his  opponent  jeered. 

"D 11  her!  she  gives  tongue  as  fast  as  any  of 

them!"  gibed  a  second.  "Will  you  try  again,  Si- 
mon ?  You  may  find  another  love-letter  there ! " 

"Have  done!"  a  third  cried  impatiently.  "He'll 
not  be  where  the  hen  is!  Let's  back!  Let's  back! 
I  said  before  that  it  wasn't  this  way  he  turned! 
He's  made  for  the  river." 

"The  plague  in  his  vitals!"  Simon  replied  furi- 


92  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

ously.  "Wherever  lie  is,  I'll  find  him!"  And  re- 
luctant to  confess  himself  wrong,  he  lingered,  casting 
vengeful  glances  at  the  hay.  But  one  of  the  other 
men  cursed  him  for  a  fool ;  and  presently,  forced  to 
accept  his  defeat  or  be  left  alone,  he  rejoined  his 
fellows.  Slowly  the  footsteps  and  voices  receded  along 
the  lane ;  slowly,  until  silence  swallowed  them,  and  on 
the  quivering  strained  senses  of  the  two  who  re- 
mained behind,  descended  the  gentle  influence  of  twi- 
light and  the  sweet  scent  of  the  new-mown  hay  on 
which  they  lay. 

La  Tribe  turned  to  his  companion,  his  eyes  shin- 
ing. "Our  soul  is  escaped,"  he  murmured,  "even  as 
a  bird  out  of  the  snare  of  the  fowler.  The  snare  is 
broken  and  we  are  delivered ! "  His  voice  shook  as 
he  whispered  the  ancient  words  of  triumph. 

But  when  they  came  to  look  in  the  nest  at  Tignon- 
ville's  feet  there  was  no  egg! 


CHAPTER  IX. 

UNSTABLE. 

AND  that  troubled  M.  la  Tribe  no  little,  although 
he  did  not  impart  his  thoughts  to  his  companion.  In- 
stead they  talked  in  whispers  of  the  things  which 
had  happened ;  of  the  Admiral,  of  Teligny,  whom  all 
loved,  of  Eochefoucauld  the  accomplished,  the  King's 
friend ;  of  the  princes  in  the  Louvre  whom  they  gave 
up  for  lost,  and  of  the  Huguenot  nobles  on  the  far- 
ther side  of  the  river,  of  whose  safety  there  seemed 
some  hope.  Tignonville — he  best  knew  why — said 
nothing  of  the  fate  of  his  betrothed,  or  of  his  own 
adventures  in  that  connection.  But  each  told  the 
other  how  the  alarm  had  reached  him,  and  painted 
in  broken  words  his  reluctance  to  believe  in  treach- 
ery so  black.  Thence  they  passed  to  the  future  of 
the  cause,  and  of  that  took  views  as  opposite  as  light 
and  darkness,  as  Papegot  and  Huguenot.  The  one 
was  confident,  the  other  in  despair.  And  some  time 
in  the  afternoon,  worn  out  by  the  awful  experiences 
of  the  last  twelve  hours,  they  fell  asleep,  their  heads 
on  their  arms,  the  hay  tickling  their  faces ;  and,  with 
death  stalking  the  lane  beside  them,  slept  soundly 
until  after  sundown. 

When  they  awoke  hunger  awoke  with  them,  and 
urged  on  La  Tribe's  mind  the  question  of  the  missing 
egg.  It  was  not  altogether  the  prick  of  appetite 
which  troubled  him,  but  regarding  the  hiding-place  in 


94  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

which  they  lay  as  an  ark  of  refuge  providentially 
supplied,  protected  and  victualled,  he  could  not 
refrain  from  asking  reverently  what  the  deficiency 
meant.  It  was  not  as  if  one  hen  only  had  appeared ; 
as  if  no  farther  prospect  had  been  extended.  But 
up  to  a  certain  point  the  message  was  clear.  Then 
when  the  Hand  of  Providence  had  shown  itself  most 
plainly,  and  in  a  manner  to  melt  the  heart  with 
awe  and  thankfulness,  the  message  had  been  blurred. 
Seriously  the  Huguenot  asked  himself  what  it  por- 
tended. 

To  Tignonville,  if  he  thought  of  it  at  all,  the  mat- 
ter was  the  matter  of  an  egg,  and  stopped  there.  An 
egg  might  alleviate  the  growing  pangs  of  hunger ;  its 
non-appearance  was  a  disappointment,  but  he  traced 
the  matter  no  farther.  It  must  be  confessed  that  the 
hay-cart  was  to  him  only  a  hay-cart — and  not  an  ark ; 
and  the  sooner  he  was  safely  away  from  it  the  better 
he  would  be  pleased.  While  La  Tribe,  lying  snug 
and  warm  beside  him,  thanked  God  for  a  lot  so  dif- 
ferent from  that  of  such  of  his  fellows  as  had  escaped 
— whom  he  pictured  crouching  in  dank  cellars,  or 
on  roof -trees  exposed  to  the  heat  by  day  and  the 
dews  by  night — the  young  man  grew  more  and  more 
restive. 

Hunger  pricked  him,  and  the  meanness  of  the  part 
he  had  played  moved  him  to  action.  About  mid- 
night, resisting  the  dissuasions  of  his  companion,  he 
would  have  sallied  out  in  search  of  food  if  the  pas- 
sage of  a  turbulent  crowd  had  not  warned  him  that 
the  work  of  murder  was  still  proceeding.  He  curbed 
himself  after  that  and  lay  until  daylight.  But,  ill 
content  with  his  own  conduct,  on  fire  when  he  thought 
of  his  betrothed,  he  was  in  no  temper  to  bear  hard- 


UNSTABLE.  95 

ship  cheerfully  or  long;  and  gradually  there  rose 
before  his  mind  the  picture  of  Madame  St.  Lo's 
smiling  face,  and  the  fair  hair  which  curled  low  on 
the  white  of  her  neck. 

He  would,  and  he  would  not.  Death  that  had 
stalked  so  near  him  preached  its  solemn  sermon.  But 
death  and  pleasure  are  never  far  apart;  and  at  no 
time  and  nowhere  have  they  jostled  one  another  more 
familiarly  than  in  that  age,  wherever  the  influence 
of  Italy  and  Italian  art  and  Italian  hopelessness  ex- 
tended. Again,  on  the  one  side,  La  Tribe's  example 
went  for  something  with  his  comrade  in  misfortune ; 
but  in  the  other  scale  hung  relief  from  discomfort, 
with  the  prospect  of  a  woman's  smiles  and  a  woman's 
flatteries,  of  dainty  dishes,  luxury,  and  passion.  If 
he  went  now,  he  went  to  her  from  the  jaws  of  death, 
with  the  glamour  of  adventure  and  peril  about  him ; 
and  the  veiy  going  into  her  presence  was  a  lure. 
Moreover,  if  he  had  been  willing  while  his  betrothed 
was  still  his,  why  not  now  when  he  had  lost  her? 

It  was  this  last  reflection — and  one  other  thing 
which  came  on  a  sudden  into  his  mind — which  turned 
the  scale.  About  noon  he  sat  up  in  the  hay,  and, 
abruptly  and  sullenly,  "I'll  lie  here  no  longer," 
he  said;  and  he  dropped  his  legs  over  the  side.  "I 
shall  go." 

The  movement  was  so  unexpected  that  La  Tribe 
stared  at  him  in  silence.  Then,  "You  will  run  a 
great  risk,  M.  de  Tiguonville, "  he  said  gravely,  "if 
you  do.  You  may  go  as  far  under  cover  of  night  as 
the  river,  or  you  may  reach  one  of  the  gates.  But  as 
to  crossing  the  one  or  passing  the  other,  I  reckon  it  a 
thing  impossible." 

"I  shall  not  wait  until  night,"  Tignonville  answered 


96  COUNT   HANNIBAL. 

curtly,  a  ring  of  defiance  in  his  tone.  "I  shall  go 
now !  I'll  lie  here  no  longer !  " 

"Now?" 

"Yes,  now." 

"You  will  be  mad  if  you  do, "the  other  replied. 
He  thought  it  the  petulant  outcry  of  youth  tired  of 
inaction ;  a  protest,  and  nothing  more. 

He  was  speedily  undeceived.  "Mad  or  not,  I  am 
going ! "  Tignouville  retorted.  And  he  slid  to  the 
ground,  and  from  the  covert  of  the  hanging  fringe  of 
hay  looked  warily  up  and  down  the  lane.  "It  is 
clear,  I  think,"  he  said.  "Good-bye."  And  with  no 
more,  without  one  upward  glance  or  a  gesture  of  the 
hand,  with  no  further  adieu  or  word  of  gratitude,  he 
walked  out  into  the  lane,  turned  briskly  to  the  left, 
and  vanished. 

The  minister  uttered  a  cry  of  astonishment,  and 
made  as  if  he  would  descend  also.  "Come  back, 
sir ! "  he  called,  as  loudly  as  he  dared.  "  M.  de  Tig- 
nonville,  come  back !  This  is  folly  or  worse ! " 

But  M.  de  Tignouville  was  gone. 

La  Tribe  listened  a  while,  unable  to  believe  it, 
and  still  expecting  his  return.  At  last,  hearing  no- 
thing, he  slid,  greatly  excited,  to  the  ground  and 
looked  out.  It  was  not  until  he  had  peered  up  and 
down  the  lane  and  made  sure  that  it  was  empty  that 
he  could  persuade  himself  that  the  other  had  gone  for 
good.  Then  he  climbed  slowly  and  seriously  to  his 
place  again,  and  sighed  as  he  settled  himself.  "Un- 
stable as  water  thou  shalt  not  excel ! "  he  muttered. 
"'Now  I  know  why  there  was  only  one  egg." 

Meanwhile  Tiguonville,  after  putting  a  hundred 
yards  between  himself  and  his  bedfellow,  plunged 
into  the  first  dark  entry  which  presented  itself.  Hur- 


UNSTABLE.  97 

riedly,  and  with  a  frowning  face,  he  cut  off  his  left 
sleeve  from  shoulder  to  wrist ;  and  this  act,  by  dis- 
closing his  linen,  put  him  in  possession  of  the  white 
sleeve  which  he  had  once  involuntarily  donned,  and 
once  discarded.  The  white  cross  on  the  cap  he 
could  not  assume,  for  he  was  bareheaded.  But  he 
had  little  doubt  that  the  sleeve  would  suffice,  and 
with  a  bold  demeanour  he  made  his  way  northward 
until  he  reached  again  the  Eue  Ferrouerie. 

Excited  groups  were  wandering  up  and  down  the 
street,  and,  fearing  to  traverse  its  crowded  narrows, 
he  went  by  lanes  parallel  with  it  as  far  as  the  Rue  St. 
Denis,  which  he  crossed.  Everywhere  he  saw  houses 
gutted  and  doors  burst  in,  and  traces  of  a  cruelty  and 
a  fanaticism  almost  incredible.  Near  the  Eue  des 
Lombards  he  saw  a  dead  child,  stripped  stark  and 
hanged  on  the  hook  of  a  cobbler's  shutter.  A  little 
further  on  in  the  same  street  he  stepped  over  the 
body  of  a  handsome  young  woman,  distinguished  by 
the  length  and  beauty  of  her  hair.  To  obtain  her 
bracelets,  her  captors  had  cut  off  her  hands ;  after- 
wards— but  God  knows  how  long  afterwards — a 
passer-by,  more  pitiful  than  his  fellows,  had  put  her 
out  of  her  misery  with  a  spit,  which  still  remained 
plunged  in  her  body. 

M.  de  Tignonville  shuddered  at  the  sight,  and  at 
others  like  it.  He  loathed  the  symbol  he  wore,  and 
himself  for  wearing  it ;  and  more  than  once  his  better 
nature  bade  him  return  and  play  the  nobler  part. 
Once  he  did  turn  with  that  intention.  But  he  had  set 
his  mind  on  comfort  and  pleasure,  and  the  value  of 
these  things  is  raised,  not  lowered,  by  danger  and 
uncertainty.  Quickly  his  stoicism  oozed  away;  he 
turned  again.  Barely  avoiding  the  rush  of  a  crowd 
7 


98  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

of  wretches  who  were  bearing  a  swooning  victim  to  the 
river,  he  hurried  through  the  Rue  des  Lombards  and 
reached  in  safety  the  house  beside  the  "Golden  Maid." 

He  had  no  doubt  now  on  which  side  of  the  "Maid  " 
Madame  St.  Lo  lived;  the  house  was  plain  before 
him.  He  had  only  to  knock.  But  in  proportion  as 
he  approached  his  haven,  his  anxiety  grew.  To  lose 
all,  with  all  in  his  grasp,  to  fail  upon  the  threshold, 
was  a  thing  which  bore  no  looking  at;  and  it  was 
with  a  nervous  hand  and  eyes  cast  fearfully  behind 
him  that  he  plied  the  heavy  iron  knocker  which 
adorned  the  door. 

He  could  not  turn  his  gaze  from  a  knot  of  ruffians, 
who  were  gathered  under  one  of  the  tottering  gables 
on  the  farther  side  of  the  street.  They  seemed  to  be 
watching  him,  and  he  fancied — though  the  distance 
rendered  this  impossible — that  he  could  see  suspicion 
growing  in  their  eyes.  At  any  moment  they  might 
cross  the  roadway,  they  might  approach,  they  might 
challenge  him.  And  at  the  thought  he  knocked  and 
knocked  again.  Why  did  not  the  porter  come  ? 

Ay,  why  ?  For  now  a  score  of  contingencies  came 
into  the  young  man's  mind  and  tortured  him.  Had 
Madame  St.  Lo  withdrawn  to  safer  quarters  and  closed 
the  house?  Or,  good  Catholic  as  she  was,  had  she 
given  way  to  panic,  and  determined  to  open  to  no  one  ? 
Or  was  she  ill?  Or  had  she  perished  in  the  general 
disorder?  Or 

And  then,  even  as  the  men  began  to  slink  towards 
him,  his  heart  leapt.  He  heard  a  footstep  heavy  and 
slow  move  through  the  house.  It  came  nearer  and 
nearer.  A  moment,  and  an  iron-grated  Judas-hole  in 
the  door  slid  open,  and  a  servant,  an  elderly  man, 
sleek  and  respectable,  looked  out  at  him. 


UNSTABLE.  99 

Tignonville  could  scarcely  speak  for  excitement. 
"Madame  St.  Lo"?"  lie  muttered  tremulously.  "I 
come  to  her  from  her  cousin  the  Comte  de  Tavannes. 
Quick !  quick !  if  you  please.  Open  to  me ! " 

"Monsieur  is  alone?  " 

"Yes!  Yes!" 

The  man  nodded  gravely  and  slid  back  the  bolts. 
He  allowed  M.  de  Tignonville  to  enter,  then  with  care 
he  secured  the  door,  and  led  the  way  across  a  small 
square  court,  paved  with  red  tiles  and  enclosed  by 
the  house,  but  open  above  to  the  sunshine  and  the 
blue  sky.  A  gallery  which  ran  round  the  upper  floor 
looked  on  this  court,  in  which  a  great  quiet  reigned, 
broken  only  by  the  music  of  a  fountain.  A  vine 
climbed  on  the  wooden  pillars  which  supported  the 
gallery,  and,  aspiring  higher,  embraced  the  wide 
carved  eaves,  and  even  tapestried  with  green  the 
three  gables  that  on  each  side  of  the  court  broke  the 
sky-line.  The  grapes  hung  nearly  ripe,  and  amid 
their  clusters  and  the  green  lattice  of  their  foliage 
Tignonville's  gaze  sought  eagerly  but  in  vain  the 
laughing  eyes  and  piquant  face  of  his  new  mistress. 
For  with  the  closing  of  the  door,  and  the  passing  from 
him  of  the  horrors  of  the  streets,  he  had  entered,  as 
by  magic,  a  new  and  smiling  world ;  a  world  of  tennis 
and  roses,  of  tinkling  voices  and  women's  wiles,  a 
world  which  smacked  of  Florence  and  the  South,  and 
love  and  life ;  a  world  which  his  late  experiences  had 
set  so  far  away  from  him,  his  memory  of  it  seemed  a 
dream.  Now,  as  he  drank  in  its  stillness  and  its  fra- 
grance, as  he  felt  its  safety  and  its  luxury  lap  him 
round  once  more,  he  sighed.  And  with  that  breath 
he  rid  himself  of  much. 

The  servant  led  him  to  a  parlour,  a  cool  shady  room 


100  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

on  the  farther  side  of  the  tiny  quadrangle,  and,  mut- 
tering something  inaudible,  withdrew.  A  moment 
later  a  frolicsome  laugh,  and  the  light  flutter  of  a 
woman's  skirt  as  she  tripped  across  the  court, 
brought  the  blood  to  his  cheeks.  He  went  a  step 
nearer  to  the  door,  and  his  eyes  grew  bright. 


CHAPTER  X. 

MADAME   ST.    LO. 

So  far  excitement  had  supported  Tignonville  in  his 
escape.  It  was  only  when  he  knew  himself  safe,  when 
he  heard  Madame  St.  Lo's  footstep  in  the  courtyard 
and  knew  that  in  a  moment  he  would  see  her,  that  he 
knew  also  that  he  was  failing  for  want  of  food.  The 
room  seemed  to  go  round  with  him ;  the  window  to 
shift,  the  light  to  flicker.  And  then  again,  with 
equal  abruptness,  he  grew  strong  and  steady  and  per- 
fectly master  of  himself.  Nay,  never  had  he  felt  a 
confidence  in  himself  so  overwhelming  or  a  capacity 
so  complete.  The  triumph  of  that  which  he  had 
done,  the  knowledge  that  of  so  many  he,  almost 
alone,  had  escaped,  filled  his  brain  with  a  delicious 
and  intoxicating  vanity.  When  the  door  opened,  and 
Madame  St.  Lo  appeared  on  the  threshold,  he  ad- 
vanced holding  out  his  arms.  He  expected  that  she 
would  fall  into  them. 

But  Madame  only  backed  and  curtseyed,  a  mis- 
chievous light  in  her  eyes.  "A  thousand  thanks, 
Monsieur!7'  she  said,  "but  you  are  more  ready  than 
I ! "  And  she  remained  by  the  door. 

"I  have  come  to  you  through  all!  "  he  cried,  speak- 
ing loudly  because  of  a  humming  in  his  ears.  "They 
are  lying  in  the  streets !  They  are  dying,  are  dead, 
are  hunted,  are  pursued,  are  perishing !  But  I  have 
come  through  all  to  you ! " 


102  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

She  curtseyed  anew.  "So  I  see,  Monsieur!"  she 
answered.  "I  am  nattered!"  But  she  did  not  ad- 
vance, and  gradually,  light-headed  as  he  was,  he  be- 
gan to  see  that  she  looked  at  him  with  an  odd  close- 
ness. And  he  took  offence. 

"I  say,  Madame,  I  have  come  to  you!"  he  repeat- 
ed. "And  you  do  not  seem  pleased ! " 

She  came  forward  a  step  and  looked  at  him  still 
more  oddly.  aOh,  yes,"  she  said.  "I  am  pleased, 
M.  de  Tignonville.  It  is  what  I  intended.  But  tell 
me  how  you  have  fared.  You  are  not  hurt  ?  " 

"Not  a  hair!"  he  cried  boastfully.  And  he  told 
her  in  a  dozen  windy  sentences  of  the  adventure  of 
the  hay-cart  and  his  narrow  escape.  He  wound  up 
with  a  foolish  meaningless  laugh. 

"  Then  you  have  not  eaten  for  thirty-six  hours  ? " 
she  said.  And  when  he  did  not  answer,  "I  under- 
stand," she  continued,  nodding  and  speaking  as  to  a 
child.  And  she  rang  a  silver  handbell  and  gave  an 
order.  She  addressed  the  servant  in  her  usual  tone, 
but  to  Tiguonville's  ear  her  voice  seemed  to  fall  to  a 
whisper.  Her  figure — she  was  small  and  fairy-like — 
began  to  sway  before  him ;  and  then  in  a  moment,  as 
it  seemed  to  him,  she  Avas  gone,  and  he  was  seated  at 
a  table,  his  trembling  fingers  grasping  a  cup  of  wine 
which  the  elderly  servant  who  had  admitted  him  was 
holding  to  his  lips.  On  the  table  before  him  were  a 
spit  of  partridges  and  a  cake  of  white  bread.  When 
he  had  swallowed  a  second  mouthful  of  wine — which 
cleared  his  eyes  as  by  magic — the  man  urged  him  to 
eat.  And  he  fell  to  with  an  appetite  that  grew  as  he 
ate. 

By  and  by,  feeling  himself  again,  he  became  aware 
that  two  of  Madame's  women  were  peering  at  him 


MADAME   ST.  LO.  103 

through  the  open  doorway.  He  looked  that  way  and 
they  fled  giggling  into  the  court;  but  in  a  moment 
they  were  back  again,  and  the  sound  of  their  tittering 
drew  his  eyes  anew  to  the  door.  It  was  the  custom  of 
the  day  for  ladies  of  rank  to  wait  on  their  favourites 
at  table;  and  he  wondered  if  Madame  were  with 
them,  and  why  she  did  not  come  and  serve  him 
herself. 

But  for  a  while  longer  the  savour  of  the  roasted 
game  took  up  the  major  part  of  his  thoughts;  and 
when  prudence  warned  him  to  desist,  and  he  sat 
back,  satisfied  after  his  long  fast,  he  was  in  no  mood 
to  be  critical.  Perhaps — for  somewhere  in  the  house 
he  heard  a  lute — Madame  was  entertaining  those 
whom  she  could  not  leave  ?  Or  deluding  some  who 
might  betray  him  if  they  discovered  him  1 

From  that  his  mind  turned  back  to  the  streets  and 
the  horrors  through  which  he  had  passed ;  but  for 
a  moment  and  no  more.  A  shudder,  an  emotion  of 
prayerful  pity,  and  he  recalled  his  thoughts.  In 
the  quiet  of  the  cool  room,  looking  on  the  sunny, 
vine -clad  court,  with  the  tinkle  of  the  lute  and  the 
murmurous  sound  of  women's  voices  in  his  ears,  it 
was  hard  to  believe  that  the  things  from  which  he 
had  emerged  were  real.  It  was  still  more  unpleasant, 
and  as  futile,  to  dwell  on  them.  A  day  of  reckoning 
would  come,  and,  if  La  Tribe  were  right,  the  cause 
would  rally,  bristling  with  pikes  and  snorting  with 
war-horses,  and  the  blood  spilled  in  this  wicked  city 
would  cry  aloud  for  vengeance.  But  the  hour  was 
not  yet.  He  had  lost  his  mistress,  and  for  that  atone- 
ment must  be  exacted.  But  in  the  present  another 
mistress  awaited  him,  and  as  a  man  could  only  die 
once,  and  might  die  at  any  minute,  so  he  could 


104  COUNT   HANNIBAL. 

only  live  once  and  in  the  present.  Then  vogue  la 
gcdere  ! 

As  he  roused  himself  from  this  brief  reverie  and 
fell  to  wondering  how  long  he  was  to  be  left  to  him- 
self, a  rosebud  tossed  by  an  unseen  hand  struck  him 
on  the  breast  and  dropped  to  his  knees.  To  seize  it 
and  kiss  it  gallantly,  to  spring  to  his  feet  and  look 
about  him  were  instinctive  movements.  But  he  could 
see  no  one ;  and,  in  the  hope  of  surprising  the  giver, 
he  stole  to  the  window.  The  sound  of  the  lute  and 
the  distant  tinkle  of  laughter  persisted.  The  court, 
save  for  a  page,  who  lay  asleep  on  a  bench  in  the 
gallery,  was  empty.  Tignonville  scanned  the  boy 
suspiciously;  a  male  disguise  was  often  adopted  by 
the  court  ladies,  and  if  Madame  would  play  a  prank 
on  him,  this  was  a  thing  to  be  reckoned  with.  But 
a  boy  it  seemed  to  be,  and  after  a  while  the  young 
man  went  back  to  his  seat. 

Even  as  he  sat  down,  a  second  flower  struck  him 
more  sharply  in  the  face,  and  this  time  he  darted  not 
to  the  window  but  to  the  door.  He  opened  it  quickly 
and  looked  out,  but  again  he  was  too  late. 

"I  shall  catch  you  presently,  ma  rmie/"he  mur- 
mured tenderly,  with  intent  to  be  heard.  And  he 
closed  the  door.  But,  wiser  this  time,  he  waited  with 
his  hand  on  the  latch  until  he  heard  the  rustling  of  a 
skirt,  and  saw  the  line  of  light  at  the  foot  of  the  door 
darkened  by  a  shadow.  That  moment  he  flung  the 
door  wide,  and,  clasping  the  wearer  of  the  skirt  in  his 
arms,  kissed  her  lips  before  she  had  time  to  resist. 

Then  he  fell  back  as  if  he  had  been  shot!  For 
the  wearer  of  the  skirt,  she  whom  he  had  kissed,  was 
Madame  St.  Lo's  woman,  and  behind  her  stood  Ma- 
dame herself,  laughing,  laughing,  laughing  with  all 


MADAME  ST.  LO.  105 

the  gay  abandonment  of  her  light  little  heart.  "Oh, 
the  gallant  gentleman!"  she  cried,  and  clapped  her 
hands  effusively.  "Was  eA*er  recovery  so  rapid  ? 
Or  triumph  so  speedy?  Suzanne,  my  child,  you  sur- 
pass Venus.  Your  charms  conquer  before  they  are 
seen ! " 

M.  de  Tignonville  had  put  poor  Suzanne  from  him 
as  if  she  burned;  and  hot  and  embarrassed,  cursing 
his  haste,  he  stood  looking  awkwardly  at  them. 
"Madame,"  he  stammered  at  last,  "you  know  quite 
well  that  I » 

"Seeing  is  believing! " 

"That  I  thought  it  was  you ! " 

"  Oh,  what  I  have  lost ! "  she  replied.  And  she 
looked  archly  at  Suzanne,  who  giggled  and  tossed  her 
head. 

He  was  growing  angry.  "But,  Madame,"  he  pro- 
tested, "you  know " 

"I  know  what  I  know,  and  I  have  seen  what  I 
have  seen !  "  Madame  answered  merrily.  And  she 
hummed, 

"Ce  fut  le  plus  grand  jour  d'este 
Que  m'embrassa  la  belle  Suzanne! 

"Oh,  yes,  I  know  what  I  know!"  she  repeated. 
And  she  fell  again  to  laughing  immoderately ;  while 
the  pretty  piece  of  mischief  beside  her  hung  her  head, 
and,  putting  a  finger  in  her  mouth,  mocked  him  with 
an  affectation  of  modesty. 

The  young  man  glowered  at  them  between  rage  and 
embarrassment.  This  was  not  the  reception,  nor  this 
the  hero's  return  to  which  he  had  looked  forward. 
And  a  doubt  began  to  take  form  in  his  mind.  The 
mistress  he  had  pictured  would  not  laugh  at  kisses 


106  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

given  to  another;  nor  forget  in  a  twinkling  the 
straits  through  which  he  had  come  to  her,  the  hell 
from  which  he  had  plucked  himself!  Possibly  the 
court  ladies  held  love  as  cheap  as  this,  and  lovers  but 
as  playthings,  butts  for  their  wit,  and  pegs  on  which 
to  hang  their  laughter.  But — but  he  began  to  doubt, 
and,  perplexed  and  irritated,  he  showed  his  feelings. 

"Madame,"  he  said  stiffly,  "a  jest  is  an  excellent 
thing.  But  pardon  me  if  I  say  that  it  is  ill  played  on 
a  fasting  man." 

Madame  desisted  from  laughter  that  she  might 
speak.  "A  fasting  man?"  she  cried.  "And  he  has 
eaten  two  partridges !  " 

"Fasting  from  love,  Madame." 

Madame  St.  Lo  held  up  her  hands.  "And  it's  not 
two  minutes  since  he  took  a  kiss ! " 

He  winced,  was  silent  a  moment,  and  then  seeing 
that  he  got  nothing  by  the  tone  he  had  adopted  he 
cried  for  quarter.  "A  little  mercy,  Madame,  as  you 
are  beautiful,"  he  said,  wooing  her  with  his  eyes. 
"Do  not  plague  me  beyond  what  a  man  can  bear. 
Dismiss,  I  pray  you,  this  good  creature — whose  charms 
do  but  set  off  yours  as  the  star  leads  the  eye  to  the 
moon — and  make  me  the  happiest  man  in  the  world 
by  so  much  of  your  company  as  you  will  vouchsafe  to 
give  me." 

"That  may  be  but  a  very  little,"  she  answered,  let- 
ting her  eyes  fall  coyly,  and  affecting  to  handle  the 
tucker  of  her  low  ruff.  But  he  saw  that  her  lip 
twitched ;  and  he  could  have  sworn  that  she  mocked 
him  to  Suzanne,  for  the  girl  giggled. 

Still  by  an  effort  he  controlled  his  feelings.  "  Why 
so  cruel  ? "  he  murmured,  in  a  tone  meant  for  her 
alone,  and  with  a  look  to  match.  "You  were  not  so 


MADAME   ST.  LO.  107 

hard  when  I  spoke  with  you  in  the  gallery,  two  even- 
ings ago,  Madame." 

"Was  I  not?"  she  asked.  "Did  I  look  like  this? 
And  this?"  And,  languishing,  she  looked  at  him 
very  sweetly  after  two  fashions. 

"Something." 

"  Oh,  then  I  meant  nothing ! "  she  retorted  with 
sudden  vivacity.  And  she  made  a  face  at  him, 
laughing  under  his  nose.  "  I  do  that  when  I  mean 
nothing,  Monsieur !  Do  you  see  ?  But  you  are  Gas- 
con, and  given,  I  fear,  to  flatter  yourself." 

Then  he  saw  clearly  that  she  played  with  him :  and 
resentment,  chagrin,  pique  got  the  better  of  his  cour- 
tesy. "I  flatter  myself?"  he  cried,  his  voice  choked 
with  rage.  "  It  may  be  I  do  now,  Madame,  but  did  I 
flatter  myself  when  you  wrote  me  this  note  ?  "  And 
he  drew  it  out  and  flourished  it  in  her  face.  "Did  I 
imagine  when  I  read  this?  Or  is  it  not  in  your  hand? 
It  is  a  forgery,  perhaps,"  he  continued  bitterly.  "Or 
it  means  nothing?  Nothing,  this  note  bidding  me 
be  at  Madame  St.  Lo's  at  an  hour  before  midnight 
— it  means  nothing?  At  an  hour  before  midnight, 
Madame ! " 

"On  Saturday  night?  The  night  before  last 
night?  " 

"On  Saturday  night,  the  night  before  last  night! 
But  Madame  knows  nothing  of  it?  Nothing,  I  sup- 
pose?" 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders  and  smiled  cheerfully 
on  him.  "Oh,  yes,  I  wrote  it,"  she  said.  "But  what 
of  that,  M.  de  Tignonville?  " 

"What  of  that?" 

"Yes,  Monsieur,  what  of  that?  Did  you  think  it 
was  written  out  of  love  for  you  ?  " 


108  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

He  was  staggered  for  the  moment  by  her  coolness. 
"Out  of  what,  then?"  he  cried  hoarsely.  "Out  of 
what,  then,  if  not  out  of  love  ?  " 

"  Why,  out  of  pity,  my  little  gentleman ! "  she  an- 
swered sharply.  "And  trouble  thrown  away  it 
seems.  Love ! "  And  she  laughed  so  merrily  and 
spontaneously  it  cut  him  to  the  heart.  "No;  but  you 
said  a  dainty  thing  or  two,  and  smiled  a  smile ;  and 
like  a  fool,  and  like  a  woman,  I  was  sorry  for  the  in- 
nocent calf  that  bleated  so  prettily  on  its  way  to  the 
butcher's!  And  I  would  lock  you  up  and  save  your 
life,  I  thought,  until  the  blood-letting  was  over. 
Now  you  have  it,  M.  de  Tignouville,  and  I  hope  you 
like  it." 

Like  it,  when  every  word  she  uttered  stripped  him 
of  the  selfish  illusions  in  which  he  had  wrapped  him- 
self against  the  blasts  of  ill-fortune1?  Like  it,  when 
the  prospect  of  her  charms  had  bribed  him  from  the 
path  of  fortitude,  when  for  her  sake  he  had  been  false 
to  his  mistress,  to  his  friends,  to  his  faith,  to  his 
cause  ?  Like  it,  when  he  knew  as  he  listened  that  all 
was  lost,  and  nothing  gained — not  even  this  poor, 
unworthy,  shameful  compensation1?  Like  it?  No 
wonder  that  words  failed  him,  and  he  glared  at  her  in 
rage,  in  misery,  in  shame. 

"Oh,  if  you  don't  like  it,"  she  continued,  tossing 
her  head  after  a  momentary  pause,  "then  you  should 
not  have  come !  It  is  of  no  profit  to  glower  at  me, 
Monsieur.  You  do  not  frighten  me." 

"I  would — I  would  to  God  I  had  not  come!"  he 
groaned. 

"And,  I  dare  say,  that  you  had  never  seen  me — 
since  you  cannot  win  me ! " 

"That  too,"  he  exclaimed. 


MADAME  ST.  LO.  109 

She  was  of  an  extraordinary  levity,  and  at  that 
after  staring  at  him  a  moment  she  broke  into  shrill 
laughter.  "A  little  more,  and  I'll  send  you  to  my 
cousin  Hannibal !  "  she  said.  "You  do  not  know  how 
anxious  he  is  to  see  you.  Have  you  a  mind, "  with  a 
waggish  look,  "to  play  bride's  man,  M.  de  Tignon- 
ville?  Or  will  you  give  away  the  bride?  It  is  not 
too  late,  though  soon  it  will  be ! " 

He  winced,  and  from  red  grew  pale.  "What  do 
you  mean ?  "  he  stammered.  And,  averting  his  eyes 
in  shame,  seeing  now  all  the  littleness,  all  the  base- 
ness of  his  position,  "Has  he — married  her?"  he 
continued. 

"Ho,  ho!"  she  cried  in  triumph.  "I've  hit  you 
now,  have  I,  Monsieur?  I've  hit  you!  "  And  mock- 
ing him,  "Has  he — married  her?"  she  lisped.  "No; 
but  he  will  marry  her,  have  no  fear  of  that !  He  will 
marry  her.  He  waits  but  to  get  a  priest.  "Would  you 
like  to  see  what  he  says?"  she  continued,  playing 
with  him  as  a  cat  plays  with  a  mouse.  "  I  had  a  note 
from  him  yesterday.  Would  you  like  to  see  how  wel- 
come you'll  be  at  the  wedding? "  And  she  flaunted  a 
piece  of  paper  before  his  eyes. 

"  Give  it  me, "  he  said. 

She  let  him  seize  it  the  while  she  shrugged  her 
shoulders.  "It's  your  affair,  not  mine,"  she  said. 
"See  it  if  you  like,  and  keep  it  if  you  like.  Cousin 
Hannibal  wastes  few  words." 

That  was  true,  for  the  paper  contained  but  a  dozen 
or  fifteen  words,  and  an  initial  by  way  of  signa- 
ture. "I  may  need  your  shaveling  to-morrow  after- 
noon. Send  him,  and  Tignonville  in  safeguard  if  he 
come. — H." 

"I  can  guess  what  use  he  has  for  a  priest,"  she 


110  COUNT   HANNIBAL. 

said.  "It  is  not  to  confess  him,  I  warrant.  It's 
long,  I  fear,  since  Hannibal  told  his  beads." 

M.  de  Tignonville  swore.  "I  would  I  had  the  con- 
fessing of  him !  "  he  said  between  his  teeth. 

She  clapped  her  hands  in  glee.  "Why  should  you 
not?"  she  cried.  "Why  should  you  not?  'Tis  time 
yet,  since  I  am  to  send  to-day  and  have  not  sent. 
Will  you  be  the  shaveling  to  go  confess  or  marry 
him?"  And  she  laughed  recklessly.  "Will  you,  M. 
de  Tiguonville?  The  cowl  will  mask  you  as  well  as 
another,  and  pass  you  through  the  streets  better  than 
a  cut  sleeve.  He  will  have  both  his  wishes,  lover  and 
clerk  in  one  then.  And  it  will  be  pull  monk,  pull 
Hannibal  with  a  vengeance." 

Tiguonville  gazed  at  her,  and  as  he  gazed  courage 
and  hope  awoke  in  his  eyes.  What  if,  after  all,  he 
could  undo  the  past?  What  if,  after  all,  he  could 
retrace  the  false  step  he  had  taken,  and  place  him- 
self again  where  he  had  been — by  Tier  side?  "If  you 
meant  it !  "  he  exclaimed,  his  breath  coming  fast.  "If 
you  only  meant  what  you  say,  Madame." 

"If?"  she  answered,  opening  her  eyes.  "And 
why  should  I  not  mean  it  ? " 

"Because,"  he  replied  slowly,  "cowl  or  no  cowl, 
when  I  meet  your  cousin — 

"'Twill  go  hard  with  him?"  she  cried,  with  a 
mocking  laugh.  "And  you  think  I  fear  for  him. 
That  is  it,  is  it?" 

He  nodded. 

"I  fear  just  so  much  for  him!"  she  retorted  with 
contempt.  "Just  so  much!"  And  coming  a  step 
nearer  to  Tignouville  she  snapped  her  small  white  fin- 
gers under  his  nose.  "Do  you  see?  No,  M.  de  Tig- 
nonville," she  continued,  "you  do  not  know  Count 


MADAME   ST.  LO.  Ill 

Hannibal  if  you  think  that  he  fears,  or  that  any  fear 
for  him.  If  you  will  beard  the  lion  in  his  den,  the 
risk  will  be  yours,  not  his!  " 

The  young  man's  face  glowed.  "I  take  the  risk! " 
he  cried.  "And  I  thank  you  for  the  chance;  that, 
Madame,  whatever  betide.  But " 

"But  what?"  she  asked,  seeing  that  he  hesitated 
and  that  his  face  fell. 

"If  he  afterwards  learn  that  you  have  played  him 
a  trick,"  he  said,  "will  he  not  punish  you? " 

"Punish  me?" 

He  nodded. 

Madame  laughed  her  high  disdain.  "You  do  not 
yet  know  Hannibal  de  Tavannes,"  she  said.  "He 
does  not  war  with  women. " 


CHAPTER  XI. 

A  BARGAIN. 

IT  is  the  wont  of  the  sex  to  snatch  at  an  ell  where 
an  inch  is  offered,  and  to  press  an  advantage  in  cir- 
cumstances in  which  a  man,  acknowledging  the  claims 
of  generosity,  scruples  to  ask  for  more.  The  habit, 
now  ingrained,  may  have  sprung  from  long  depend- 
ence on  the  male,  and  is  one  which  a  hundred  in- 
stances, from  the  time  of  Judith  downward,  prove  to 
be  at  its  strongest  where  the  need  is  greatest. 

When  Mademoiselle  de  Vrillac  came  out  of  the 
hour-long  swoon  into  which  her  lover's  defection  had 
cast  her,  the  expectation  of  the  worst  was  so  strong 
upon  her  that  she  could  not  at  once  credit  the  re- 
spite which  Madame  Carlat  hastened  to  announce. 
She  could  not  believe  that  she  still  lay  safe,  in  her 
own  room  above  stairs ;  that  she  was  in  the  care  of 
her  own  servants,  and  that  the  chamber  held  no  pres- 
ence more  hateful  than  that  of  the  good  woman  who 
sat  weeping  beside  her. 

As  was  to  be  expected,  she  came  to  herself  sighing 
and  shuddering,  trembling  with  nervous  exhaustion. 
She  looked  for  Mm,  as  soon  as  she  looked  for  any; 
and  even  when  she  had  seen  the  door  locked  and 
double-locked,  she  doubted — doubted,  and  shook  and 
hid  herself  in  the  hangings  of  the  bed.  The  noise  of 
the  riot  and  rapine  which  prevailed  in  the  city,  and 
which  reached  the  ear  even  in  that  locked  room — 


A  BABGAIK  113 

and  although  the  window,  of  paper,  with  an  upper 
pane  of  glass,  looked  into  a  courtyard — was  enough 
to  drive  the  blood  from  a  woman's  cheeks.  But  it 
was  fear  of  the  house,  not  of  the  street,  fear  from 
within,  not  from  without,  which  impelled  the  girl  into 
the  darkest  corner  and  shook  her  wits.  She  could 
not  believe  that  even  this  short  respite  was  hers,  until 
she  had  repeatedly  heard  the  fact  confirmed  at  Madame 
Carlat's  mouth. 

"You  are  deceiving  me ! "  she  cried  more  than  once. 
And  each  time  she  started  up  in  fresh  terror.  "He 
never  said  that  he  would  not  return  until  to-mor- 
row ! " 

"He  did,  my  lamb,  he  did!"  the  old  woman  an- 
swered with  tears.  "Would  I  deceive  you?  " 

"He  said  he  would  not  return?  " 

"He  said  he  would  not  return  until  to-morrow. 
You  had  until  to-morrow,  he  said." 

"And  then f  " 

"He  would  come  and  bring  the  priest  with  him," 
Madame  Carlat  replied  sorrowfully. 

"  The  priest  ?  To-morrow !  "  Mademoiselle  cried. 
"The  priest!"  and  she  crouched  anew  with  hot  eyes 
behind  the  hangings  of  the  bed,  and,  shivering,  hid 
her  face. 

But  this  for  a  time  only.  As  soon  as  she  had  made 
certain  of  the  respite,  and  that  she  had  until  the  mor- 
row, her  courage  rose,  and  with  it  the  instinct  of 
which  mention  has  been  made.  Count  Hannibal  had 
granted  a  respite ;  short  as  it  was,  and  no  more  than 
the  barest  humanity  required,  to  grant  one  at  all  was 
not  the  act  of  the  mere  butcher  who  holds  the  trem- 
bling lamb,  unresisting,  in  his  hands.  It  was  an  act 
— no  more,  again  be  it  said,  than  humanity  required 


114  COUNT   HANNIBAL. 

— and  yet  au  act  which  bespoke  an  expectation  of 
some  return,  of  some  correlative  advantage.  It  was 
not  in  the  part  of  the  mere  brigand.  Something  had 
been  granted.  Something  short  of  the  utmost  in  the 
captor's  power  had  been  exacted.  He  had  shown  that 
there  were  things  he  would  not  do. 

Then  might  not  something  more  be  won  from  him? 
A  further  delay,  another  point ;  something,  no  matter 
what,  which  could  be  turned  to  advantage.  With 
the  brigand  it  is  not  possible  to  bargain.  But  who 
gives  a  little  may  give  more ;  who  gives  a  day  may 
give  a  week ;  who  gives  a  week  may  give  a  month. 
And  a  mouth?  Her  heart  leapt  up.  A  month 
seemed  a  lifetime,  an  eternity,  to  her  who  had  but 
until  to-morrow ! 

Yet  there  was  one  consideration  which  might  have 
daunted  a  spirit  less  brave.  To  obtain  aught  from 
Tavannes  it  was  needful  to  ask  him,  and  to  ask  him 
it  was  needful  to  see  him ;  and  to  see  him  before  that 
to-morrow  which  meant  so  much  to  her.  It  wras  nec- 
essary, in  a  word,  to  run  some  risk ;  but  without  risk 
the  card  could  not  be  played,  and  she  did  not  hesi- 
tate. It  might  turn  out  that  she  was  wrong,  that  the 
man  was  not  only  pitiless  and  without  bowels  of 
mercy,  but  lacked  also  the  shred  of  decency  for  which 
she  gave  him  credit,  and  on  which  she  counted.  In 
that  case,  if  she  sent  for  him — but  she  would  not  con- 
sider that  case. 

The  position  of  the  window,  while  it  increased  the 
women's  safety,  debarred  them  from  all  knowledge 
of  what  was  going  forward,  except  that  which  their 
ears  afforded  them.  They  had  no  means  of  judging 
whether  Tavannes  remained  in  the  house  or  had  sal- 
lied forth  to  play  his  part  in  the  work  of  murder. 


A  BABGAIK  115 

Madame  Carlat,  indeed,  had  no  desire  to  know  any- 
thing. In  that  room  above  stairs,  with  the  door 
double-locked,  lay  a  hope  of  safety  in  the  present,  and 
of  ultimate  deliverance ;  there  she  had  a  respite  from 
terror,  as  long  as  she  kept  the  world  outside.  To 
her,  therefore,  the  notion  of  sending  for  Tavannes,  or 
communicating  with  him,  came  as  a  thunderbolt. 
"Was  her  mistress  mad?  Did  she  wish  to  court  her 
fate  ?  To  reach  Tavaunes  they  must  apply  to  his  rid- 
ers, for  Carlat  and  the  men-servants  were  confined 
above.  Those  riders  were  grim,  brutal  men,  who 
might  resort  to  rudeness  on  their  own  account.  And 
Madame,  clinging  in  a  paroxysm  of  terror  to  her  mis- 
tress, suggested  all  manner  of  horrors,  one  on  top  of 
the  other,  until  she  increased  her  own  terror  tenfold. 
And  yet,  to  do  her  justice,  nothing  that  even  her 
frenzied  imagination  suggested  exceeded  the  things 
which  the  streets  of  Paris,  fruitful  mother  of  horrors, 
were  witnessing  at  that  very  hour.  As  we  now  know. 
For  it  was  noon — or  a  little  more — of  Sunday,  Au- 
gust the  twenty-fourth,  "a  holiday,  and  therefore  the 
people  could  more  conveniently  find  leisure  to  kill 
and  plunder."  From  the  bridges,  and  particularly 
from  the  stone  bridge  of  Notre  Dame— while  they  lay 
safe  in  that  locked  room,  and  Tignonville  crouched  in 
his  haymow — Huguenots  less  fortunate  were  being 
cast,  bound  hand  and  foot,  into  the  Seine.  On  the 
river  bank  Spire  Niquet,  the  bookman,  was  being 
burnt  over  a  slow  fire,  fed  with  his  own  books.  In 
their  houses,  Eamus  the  scholar  and  Goujon  the  sculp- 
tor— than  whom  Paris  has  neither  seen  nor  deserved 
a  greater — were  being  butchered  like  sheep ;  and  in 
the  Valley  of  Misery,  now  the  Quai  de  la  Megisserie, 
seven  hundred  persons  who  had  sought  refuge  in  the 


116  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

prisons  were  being  beaten  to  death  with  bludgeons. 
Nay,  at  this  hour — a  little  sooner  or  a  little  later, 
what  matters  it? — M.  Tignonville's  own  cousin,  Ma- 
dame d'Yverne,  the  darling  of  the  Louvre  the  day 
before,  perished  in  the  hands  of  the  mob;  and  the 
sister  of  M.  de  Taverny,  equally  ill-fated,  died  in  the 
same  fashion,  after  being  dragged  through  the  streets. 

Madame  Carlat,  then,  went  not  a  whit  beyond  the 
mark  in  her  argument.  But  Mademoiselle  had  made 
up  her  mind,  and  was  not  to  be  dissuaded. 

"If  I  am  to  be  Monsieur's  wife,"  she  said  with 
quivering  nostrils,  "shall  I  fear  his  servants?  " 

And  opening  the  door  herself,  for  the  others  would 
not,  she  called.  The  man  who  answered  was  a  Nor- 
man; and  short  of  stature,  and  wrinkled  and  low- 
browed of  feature,  with  a  thatch  of  hair  and  a  full 
beard,  he  seemed  the  embodiment  of  the  women's  ap- 
prehensions. Moreover,  his  patois  of  the  cider-land 
was  little  better  than  German  to  them ;  their  southern, 
softer  tongue  was  sheer  Italian  to  him.  But  he 
seemed  not  ill-disposed,  or  Mademoiselle's  air  over- 
awed him ;  and  presently  she  made  him  understand, 
and  with  a  nod  he  descended  to  carry  her  message. 

Then  Mademoiselle's  heart  began  to  beat;  and  beat 
more  quickly  when  she  heard  his  step — alas!  she 
knew  it  already,  knew  it  from  all  others — on  the 
stairs.  The  table  was  set,  the  card  must  be  played, 
to  win  or  lose.  It  might  be  that  with  the  low,  opinion 
he  held  of  women  he  would  think  her  reconciled  to 
her  lot ;  he  would  think  this  an  overture,  a  step  to- 
wards kinder  treatment,  one  more  proof  of  the  incon- 
stancy of  the  lower  and  the  weaker  sex,  made  to  be 
men's  playthings.  And  at  that  thought  her  eyes  grew 
hot  with  rage.  But  if  it  were  so,  she  must  still  put 


A  BARGAIN.  117 

tip  with  it.  She  must  still  put  up  with  it !  She  had 
sent  for  him,  and  he  was  coming — he  was  at  the  door ! 

He  entered,  and  she  breathed  more  freely.  For 
once  his  face  lacked  the  sneer,  the  look  of  smiling 
possession,  which  she  had  come  to  know  and  hate. 
It  was  grave,  expectant,  even  suspicious ;  still  harsh 
and  dark,  akin,  as  she  now  observed,  to  the  low- 
browed, furrowed  face  of  the  rider  who  had  sum- 
moned him.  But  the  offensive  look  was  gone,  and 
she  could  breathe. 

He  closed  the  door  behind  him,  but  he  did  not 
advance  into  the  room.  "At  your  pleasure,  Ma- 
demoiselle?" he  said  simply.  "You  sent  for  me,  I 
think." 

She  was  on  her  feet,  standing  before  him  with 
something  of  the  subinissiveness  of  Eoxana  before  her 
conqueror.  "I  did,"  she  said;  and  stopped  at  that, 
her  hand  to  her  side  as  if  she  could  not  continue. 
But  presently  in  a  low  voice,  "I  have  heard,"  she 
went  on,  "what  you  said,  Monsieur,  after  I  lost  con- 
sciousness." 

"Yes?"  he  said;  and  was  silent.  Nor  did  he  lose 
his  watchful  look. 

"  I  am  obliged  to  you  for  your  thought  of  me, "  she 
continued  in  a  faint  voice,  "and  I  shall  be  still  fur- 
ther obliged — I  speak  to  you  thus  quickly  and  thus 
early — if  you  will  grant  me  a  somewhat  longer  time." 

"Do  you  mean — if  I  will  postpone  our  marriage?  " 

"Yes,  Monsieur." 

"  It  is  impossible !  " 

"  Do  not  say  that, "  she  cried,  raising  her  voice  im- 
pulsively. "  I  appeal  to  your  generosity.  And  for  a 
short,  a  very  short,  time  only." 

"It  is  impossible,"  he  answered  quietly.       "And 


118  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

for  reasons,  Mademoiselle.  In  the  first  place  I  can 
more  easily  protect  my  wife.  In  the  second,  I  am 
even  now  summoned  to  the  Louvre,  and  should  be  on 
my  way  thither.  By  to-morrow  evening,  unless  I  am 
mistaken  in  the  business  on  which  I  am  required,  I 
shall  be  on  my  way  to  a  distant  province  with  royal 
letters.  It  is  essential  that  our  marriage  take  place 
before  I  go." 

"  Why  ?  "  she  asked  stubbornly. 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  Why?  "  he  repeated. 
"  Can  you  ask,  Mademoiselle,  after  the  events  of  last 
night?  Because,  if  you  please,  I  do  not  wish  to  share 
the  fate  of  M.  de  Tignonville.  Because  in  these  days 
life  is  uncertain,  and  death  too  certain.  Because  it 
was  our  turn  last  night,  and  it  may  be  the  turn  of 
your  friends — to-morrow  night !  " 

"Then  some  have  escaped? "  she  cried. 

He  smiled.  "I  am  glad  to  find  you  so  shrewd,"  he 
replied.  "  In  an  honest  wife  it  is  an  excellent  qual- 
ity. Yes,  Mademoiselle;  one  or  two." 

"Who?     Who?     I  pray  you  tell  me." 

"M.  de  Montgomery,  who  slept  beyond  the  river, 
for  one;  and  the  Vidame,  and  some  wdth  him.  M. 
de  Birou,  whom  I  count  a  Huguenot,  and  who  holds 
the  Arsenal  in  the  King's  teeth,  for  another.  And  a 
few  more.  Enough,  in  a  word.  Mademoiselle,  to  keep 
us  wakeful.  It  is  impossible,  therefore,  for  me  to 
postpone  the  fulfilment  of  your  promise." 

"A  promise  on  conditions!"  she  retorted,  in  rage 
that  she  could  win  no  more.  And  every  line  of  her 
splendid  figure,  every  tone  of  her  voice  flamed  sud- 
den, hot  rebellion.  "I  do  not  go  for  nothing!  You 
gave  me  the  lives  of  all  in  the  house,  Monsieur !  Of 
all!"  she  repeated  with  passion.  "And  all  are  not 


A   BABGAIN.  119 

here !  Before  I  marry  you,  you  must  show  me  M.  de 
Tignoiiville  alive  and  safe !  " 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "He  has  taken  himself 
off,  "he  said.  "It  is  naught  to  me  what  happens  to 
him  now." 

"  It  is  all  to  me !  "  she  retorted. 

At  that  he  glared  at  her,  the  veins  of  his  forehead 
swelling  suddenly.  But  after  a  seeming  struggle  with 
himself  he  put  the  insult  by,  perhaps  for  future  reck- 
oning and  account.  "I  did  what  I  could,"  he  said 
sullenly.  "Had  I  willed  it  he  had  died  there  and 
then  in  the  room  below.  I  gave  him  his  life.  If  he 
has  risked  it  anew  and  lost  it,  it  is  naught  to  me. " 

"It  was  his  life  you  gave  me,"  she  repeated  stub- 
bornly. "His  life — and  the  others.  But  that  is  not 
all,"  she  continued;  "you  promised  me  a  minister." 

He  nodded,  smiling  sourly  to  himself,  as  if  this 
confirmed  a  suspicion  he  had  entertained.  "Or  a 
priest,"  he  said. 

"No,  a  minister." 

"If  one  could  be  obtained.  ,  If  not,  a  priest." 

"No,  it  was  to  be  at  my  will ;  and  I  will  a  minister! 
I  will  a  minister !  "  she  cried  passionately.  "Show  me 
M.  Tiguonville  alive,  and  bring  me  a  minister  of  my 
faith,  and  I  will  keep  my  promise,  M.  de  Tavannes. 
Have  no  fear  of  that.  But  otherwise,  I  will  not. " 

"You  will  not?  "  he  cried.     "You  will  not?  " 

"No!" 

"You  will  not  marry  me?  " 

"No!" 

The  moment  she  had  said  it  fear  seized  her,  and  she 
could  have  fled  from  him,  screaming.  The  flash  of 
his  eyes,  the  sudden  passion  of  his  face,  burned  them- 
selves into  her  memory.  She  thought  for  a  second 


120  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

that  he  would  spring  on  her  and  strike  her  down. 
Yet  though  the  women  behind  her  held  their  breath, 
she  faced  him,  and  did  not  quail ;  and  to  that,  she 
fancied,  she  owed  it  that  he  controlled  himself. 
"You  will  not?"  he  repeated,  as  if  he  could  not  un- 
derstand such  resistance  to  his  will — as  if  he  could 
not  credit  his  ears.  "You  will  not?  "  But  after  that, 
when  he  had  said  it  three  times,  he  laughed ;  a  laugh, 
however,  with  a  snarl  in  it  that  chilled  her  blood. 

"You  bargain,  do  you?"  he  said.  "You  will  have 
the  ^ast  tittle  of  the  price,  will  you?  And  have 
thought  of  this  and  that  to  put  me  off,  and  to  gain 
time  until  your  lover,  who  is  all  to  you,  come  to  save 
you  ?  Oh,  clever  girl !  clever !  But  have  you  thought 
where  you  stand — woman?  Do  you  know  that  if  I 
gave  the  word  to  my  people  they  would  treat  you  as 
the  commonest  baggage  that  tramps  the  Froidmantel  ? 
Do  you  know  that  it  rests  with  me  to  save  you,  or  to 
throw  you  to  the  wolves  whose  ravening  you  hear  ?  " 
And  he  pointed  to  the  window.  l  i  Minister  ?  Priest  ?  " 
he  continued.  "  Mon  Dieu,  Mademoiselle,  I  stand  as- 
tonished at  my  moderation.  You  chatter  to  me  of 
ministers  and  priests,  and  the  one  or  the  other,  when 
it  might  be  neither !  When  you  are  as  much  and  as 
hopelessly  in  my  power  to-day  as  the  wench  in  my 
kitchen !  You !  You  flout  me,  and  make  terms  with 
me !  You ! " 

And  he  came  so  near  her  with  his  dark  harsh  face, 
his  tone  rose  so  menacing  on  the  last  word,  that  her 
nerves,  shattered  before,  gave  way,  and,  unable  to 
control  herself,  she  flinched  with  a  low  cry,  thinking 
he  would  strike  her. 

He  did  not  follow,  nor  move  to  follow;  but  he 
laughed  a  low  laugh  of  content.  And  his  eyes  de- 


A  BAKGAIK  121 

voured  her.  "Ho!  ho!"  he  said.  "We  are  not  so 
brave  as  we  pretend  to  be,  it  seems.  And  yet  you 
dared  to  chaffer  with  me?  You  thought  to  thwart 
me — Tavannes!  Mon  Dieu,  Mademoiselle,  to  what 
did  you  trust?  To  what  did  you  trust?  Ay,  and  to 
what  do  you  trust?  " 

She  knew  that  by  the  movement,  which  fear  had 
forced  from  her,  she  had  jeopardised  everything. 
That  she  stood  to  lose  all  and  more  than  all  which  she 
had  thought  to  win  by  a  bold  front.  A  woman  less 
brave,  of  a  spirit  less  firm,  would  have  given  up  the 
contest,  and  have  been  glad  to  escape  so.  But  this 
woman,  though  her  bloodless  face  showed  that  she 
knew  what  cause  she  had  for  fear,  and  though  her 
heart  was,  indeed,  sick  with  sheer  terror,  held  her 
ground  at  the  point  to  which  she  had  retreated.  She 
played  her  last  card.  "To  what  do  I  trust?"  she 
muttered  with  trembling  lips. 

"Yes,  Mademoiselle,"  he  answered,  between  his 
teeth.  "To  what  do  you  trust — that  you  play  with 
Tavannes?" 

"To  his  honour,  Monsieur,"  she  answered  faintly. 
"And  to  your  promise." 

He  looked  at  her  with  his  mocking  smile.  "And 
yet,"  he  sneered,  "you  thought  a  moment  ago  that  I 
was  going  to  strike  you.  You  thought  that  I  should 
beat  you !  And  now  it  is  my  honour  and  my  promise ! 
Oh,  clever,  clever,  Mademoiselle !  'Tis  so  that  women 
make  fools  of  men.  I  knew  that  something  of  this 
kind  was  on  foot  when  you  sent  for  me,  for  I  know 
women  and  their  ways.  But,  let  me  tell  you,  it  is  an 
ill  time  to  speak  of  honour  when  the  streets  are  red ! 
And  of  promises  when  the  King's  word  is  'No  faith 
with  a  heretic ! ' " 


122  COUNT   HANNIBAL. 

"Yet  you  will  keep  yours,"  she  said  bravely. 

He  did  not  answer  at  once,  and  hope  which  was  al- 
most dead  in  her  breast  began  to  recover ;  nay,  pres- 
ently sprang  up  erect.  For  the  man  hesitated,  it  was 
evident;  he  brooded  with  a  puckered  brow  and  gloomy 
eyes ;  an  observer  might  have  fancied  that  he  traced 
pain  as  well  as  doubt  in  his  face.  At  last:  "There 
is  a  thing, "  he  said  slowly  and  with  a  sort  of  glare 
at  her,  "which,  it  may  be,  you  have  not  reckoned. 
You  press  me  now,  and  will  stand  on  your  terms  and 
your  conditions,  your  -ifs  and  your  unlesses  !  You  will 
have  the  most  from  me,  and  the  bargain  and  a  little 
beside  the  bargain !  But  I  would  have  you  think  if 
you  are  wise.  Bethink  you  how  it  will  be  between 
us  when  you  are  my  wife — if  you  press  me  so  now, 
Mademoiselle.  How  will  it  sweeten  things  then? 
How  will  it  soften  them  ?  And  to  what,  I  pray  you, 
will  you  trust  for  fair  treatment  then,  if  you  will  be 
so  against  me  now  ?  " 

She  shuddered.  "To  the  mercy  of  my  husband," 
she  said  in  a  low  voice.  And  her  chin  sank  on  her 
breast. 

"  You  will  be  content  to  trust  to  that  ?  "  he  answered 
grimly.  And  his  tone  and  the  lifting  of  his  brow 
promised  little  clemency.  "Bethink  you!  'Tis  your 
rights  now,  and  your  terms,  Mademoiselle !  And  then 
it  will  be  only  my  mercy — Madame." 

"I  am  content,"  she  muttered  faintly. 

"And  the  Lord  have  mercy  on  my  soul,  is  what 
you  would  add,"  he  retorted,  "so  much  trust  have 
you  in  my  mercy!  And  you  are  right!  You  are 
right,  since  you  have  played  this  trick  on  me.  But 
as  you  will.  If  you  will  have  it  so,  have  it  so !  You 
shall  stand  on  your  conditions  now ;  you  shall  have 


A  BABGAIK  123 

your  pennyweight  and  full  advantage,  and  the  rigour 
of  the  pact.  But  afterwards — afterwards,  Madame 
de  Tavannes " 

He  did  not  finish  his  sentence,  for  at  the  first  word 
which  granted  her  petition,  Mademoiselle  had  sunk 
down  on  the  low  wooden  window-seat  beside  which 
she  stood,  and,  cowering  into  its  farthest  corner,  her 
face  hidden  on  her  arms,  had  burst  into  violent  weep- 
ing. Her  hair,  hastily  knotted  up  in  the  hurry  of  the 
previous  night,  hung  in  a  thick  plait  to  the  curve  of 
her  waist ;  the  nape  of  her  neck  showed  beside  it  milk- 
white.  The  man  stood  awhile  contemplating  her  in 
silence,  his  gloomy  eyes  watching  the  pitiful  move- 
ment of  her  shoulders,  the  convulsive  heaving  of  her 
figure.  But  he  did  not  offer  to  touch  her,  and  at 
length  he  turned  about.  First  one  and  then  the  other 
of  her  women  quailed  and  shrank  under  his  gaze ;  he 
seemed  about  to  add  something.  But  he  did  not 
speak.  The  sentence  he  had  left  unfinished,  the  long 
look  he  bent  on  the  weeping  girl  as  he  turned  from 
her,  spoke  more  eloquently  of  the  future  than  a  score 
of  orations. 

"  Afterwards,  Madame  de  Tavannes  I " 


CIIAPTEB  XII. 

IN  THE  HALL   OF  THE   LOUYRE. 

IT  is  a  strange  thing  that  love — or  passion,  if  the 
sudden  fancy  for  Mademoiselle  which  had  seized 
Count  Hannibal  be  deemed  unworthy  of  the  higher 
name — should  so  entirely  possess  the  souls  of  those 
who  harbour  it  that  the  greatest  events  and  the  most 
astounding  catastrophes,  even  measures  which  set 
their  mark  for  all  time  on  a  nation,  are  to  them  of 
importance  only  so  far  as  they  affect  the  pursuit  of 
the  fair  one. 

As  Tavannes,  after  leaving  Mademoiselle,  rode 
through  the  paved  lanes,  beneath  the  gabled  houses, 
and  under  the  shadow  of  the  Gothic  spires  of  his  day, 
he  saw  a  score  of  sights,  moving  to  pity,  or  wrath,  or 
wonder.  He  saw  Paris  as  a  city  sacked ;  a  slaughter- 
house, where  for  a  week  a  masque  had  moved  to 
stately  music;  blood  on  the  nailed  doors  and  the 
close-set  window  bars ;  and  at  the  corners  of  the  ways 
strewn  garments,  broken  weapons,  the  livid  dead  in 
heaps.  But  he  saw  all  with  eyes  which  in  all  and 
everywhere,  among  living  and  dead,  sought  only 
Tignonville;  Tignonville  first,  and  next  a  heretic 
minister,  with  enough  of  life  in  him  to  do  his  office. 

Probably  it  was  to  this  that  one  man  hunted 
through  Paris  owed  his  escape  that  day.  He  sprang 
from  a  narrow  passage  full  in  Tavannes'  view,  and, 
hair  on  end,  his  eyes  starting  from  his  head,  ran 
blindly — as  a  hare  will  run  when  chased — along  the 


IN  THE  HALL  OF  THE  LOUYEE.       125 

street  to  meet  Count  Hannibal's  company.  The 
man's  face  was  wet  with  the  dews  of  death,  his  lungs 
seemed  cracking,  his  breath  hissed  from  him  as  he 
ran.  His  pursuers  were  hard  on  him,  and,  seeing 
him  headed  by  Count  Hannibal's  party,  yelled  in 
triumph,  holding  him  for  dead.  And  dead  he  would 
have  been  within  thirty  seconds  had  Tavannes  played 
his  part.  But  his  thoughts  were  elsewhere.  Either 
he  took  the  poor  wretch  for  Tignonville,  or  for  the 
minister  on  whom  his  mind  was  running ;  at  any  rate 
he  suffered  him  to  slip  under  the  belly  of  his  horse ; 
then,  to  make  matters  worse,  he  wheeled  to  follow 
him  in  so  untimely  and  clumsy  a  fashion  that  his 
horse  blocked  the  way  and  stopped  the  pursuers  in 
their  tracks.  The  quarry  slipped  into  an  alley  and 
vanished.  The  hunters  stood  and  blasphemed,  and 
even  for  a  moment  seemed  inclined  to  resent  the  mis- 
take. But  Tavannes  smiled;  a  broader  smile  light- 
ened the  faces  of  the  six  iron-clad  men  behind  him ; 
and  for  some  reason  the  gang  of  ruffians  thought  bet- 
ter of  it  and  slunk  aside. 

There  are  hard  men,  who  feel  scorn  of  the  things 
which  in  the  breasts  of  others  excite  pity.  Tavannes' 
lip  curled  as  he  rode  on  through  the  streets,  looking 
this  way  and  that,  and  seeing  what  a  King  twenty- 
two  years  old  had  made  of  his  capital.  His  lip  curled 
most  of  all  when  he  came,  passing  between  the  two 
tennis-courts,  to  the  east  gate  of  the  Louvre,  and 
found  the  entrance  locked  and  guarded,  and  all  com- 
munication between  city  and  palace  cut  off.  Such  a 
proof  of  unkingly  panic,  in  a  crisis  wrought  by  the 
King  himself,  astonished  him  less  a  few  minutes  later, 
when,  the  keys  having  been  brought  and  the  door 
opened,  he  entered  the  courtyard  of  the  fortress. 


126  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

Within  and  about  the  door  of  the  gatehouse  some 
three-score  archers  and  arquebusiers  stood  to  their 
arms;  not  in  array,  but  in  disorderly  groups,  from 
which  the  babble  of  voices,  of  feverish  laughter,  and 
strained  jests  rose  without  ceasing.  The  westering 
sun,  of  which  the  beams  just  topped  the  farther  side 
of  the  quadrangle,  fell  slantwise  on  their  armour, 
and  heightened  their  exaggerated  and  restless  move- 
ments. To  a  calm  eye  they  seemed  like  men  acting 
in  a  nightmare.  Their  fitful  talk  and  disjointed  ges- 
tures, their  sweating  brows  and  damp  hair,  no  less  than 
the  sullen,  brooding  silence  of  one  here  and  there, 
bespoke  the  abnormal  and  the  terrible.  There  were 
livid  faces  among  them,  and  twitching  cheeks,  and 
some  who  swallowed  much;  and  some  again  vho 
bared  their  crimson  arms  and  bragged  insanely  of  the 
part  they  had  played.  But  perhaps  the  most  striking 
thing  was  the  thirst,  the  desire,  the  demand  for  news, 
and  for  fresh  excitement.  In  the  space  of  time  it 
took  him  to  pass  through  them,  Count  Hannibal 
heard  a  dozen  rumours  of  what  was  passing  in  the 
city;  that  Montgomery  and  the  gentlemen  who  had 
slept  beyond  the  river  had  escaped  on  horseback  in 
their  shirts ;  that  Guise  had  been  shot  in  the  pursuit ; 
that  he  had  captured  the  Vidame  de  Chartres  and  all 
the  fugitives ;  that  he  had  never  left  the  city ;  that  he 
was  even  then  entering  by  the  Porte  de  Bucy.  Again 
that  Biron  had  surrendered  the  Arsenal,  that  he  had 
threatened  to  fire  on  the  city,  that  he  was  dead,  that 
with  the  Huguenots  who  had  escaped  he  was  march- 
ing on  the  Louvre,  that 

And  then  Tavaunes  passed  out  of  the  blinding  sun- 
shine, and  out  of  earshot  of  their  babble,  and  had 
plain  in  his  sight  across  the  quadrangle,  the  new 


IN  THE  HALL  OF  THE  LOUVKE.       127 

facade,  Italian,  graceful,  of  the  Eenaissance;  which 
rose  in  smiling  contrast  with  the  three  dark  Gothic 
sides  that  now,  the  central  tower  removed,  frowned 
unimpeded  at  one  another.  But  what  was  this  which 
lay  along  the  foot  of  the  new  Italian  wall?  This, 
round  which  some  stood,  gazing  curiously,  while 
others  strewed  fresh  sand  about  it,  or  after  long 
downward-looking  glanced  up  to  answer  the  question 
of  a  person  at  a  window? 

Death ;  and  over  death — death  in  its  most  cruel  as- 
pect— a  cloud  of  buzzing,  whirling  flies,  and  the 
smell,  never  to  be  forgotten,  of  much  spilled  blood. 
From  a  doorway  hard  by  came  shrill  bursts  of  hyster- 
ical laughter;  and  with  the  laughter  plumped  out, 
even  as  Tavannes  crossed  the  court,  a  young  girl, 
thrust  forth  it  seemed  by  her  fellows,  for  she  turned 
about  and  struggled  as  she  came.  Once  outside  she 
hung  back,  giggling  and  protesting,  half  willing,  half 
unwilling ;  and  meeting  Tavannes'  eye  thrust  her  way 
in  again  with  a  whirl  of  her  petticoats,  and  a  shriek. 
But  before  he  had  taken  four  paces  she  was  out  again. 

He  paused  to  see  who  she  was,  and  his  thoughts 
involuntarily  went  back  to  the  woman  he  had  left 
weeping  in  the  upper  room.  Then  he  turned  about 
again  and  stood  to  count  the  dead.  He  identified 
Piles,  identified  Pardaillan,  identified  Soubise — whose 
corpse  the  murderers  had  robbed  of  the  last  rag — and 
Touchet  and  St.  Galais.  He  made  his  reckoning  with 
an  unmoved  face,  and  with  the  same  face  stopped  and 
stared,  and  moved  from  one  to  another ;  had  he  not 
seen  the  slaughter  about  ille  petit  homme"  at  Jarnac, 
and  the  dead  of  three  pitched  fields  ?  But  when  a  by- 
stander, smirking  obsequiously,  passed  him  a  jest  on 
Soubise,  and  with  his  finger  pointed  the  jest,  he  had 


128  COUNT   HANNIBAL. 

the  same  hard  unmoved  face  for  the  gibe  as  for  the 
dead.  Arid  the  jester  shrank  away,  abashed  and  per- 
plexed by  his  stare  and  his  reticence. 

Half  way  up  the  staircase  to  the  great  gallery  or 
guardroom  above,  Count  Hannibal  found  his  brother, 
the  Marshal,  huddled  together  in  drunken  slumber 
on  a  seat  in  a  recess.  In  the  gallery  to  which  he 
passed  ^n  without  awakening  him,  a  crowd  of  cour- 
tiers and  ladies,  with  arquebusiers  and  captains  of  the 
quarters,  walked  to  and  fro,  talking  in  whispers ;  or 
peeped  over  shoulders  towards  the  inner  end  of  the 
hall,  where  the  querulous  voice  of  the  King  rose  now 
and  again  above  the  hum.  As  Tavannes  moved  that 
way,  Nangay,  in  the  act  of  passing  out,  booted  and 
armed  for  the  road,  met  him  and  almost  jostled  him. 

"Ah,  well  met,  M.  le  Comte,"  he  sneered,  with  as 
much  hostility  as  he  dared  betray.  "  The  King  has 
asked  for  you  twice." 

"I  am  going  to  him.  And  you?  Whither  in  such 
a  hurry,  M.  Nangay  ?  " 

"To  Chatillon." 

"On  pleasant  business?" 

"Enough  that  it  is  on  the  King's!"  Nangay  re- 
plied with  unexpected  temper.  "I  hope  that  you 
may  find  yours  as  pleasant ! "  he  added  with  a  grin. 
And  he  went  on. 

The  gleam  of  malice  in  the  man's  eye  warned  Ta- 
vannes to  pause.  He  looked  round  for  someone  who 
might  be  in  the  secret,  saw  the  Provost  of  the  Mer- 
chants and  approached  him.  "What's  amiss,  M.  le 
Charron?"  he  asked.  "Is  not  the  affair  going  as  it 
should?" 

"  'Tis  about  the  Arsenal,  M.  le  Comte, "  the  Provost 
answered  busily.  "M.  de  Biron  is  harbouring  the 


IN  THE   HALL   OF   THE  LOUVEE.       129 

vermin  there.  He  has  lowered  the  portcullis  and 
pointed  his  culverins  over  the  gate  and  will  not  yield 
it  or  listen  to  reason.  The  King  would  bring  him  to 
terms,  but  no  one  will  venture  himself  inside  with  the 
message.  Eats  in  a  trap,  you  know,  bite  hard,  and 
care  little  whom  they  bite." 

"  I  begin  to  understand. " 

"Precisely,  M.  le  Comte.  His  Majesty  would  have 
sent  M.  de  Nangay.  But  he  elected  to  go  to  Chatil- 
lon,  to  seize  the  young  brood  there.  The  Admiral's 
children,  you  comprehend." 

"Whose  teeth  are  not  yet  grown!     He  was  wise." 

"To  be  sure,  M.  de  Tavannes,  to  be  sure.  But  the 
King  was  annoyed,  and  on  top  of  that  came  a  priest 
with  complaints,  and  if  I  may  make  so  bold  as  to  ad- 
vise you,  you  will  not " 

But  Tavannes  fancied  that  he  had  caught  the  gist 
of  the  difficulty,  and  with  a  nod  he  moved  on ;  and 
so  he  missed  the  point  of  the  warning  which  the  other 
had  it  in  his  mind  to  give.  A  moment  and  he 
reached  the  inner  circle,  and  there  halted,  discon- 
certed, nay,  taken  aback.  For  as  soon  as  he  showed 
his  face,  the  King,  who  was  pacing  to  and  fro  like  a 
caged  beast,  before  a  table  at  which  three  clerks  knelt 
on  cushions,  espied  him  and  stood  still.  "With  a 
glare  of  something  like  madness  in  his  eyes,  Charles 
raised  his  hand  with  a  shaking  finger  and  singled  him 
out. 

"So,  by  G — d,  you  are  there!"  he  cried,  with  a 
volley  of  blasphemy.  And  he  signed  to  those  about 
Count  Hannibal  to  stand  away  from  him.  "You  are 
there,  are  you  f  And  you  are  not  afraid  to  show  your 
face  ?  I  tell  you,  it's  you  and  such  as  you  bring  us 
into  contempt!  so  that  it  is  said  everywhere  Guise 
9 


130  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

does  all  and  serves  God,  and  we  follow  because  we 
must!  It's  you,  and  such  as  you,  are  stumbling- 
blocks  to  our  good  folk  of  Paris!  Are  you  traitor, 
sirrah?"  he  continued  with  passion,  "or  are  you  of 
our  brother  Alencon's  opinions,  that  you  traverse  our 
orders  to  the  damnation  of  your  soul  and  our  dis- 
credit? Are  you  traitor?  Or  are  you  heretic?  Or 
what  are  you?  God  in  heaven,  will  you  answer  me, 
man,  or  shall  I  send  you  where  you  will  find  your 
tongue  ?  " 

"I  know  not  of  what  your  Majesty  accuses  me," 
Count  Hannibal  answered,  with  a  scarcely  perceptible 
shrug  of  the  shoulders. 

"I?  'Tis  not  I,"  the  King  retorted.  His  hair 
hung  damp  on  his  brow,  and  he  dried  his  hands  con- 
tinually ;  while  his  gestures  had  the  ill-measured  and 
eccentric  violence  of  an  epileptic.  "Here,  you !  Speak, 
father,  and  confound  him !  " 

Then  Tavaunes  discovered  on  the  farther  side  of 
the  circle  the  priest  whom  his  brother  had  ridden 
down  that  morning.  Father  Pezelay's  pale  hatchet- 
face  gleamed  paler  than  ordinary ;  and  a  great  band- 
age hid  one  temple  and  part  of  his  face.  But,  below 
the  bandage,  the  flame  of  his  eyes  was  not  lessened, 
nor  the  venom  of  his  tongue.  To  the  King  he  had 
come — for  no  other  would  deal  with  his  violent  oppo- 
nent; to  the  King's  presence!  and,  as  he  prepared  to 
blast  his  adversary,  now  his  chance  was  come,  his 
long  lean  frame,  in  its  narrow  black  cassock,  seemed 
to  grow  longer,  leaner,  more  baleful,  more  snake- 
like.  He  stood  there  a  fitting  representative  of  the 
dark  fanaticism  of  Paris,  which  Charles  and  his  suc- 
cessor— the  last  of  a  doomed  line — alternately  used  as 
tool  or  feared  as  master ;  and  to  which  the  most  de- 


IN  THE   HALL   OF   THE  LOUVRE.       131 

based  and  the  most  immoral  of  courts  paid,  in  its 
sober  hours,  a  vile  and  slavish  homage.  Even  in 
the  midst  of  the  drunken,  shameless  courtiers — who 
stood,  if  they  stood  for  anything,  for  that  other  in- 
fluence of  the  day,  the  Renaissance — he  was  to  be 
reckoned  with;  and  Count  Hannibal  knew  it.  He 
knew  that  in  the  eyes  not  of  Charles  only,  but  of  nine 
out  of  ten  who  listened  to  him,  a  priest  was  more 
sacred  than  a  virgin,  and  a  tonsure  than  all  the 
virtues  of  spotless  innocence. 

"  Shall  the  King  give  with  one  hand  and  withdraw 
with  the  other  ?  "  the  priest  began,  in  a  voice  hoarse 
yet  strident,  a  voice  borne  high  above  the  crowd  on 
the  wings  of  passion.  "Shall  he  spare  of  the  best  of 
the  men  and  the  maidens  whom  God  hath  doomed, 
whom  the  Church  hath  devoted,  whom  the  King  hath 
given  1  Is  the  King's  hand  shortened  or  his  word  an- 
nulled that  a  man  does  as  he  forbiddeth  and  leaves 
undone  what  he  cornmandeth  ?  Is  God  mocked  ? 
Woe,  woe  unto  you,"  he  continued,  turning  swiftly, 
arms  uplifted,  towards  Tavannes,  "who  please  your- 
self with  the  red  and  white  of  their  maidens  and  take 
of  the  best  of  the  spoil,  sparing  where  the  King's 
word  is  'Spare  not!'  Who  strike  at  Holy  Church 
with  the  sword !  Who " 

"Answer,  sirrah!"  Charles  cried,  spurning  the 
floor  in  his  fury.  He  could  not  listen  long  to  any 
man.  "Is  it  so?  Is  it  so?  Do  you  do  these  things? " 

Count  Hannibal  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  was 
about  to  answer,  when  a  thick,  drunken  voice  rose 
from  the  crowd  behind  him.  "Is  it  what?  Eh!  Is 
it  what?"  it  droned.  And  a  figure  with  bloodshot 
eyes,  disordered  beard,  and  rich  clothes  awry,  forced 
its  way  through  the  obsequious  circle.  It  was  Marshal 


132  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

Tavannes.  "Eh,  what?  You'd  beard  the  King, 
would  you  ?  "  he  hiccoughed  truculently,  his  eyes  on 
Father  Pezelay,  his  hand  on  his  sword.  "  Were  you 
a  priest  teu  times — 

"Silence!"  Charles  cried,  almost  foaming  with 
rage  at  this  fresh  interruption.  "It's  not  he,  fool! 
'Tis  your  pestilent  brother." 

"Who  touches  my  brother  touches  Tavannes!  "  the 
Marshal  answered  with  a  menacing  gesture.  He  was 
sober  enough,  it  appeared,  to  hear  what  was  said,  but 
not  to  comprehend  its  drift ;  and  this  caused  a  titter, 
which  immediately  excited  his  rage.  He  turned  and 
seized  the  nearest  laugher  by  the  ear.  " Insolent!7' 
he  cried.  "  I  will  teach  you  to  laugh  when  the  King 
speaks!  Puppy!  Who  laughs  at  his  Majesty  or 
touches  my  brother  has  to  do  with  Tavannes !  " 

The  King,  in  a  rage  that  almost  deprived  him  of 
speech,  stamped  the  floor  twice.  "Idiot!"  he  cried. 
"  Imbecile !  Let  the  man  go !  'Tis  not  he !  '  Tis  your 
heretic  brother,  I  tell  you !  By  all  the  Saints !  By 
the  body  of— — "  and  he  poured  forth  a  flood  of 
oaths.  "Will  you  listen  to  me  and  be  silent!  Will 
you — your  brother " 

"  If  he  be  not  your  Majesty's  servant,  I  will  kill 
him  with  this  sword ! "  the  irrepressible  Marshal 
struck  in.  "As  I  have  killed  ten  to-day!  Ten!" 
And,  staggering  back,  he  only  saved  himself  from 
falling  by  clutching  Chicot  about  the  neck. 

"Steady,  my  pretty  Mar6chale !"  the  jester  cried, 
chucking  him  under  the  chin  with  one  hand,  while 
with  some  difficulty  he  supported  him  with  the  other 
— f or  he,  too,  was  far  from  sober — 

"  Pretty  Margot,  toy  with  me, 
Maiden  bashful " 


IN  THE  HALL  OF  THE  LOUYEE.   133 

"Silence!"  Charles  cried,  darting  forth  his  long 
arms  in  a  fury  of  impatience.  "God,  have  I  killed 
every  man  of  sense?  Are  you  all  gone  mad?  Si- 
lence! Do  you  hear?  Silence!  And  let  me  hear 
what  he  has  to  say, "  with  a  movement  towards  Count 
Hannibal.  "And  look  you,  sirrah,"  he  continued 
with  a  curse,  "see  that  it  be  to  the  purpose !  " 

"If  it  be  a  question  of  your  Majesty's  service," 
Tavauues  answered.  "And  obedience  to  your  Ma- 
jesty's orders,  I  am  deeper  in  it  than  he  who  stands 
there!"  with  a  sign  towards  the  priest.  "I  give  my 
word  for  that.  And  I  will  prove  it." 

"How,  sir?"  Charles  cried.  "How,  how,  how? 
How  will  you  prove  it  ?  " 

"By  doing  for  you,  sire,  what  he  will  not  do!" 
Tavannes  answered  scornfully.  "Let  him  stand  out, 
and  if  he  will  serve  his  Church  as  I  will  serve  my 
King— 

"  Blaspheme  not ! "  cried  the  priest. 

"Chatter  not!"  Tavannes  retorted  hardily,  "but 
do!  Better  is  he,"  he  continued,  "who  takes  a  city 
than  he  who  slays  women !  Nay,  sire, "  he  went  on 
hurriedly,  seeing  the  King  start,  "  be  not  angry,  but 
hear  me !  You  would  send  to  Biron,  to  the  Arsenal  ? 
You  seek  a  messenger,  sire  ?  Then  let  the  good  father 
be  the  man.  Let  him  take  your  Majesty's  will  to 
Biron,  and  let  him  see  the  Grand  Master  face  to  face, 
and  bring  him  to  reason.  Or,  if  he  will  not,  I  will ! 
Let  that  be  the  test!" 

"Ay,  ay!"  cried  Marshal  de  Tavannes,  "you  say 
well,  brother !  Let  him ! " 

"And  if  he  will  not,  I  will!"  Tavannes  repeated. 
"Let  that  be  the  test,  sire." 

The  King  wheeled  suddenly  to  Father    Pezelay. 


134  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

"You  hear,  father?  "  he  said.     "What  say  you!  " 

The  priest's  face  grew  sallow,  and  more  sallow. 
He  knew  that  the  walls  of  the  Arsenal  sheltered  men 
whose  hands  no  convention  and  no  order  of  Birou's 
would  keep  from  his  throat,  were  the  grim  gate  and 
frowning  culverins  once  passed;  men  who  had  seen 
their  women  and  children,  their  wives  and  sisters  im- 
molated at  his  word,  and  now  asked  naught  but  to 
stand  face  to  face  and  eye  to  eye  with  him  and  tear 
him  limb  from  limb  before  they  died!  The  chal- 
lenge, therefore,  was  one-sided  and  unfair;  but  for 
that  very  reason  it  shook  him.  The  astuteness  of  the 
man  who,  taken  by  surprise,  had  conceived  this  snare 
filled  him  with  dread.  He  dared  not  accept,  and  he 
scarcely  dared  to  refuse  the  offer.  And  meantime 
the  eyes  of  the  courtiers,  who  grinned  in  their  beards, 
were  on  him.  At  length  he  spoke,  but  it  was  in  a 
voice  which  had  lost  its  boldness  and  assurance. 

"It  is  not  for  me  to  clear  myself,"  he  cried,  shrill 
and  violent,  "but  for  those  who  are  accused,  for  those 
who  have  belied  the  King's  word,  and  set  at  naught 
his  Christian  orders.  For  you,  Count  Hannibal, 
heretic,  or  no  better  than  heretic,  it  is  easy  to  say  '  I 
go. '  For  you  go  but  to  your  own,  and  your  own  will 
receive  you ! " 

"Then  you  will  not  go?  "  with  a  jeer. 

"  At  your  command  ?  No ! "  the  priest  shrieked 
with  passion.  "  His  Majesty  knows  whether  I  serve 
him." 

"I  know,"  Charles  cried,  stamping  his  foot  in  a 
fury,  "'that  you  all  serve  me  when  it  pleases  you! 
That  you  are  all  sticks  of  the  same  faggot,  wood  of 
the  same  bundle,  hell -babes  in  your  own  business,  and 
sluggards  in  mine !  You  kill  to-day  and  you'll  lay  it 


IN  THE  HALL  OF   THE  LOUVEE.       135 

tome  to-morrow!  Ay,  you  will!  you  will!"  he  re- 
peated frantically,  and  drove  home  the  asseveration 
with  a  fearful  oath.  "  The  dead  are  as  good  servants 
as  you!  Foucauld  was  better!  Foucauld?  Fou- 
cauld?  Ah,  my  God!" 

And  abruptly  in  presence  of  them  all,  with  the 
sacred  name,  which  he  so  often  defiled,  on  his  lips, 
Charles  turned,  and  covering  his  face  burst  into 
childish  weeping ;  while  a  great  silence  fell  on  all — 
on  Bussy  with  the  blood  of  his  cousin  Kesiiel  on  his 
point,  on  Fervacques,  the  betrayer  of  his  friend,  on 
Chicot,  the  slayer  of  his  rival,  on  Cocconnas  the  cruel 
— on  men  with  hands  unwashed  from  the  slaughter, 
and  on  the  shameless  women  who  lined  the  walls ;  on 
all  who  used  this  sobbing  man  for  their  stepping- 
stone,  and,  to  attain  their  ends  and  gain  their  pur- 
poses, trampled  his  dull  soul  in  blood  and  mire. 

One  looked  at  another  in  consternation.  Fear  grew 
in  eyes  that  a  moment  before  were  bold;  cheeks 
turned  pale  that  a  moment  before  were  hectic.  If  he 
changed  as  rapidly  as  this,  if  so  little  dependence 
could  be  placed  on  his  moods  or  his  resolutions,  who 
was  safe1?  Whose  turn  might  it  not  be  to-morrow1? 
Or  who  might  not  be  held  accountable  for  the  deeds 
done  this  day?  Many,  from  whom  remorse  had 
seemed  far  distant  a  while  before,  shuddered  and 
glanced  behind  them.  It  was  as  if  the  dead  who  lay 
stark  without  the  doors,  ay,  and  the  countless  dead  of 
Paris,  with  whose  shrieks  the  air  was  laden,  had 
flocked  in  shadowy  shape  into  the  hall ;  and  there, 
standing  beside  their  murderers,  had  whispered  with 
their  cold  breath  in  the  living  ears,  "A  reckoning! 
A  reckoning !  As  I  am,  thou  shalt  be ! " 

It  v.'as  Count  Hannibal  who  broke  the  spell  and  the 


136  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

silence,  and  with  his  hand  on  his  brother's  shoulder 
stood  forward.  "Nay,  sire,"  he  cried,  in  a  voice 
which  rang  defiant  in  the  roof,  and  seemed  to  chal- 
lenge alike  the  living  and  the  dead,  "if  all  deny  the 
deed,  yet  will  not  I !  What  we  have  done  we  have 
done!  So  be  it!  The  dead  are  dead!  So  be  it! 
For  the  rest,  your  Majesty  has  still  one  servant  who 
will  do  your  will,  one  soldier  whose  life  is  at  your 
disposition!  I  have  said  I  will  go,  and  I  go,  sire. 
And  you,  churchman,"  he  continued,  turning  in  bit- 
ter scorn  to  the  priest,  "do  you  go  too — to  church! 
To  church,  shaveling !  Go,  watch  and  pray  for  us ! 
Fast  and  flog  for  us!  Whip  those  shoulders,  whip 
them  till  the  blood  runs  down !  For  it  is  all,  it  seems, 
you  will  do  for  your  King ! " 

Charles  turned.  "Silence,  railer!"  he  said  in  a 
broken  voice.  " Sow  no  more  troubles !  Already,"  a 
shudder  shook  his  tall  ungainly  form,  "I  see  blood, 
blood,  blood  everywhere !  Blood !  Ah,  God,  shall  I 
'from  this  time  see  anything  else?  But  there  is  no 
turning  back.  There  is  no  undoing.  So,  do  you  go 
to  Biron.  And  do  you,"  he  went  on,  sullenly  ad- 
dressing Marshal  Tavannes,  "take  him  and  tell  him 
what  it  is  needful  he  should  know." 

"'Tis  done,  sire!"  the  Marshal  cried  with  a  hic- 
cough. "Come,  brother!" 

But  when  the  two,  the  courtiers  making  quick  way 
for  them,  had  passed  down  the  hall  to  the  door,  the 
Marshal  tapped  Hannibal's  sleeve.  "It  was  touch 
and  go, "  he  muttered ;  it  was  plain  he  had  been  more 
sober  than  he  seemed.  "Mind  you,  it  does  not  do 
to  thwart  our  little  master  in  his  fits!  Eemember 
that  another  time,  or  worse  will  come  of  it,  brother. 
As  it  is,  you  came  out  of  it  finely  and  tripped  that 


IN  THE  HALL  OF   THE   LOUVEE.       137 

black  devil's  heels  to  a  marvel !     But  you  won't  be  so 
mad  as  to  go  to  Biron  ?  " 

"Yes/'  Count  Hannibal  answered  coldly.  "I  shall 
go." 

"Better  not!  Better  not!"  the  Marshal  answered. 
"  'Twill  be  easier  to  go  in  than  to  come  out — with  a 
whole  throat!  Have  you  taken  wild  cats  in  the 
hollow  of  a  tree?  The  young  first,  and  then  the 
she-cat?  Well,  it  will  be  that!  Take  my  advice, 
brother.  Have  after  Montgomery,  if  you  please,  ride 
with  Nancay  to  Chatillon — he  is  mounting  now — go 
where  you  please  out  of  Paris,  but  don't  go  there! 
Biron  hates  us,  hates  me.  And  for  the  King,  if  he 
do  not  see  you  for  a  few  days,  'twill  blow  over  in  a 
week. " 

Count  Hannibal  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "~No,"  he 
said,  "I  shall  go.;; 

The  Marshal  stared  a  moment.  "Morbleu!"  he 
said,  "why?  'Tis  not  to  please  the  King,  I  know. 
What  do  you  think  to  find  there,  brother?  " 

"A  minister,"  Hannibal  answered  gently.  "I  want 
one  with  life  in  him,  and  they  are  scarce  in  the 
open.  So  I  must  to  covert  after  him. "  And,  twitch- 
ing his  sword-belt  a  little  nearer  to  his  hand,  he 
passed  across  the  court  to  the  gate,  and  to  his  horses. 
The  Marshal  went  back  laughing,  and,  slapping  his 
thigh  as  he  entered  the  hall,  jostled  by  accident  a 
gentleman  who  was  passing  out. 

"What  is  it?"  the  Gascon  cried  hotly;  for  it  was 
Chicot  he  had  jostled. 

"  Who  touches  my  brother  touches  Tavannes ! "  the 
Marshal  hiccoughed.  And,  smiting  his  thigh  anew, 
he  went  off  into  another  fit  of  laughter. 


CHAPTEE  XIII. 

DIPLOMACY. 

WHERE  the  old  wall  of  Paris,  of  which  no  vestige 
remains,  ran  down  on  the  east  to  the  north  bank  of 
the  river,  the  space  in  the  angle  between  the  Seine 
and  the  ramparts  beyond  the  Rue  St.  Pol  wore  at 
this  date  an  aspect  typical  of  the  troubles  of  the  time. 
Along  the  waterside  the  gloomy  old  Palace  of  St.  Pol, 
once  the  residence  of  the  mad  King  Charles  the  Sixth 
— and  his  wife,  the  abandoned  Isabeau  de  Baviere — 
sprawled  its  maze  of  mouldering  courts  and  ruined 
galleries,  a  dreary  monument  of  the  Gothic  days 
which  were  passing  from  France.  Its  spacious  curti- 
lage and  dark  pleasaunces  covered  all  the  ground  be- 
tween the  river  and  the  Rue  St.  Antoine ;  and  north 
of  this,  under  the  shadow  of  the  eight  great  towers  of 
the  Bastille,  which  looked,  four  outward  to  check  the 
stranger,  four  inward  to  bridle  the  town,  a  second 
palace,  beginning  where  St.  Pol  ended,  carried  the 
realm  of  decay  to.the  city  wall. 

This  second  palace  was  the  Hotel  des  Touruelles, 
a  fantastic  medley  of  turrets,  spires,  and  gables,  that 
equally  with  its  neighbour  recalled  the  days  of  the 
English  domination ;  it  had  been  the  abode  of  the  Re- 
gent Bedford.  From  his  time  it  had  remained  for  a 
hundred  years  the  town  residence  of  the  kings  of 
France;  but  the  death  of  Henry  II.,  slain  in  its  lists 
by  the  lance  of  the  same  Montgomery  who  was  this 


DIPLOMACY.  139 

day  fleeing  for  his  life  before  Guise,  had  given  his 
widow  a  distaste  for  it.  Catherine  de  Medicis,  her 
sons,  and  the  Court  had  abandoned  it;  already  its 
gardens  lay  a  tangled  wilderness,  its  roofs  let  in  the 
rain,  rats  played  where  kings  had  slept;  and  in  "our 
palace  of  the  Tournelles"  reigned  only  silence  and 
decay.  Unless,  indeed,  as  was  whispered  abroad,  the 
grim  shade  of  the  eleventh  Louis  sometimes  walked 
in  its  desolate  precincts. 

In  the  innermost  angle  between  the  ramparts  and 
the  river,  shut  off  from  the  rest  of  Paris  by  the  de- 
caying courts  and  enceintes  of  these  forsaken  palaces, 
stood  the  Arsenal.  Destroyed  in  great  part  by  the 
explosion  of  a  powder-mill  a  few  years  earlier,  it  was 
in  the  main  new ;  and  by  reason  of  its  river  frontage, 
which  terminated  at  the  ruined  tower  of  Billy,  and 
its  proximity  to  the  Bastille,  it  was  esteemed  one  of 
the  keys  of  Paris.  It  was  the  appanage  of  the  Mas- 
ter of  the  Ordnance,  and  within  its  walls  M.  de  Bi- 
ron,  a  Huguenot  in  politics,  if  not  in  creed,  who  held 
the  office  at  this  time,  had  secured  himself  on  the  first 
alarm.  During  the  day  he  had  admitted  a  number  of 
refugees,  whose  courage  or  good  luck  had  led  them  to 
his  gate ;  and  as  night  fell — on  such  a  carnage  as  the 
hapless  city  had  not  beheld  since  the  great  slaughter 
of  the  Armaguacs,  one  hundred  and  fifty-four  years 
earlier — the  glow  of  his  matches  through  the  dusk, 
and  the  sullen  tramp  of  his  watchmen  as  they  paced 
the  walls,  indicated  that  there  was  still  one  place  in 
Paris  where  the  King's  will  did  not  run. 

In  comparison  of  the  disorder  which  prevailed  in 
the  city,  a  deadly  quiet  reigned  here;  a  stillness  so 
chill  that  a  timid  man  must  have  stood  and  hesitated 
to  approach.  But  a  stranger  who  about  nightfall  rode 


140  COUNT  HA15TNIBAL. 

down  the  street  towards  the  entrance,  a  single  foot- 
man running  at  his  stirrup,  only  nodded  a  stern  ap- 
proval of  the  preparations.  As  he  drew  nearer  he  cast 
an  attentive  eye  this  way  and  that ;  nor  stayed  until 
a  hoarse  challenge  brought  him  up  when  he  had  come 
within  six  horses'  lengths  of  the  Arsenal  gate.  He 
reined  up  then,  and  raising  his  voice,  asked  in  clear 
tones  for  M.  de  Biron. 

"Go,"  he  continued  boldly,  "tell  the  Grand  Master 
that  one  from  the  King  is  here,  and  would  speak  with 
him." 

"From  the  King  of  France?  "  the  officer  on  the  gate 
asked. 

"Surely!  Is  there  more  than  one  King  in  France?" 

A  curse  and  a  bitter  cry  of  "King?  King  Herod! " 
•were  followed  by  a  muttered  discussion  that,  in  the 
ears  of  one  of  the  two  who  waited  in  the  gloom  below, 
boded  little  good.  The  two  could  descry  figures  mov- 
ing to  and  fro  before  the  faint  red  light  of  the  smoul- 
dering matches;  and  presently  a  man  on  the  gate 
kindled  a  torch,  and  held  it  so  as  to  fling  its  light 
downward.  The  stranger's  attendant  cowered  behind 
the  horse.  "Have  a  care,  my  lord!"  he  whispered. 
"They  are  aiming  at  us!  " 

If  so  the  rider's  bold  front  and  unmoved  demeanour 
gave  them  pause.  Presently,  "I  will  send  for  the 
Grand  Master "  the  man  who  had  spoken  before  an- 
nounced. "In  whose  name,  monsieur?  " 

"No  matter,"  the  stranger  answered.  "Say,  one 
from  the  King." 

"You  are  alone?  " 

"I  shall  enter  alone." 

The  assurance  seemed  to  be  satisfactory,  for  the 
man  answered  "Good!"  and  after  a  brief  delay  a 


DIPLOMACY.  141 

wicket  in  the  gate  was  opened,  the  portcullis  creaked 
upward,  and  a  plank  was  thrust  across  the  ditch.  The 
horseman  waited  until  the  preparations  were  com- 
plete ;  then  he  slid  to  the  ground,  threw  his  rein  to 
the  servant,  and  boldly  walked  across.  In  an  instant 
he  left  behind  him  the  dark  street,  the  river,  and 
the  sounds  of  outrage,  which  the  night  breeze  bore 
from  the  farther  bank,  and  found  himself  within  the 
vaulted  gateway,  in  a  bright  glare  of  light,  the  centre 
of  a  ring  of  gleaming  eyes  and  angry  faces. 

The  light  blinded  him  for  a  few  seconds ;  but  the 
guards,  on  their  side,  were  in  no  better  case.  For  the 
stranger  was  masked ;  and  in  their  ignorance  who  it 
was  looked  at  them  through  the  slits  in  the  black  vel- 
vet they  stared,  disconcerted,  and  at  a  loss.  There 
were  some  there  with  naked  weapons  in  their  hands 
who  would  have  struck  him  through  had  they  known 
who  he  was ;  and  more  who  would  have  stood  aside 
while  the  deed  was  done.  But  the  uncertainty — that 
and  the  masked  man's  tone  paralysed  them.  For 
they  reflected  that  he  might  be  any  one.  Conde, 
indeed,  stood  too  small,  but  Navarre,  if  he  lived, 
might  fill  that  cloak ;  or  Guise,  or  Anjou,  or  the  King 
himself.  And  while  some  would  not  have  scrupled 
to  strike  the  blood  royal,  more  would  have  been 
quick  to  protect  and  avenge  it.  And  so  before  the 
dark  uncertainty  of  the  mask,  before  the  riddle  of  the 
smiling  eyes  which  glittered  through  the  slits,  they 
stared  irresolute ;  until  a  hand,  the  hand  of  one  bolder 
than  his  fellows,  was  raised  to  pluck  away  the  screen. 

The  unknown  dealt  the  fellow  a  buffet  with  his 
fist.  "Down,  rascal!"  he  said  hoarsely.  "And 
you" — to  the  officer — "show  me  instantly  to  M.  de 
Biron!" 


142  COUNT   HANNIBAL. 

But  the  lieutenant,  who  stood  iu  fear  of  his  men, 
looked  at  him  doubtfully.  "Nay,"  he  said,  "not  so 
fast ! "  And  one  of  the  others,  taking  the  lead,  cried, 
"No!  We  may  have  no  need  of  M.  de  Biron.  Your 
name,  monsieur,  first." 

With  a  quick  movement  the  stranger  gripped  the 
officer's  wrist.  "Tell  your  master,"  he  said,  "that 
he  who  clasped  his  wrist  thus  on  the  night  of  Pente- 
cost is  here,  and  would  speak  with  him !  And  say, 
mark  you,  that  I  will  come  to  him,  not  he  to  me !  " 

The  sign  and  the  tone  imposed  upon  the  boldest. 
Two-thirds  of  the  watch  were  Huguenots,  who  burned 
to  avenge  the  blood  of  their  fellows ;  and  these,  over- 
riding their  officer,  had  agreed  to  deal  with  the  intru- 
der, if  a  Papegot,  without  recourse  to  the  Grand  Mas- 
ter, whose  moderation  they  dreaded.  A  knife-thrust 
in  the  ribs,  and  another  body  in  the  ditch — why  not, 
when  such  things  were  done  outside  ?  But  even  these 
doubted  now;  and  M.  Peridol,  the  lieutenant,  read- 
ing in  the  eyes  of  his  men  the  suspicions  which  he 
had  himself  conceived,  was  only  anxious  to  obey,  if 
they  would  let  him.  So  gravely  was  he  impressed, 
indeed,  by  the  bearing  of  the  unknown  that  he 
turned  when  he  had  withdrawn,  and  came  back  to 
assure  himself  that  the  men  meditated  no  harm  in  his 
absence ;  nor  until  he  had  exchanged  a  whisper  with 
one  of  them  would  he  leave  them  and  go. 

While  he  was  gone  on  his  errand  the  envoy  leaned 
against  the  wall  of  the  gateway,  and,  with  his  chin 
sunk  on  his  breast  and  his  mind  fallen  into  reverie, 
seemed  unconscious  of  the  dark  glances  of  which  he 
was  the  target.  He  remained  in  this  position  until 
the  officer  came  back,  followed  by  a  man  with  a  lan- 
tern. Their  coming  roused  the  unknown,  who,  in- 


DIPLOMACY.  143 

vited  to  follow  Peridol,  traversed  two  courts  without 
remark,  and  in  the  same  silence  entered  a  building  in 
the  extreme  eastern  corner  of  the  enceinte  abutting 
on  the  ruined  Tour  de  Billy.  Here,  in  an  upper 
floor,  the  Governor  of  the  Arsenal  had  established  his 
temporary  lodging. 

The  chamber  into  which  the  stranger  was  intro- 
duced betrayed  the  haste  in  which  it  had  been  pre- 
pared for  its  occupant.  Two  silver  lamps  which 
hung  from  the  beams  of  the  unceiled  roof  shed  light 
on  a  medley  of  arms  and  inlaid  armour,  of  parch- 
ments, books,  and  steel  caskets,  which  encumbered 
not  the  tables  only,  but  the  stools  and  chests  that, 
after  the  fashion  of  that  day,  stood  formally  along 
the  arras.  In  the  midst  of  the  disorder,  on  the  bare 
floor,  walked  the  man  who,  more  than  any  other,  had 
been  instrumental  in  drawing  the  Huguenots  to  Paris 
— and  to  their  doom.  It  was  not  wonderful  that  the 
events  of  the  day,  the  surprise  and  horror  still  rode 
his  mind ;  nor  that  even  he  who  passed  for  a  model  of 
stiffness  and  reticence  betrayed  for  once  the  indigna- 
tion which  filled  his  breast.  Until  the  officer  had 
withdrawn  and  closed  the  door  he  did,  indeed,  keep 
silence ;  standing  beside  the  table  and  eyeing  his  vis- 
itor with  a  lofty  port  and  a  stern  glance.  But  the 
moment  he  was  assured  that  they  were  alone  he 
spoke. 

"  Your  Highness  may  unmask  now, "  he  said,  mak- 
ing no  effort  to  hide  his  contempt.  "Yet  were  you 
well  advised  to  take  the  precaution,  since  you  had 
hardly  come  at  me  in  safety  without  it.  Had  those 
who  keep  the  gate  seen  you,  I  would  not  have  an- 
swered for  your  Highness's  life!  The  more  shame," 
he  continued  vehemently,  "  on  the  deeds  of  this  day 


144  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

which  have  compelled  the  brother  of  a  King  of  France 
to  hide  his  face  in  his  own  capital  and  in  his  own  for- 
tress. For  I  dare  to  say,  Monsieur,  what  no  other 
will  say,  now  the  Admiral  is  dead.  You  have 
brought  back  the  days  of  the  Armagnacs.  You  have 
brought  bloody  days  and  an  evil  name  on  France, 
and  I  pray  God  that  you  may  not  pay  in  your  turn 
what  you  have  exacted.  But  if  you  continue  to  be 
advised  by  M.  de  Guise,  this  I  will  say,  Monsieur  " — 
and  his  voice  fell  low  and  stern.  "Burgundy  slew 
Orleans,  indeed;  but  he  came  in  his  turn  to  the 
Bridge  of  Moutereau. " 

"You  take  me  for  Monsieur?  "  the  unknown  asked. 
And  it  was  plain  that  he  smiled  under  his  mask. 

Biron's  face  altered.  "I  take  you,"  he  answered 
sharply,  "for  him  whose  sign  you  sent  me." 

"The  wisest  are  sometimes  astray,"  the  other  an- 
swered with  a  low  laugh.  And  he  took  off  his  mask. 

The  Grand  Master  started  back,  his  eyes  sparkling 
with  anger.  "M.  de  Tavannes?"  he  cried,  and  for  a 
moment  he  was  silent  in  sheer  astonishment.  Then, 
striking  his  hand  on  the  table,  "What  means  this 
trickery ! "  he  asked. 

"  It  is  of  the  simplest, "  Tavannes  answered  coolly. 
"And  yet,  as  you  just  now  said,  I  had  hardly  come 
at  you  without  it.  And  I  had  to  come  at  you.  No, 
M.  de  Biron,"  he  added  quickly,  as  Biron  in  a  rage 
laid  his  hand  on  a  bell  which  stood  beside  him  on  the 
table,  "you  cannot  that  way  undo  what  is  done." 

"I  can  at  least  deliver  you,"  the  Grand  Master 
answered,  in  heat,  "to  those  who  will  deal  with  you 
as  you  have  dealt  with  us  and  ours. " 

"It  will  avail  you  nothing,"  Count  Hannibal  re- 
plied soberly.  "For  see  here,  Grand  Master,  I  come 


DIPLOMACY.  145 

from  the  King.  If  you  are  at  war  with  him,  and 
hold  his  fortress  in  his  teeth,  I  am  his  ambassador 
and  sacrosanct.  If  you  are  at  peace  with  him.  and 
hold  it  at  his  will,  I  am  his  servant,  and  safe  also." 

"At  peace  and  safe?"  Biroii  cried,  his  voice  trem- 
bling with  indignation.  "And  are  those  safe  or  at 
peace  who  came  here  trusting  to  his  word,  who  lay  in 
his  palace  and  slept  in  his  beds?  Where  are  they, 
and  how  have  they  fared,  that  you  dare  appeal  to  the 
law  of  nations,  or  he  to  the  loyalty  of  Biron  ?  And 
for  you  to  beard  me,  whose  brother  to-day  hounded 
the  dogs  of  this  vile  city  on  the  noblest  in  France, 
who  have  leagued  yourself  with  a  crew  of  foreigners 
to  do  a  deed  which  will  make  our  country  stink  in  the 
nostrils  of  the  world  when  we  are  dust!  You,  to 
come  here  and  talk  of  peace  and  safety !  M.  de  Ta- 
vannes  " — and  he  struck  his  hand  on  the  table — "you 
are  a  bold  man.  I  know  why  the  King  had  a  will  to 
send  you,  but  I  know  not  why  you  had  the  will  to 
come. " 

"That  I  will  tell  you  later,"  Count  Hannibal  an- 
swered coolly.  "For  the  King,  first.  My  message  is 
brief,  M.  de  Biron.  Have  you  a  mind  to  hold  the 
scales  in  France  ? " 

"Between?"  Biron  asked  contemptuously. 

"  Between  the  Lorraiuers  and  the  Huguenots. " 

The  Grand  Master  scowled  fiercely.  "I  have 
played  the  go-between  once  too  often,"  he  growled. 

"It  is  no  question  of  going  between,  it  is  a  question 
of  holding  between, "  Tavannes  answered  coolly.  "  It 
is  a  question — but,  in  a  word,  have  you  a  mind,  M. 
de  Biron,  to  be  Governor  of  Eochelle?  The  King, 
having  dealt  the  blow  that  has  been  struck  to-day, 
looks  to  follow  up  severity,  as  a  wise  ruler  should, 
10 


146  COUNT   HANNIBAL. 

with  indulgence.  And  to  quiet  the  minds  of  the 
Eochellois  he  would  set  over  them  a  ruler  at  once  ac- 
ceptable to  them — or  war  must  come  of  it — and  faith- 
ful to  his  Majesty.  Such  a  man,  M.  de  Biron,  will  in 
such  a  post  be  Master  of  the  Kingdom ;  for  he  will 
hold  the  doors  of  Janus,  and  as  he  bridles  his  sea- 
dogs,  or  unchains  them,  there  will  be  peace  or  war  in 
France. " 

"Is  all  that  from  the  King's  mouth?  "  Biron  asked 
with  sarcasm.  But  his  passion  had  died  down.  He 
was  grown  thoughtful,  suspicious ;  he  eyed  the  other 
intently  as  if  he  would  read  his  heart. 

"The  offer  is  his,  and  the  reflections  are  mine," 
Tavaunes  answered  drily.  "Let  me  add  one  more. 
The  Admiral  is  dead.  The  King  of  Navarre  and  the 
Prince  of  Conde  are  prisoners.  Who  is  now  to  bal- 
ance the  Italians  and  the  Guises'?  The  Grand  Master 
— if  he  be  wise  and  content  to  give  the  law  to  France 
from  the  citadel  of  Eochelle." 

Biron  stared  at  the  speaker  in  astonishment  at  his 
frankness.  "You  are  a  bold  man,"  he  cried  at  last. 
"But  timeo  Danaos  et  dona  ferentes,"  he  continued  bit- 
terly. "You  offer,  sir,  too  much." 

"The  offer  is  the  King's." 

"And  the  conditions'?     The  price?  " 

"That  you  remain  quiet,  M.  de  Biron." 

"  In  the  Arsenal  ?  " 

"In  the  Arsenal.  And  do  not  too  openly  counter- 
act the  King's  will.  That  is  all." 

The  Grand  Master  looked  puzzled.  "I  will  give 
up  no  one,"  he  said.  "No  one!  Let  that  be  under- 
stood. " 

"The  King  requires  no  one." 

A  pause.     Then,  "Does  M.  de  Guise  know  of  the 


DIPLOMACY.  147 

offer  ? "  Biron  inquired ;  and  his  eye  grew  bright. 
He  hated  the  Guises  and  was  hated  by  them.  It  was 
there  he  was  a  Huguenot. 

"He  has  gone  far  to-day,"  Count  Hannibal  an- 
swered drily.  "And  if  no  worse  come  of  it  should 
be  content.  Madame  Catherine  knows  of  it. " 

The  Grand  Master  was  aware  that  Marshal  Ta- 
vannes  depended  on  the  Queen-mother;  and  he 
shrugged  his  shoulders.  "Ay,  'tis  like  her  policy," 
he  muttered.  "'Tis  like  her!"  And  pointing  his 
guest  to  a  cushioned  chest  which  stood  against  the 
wall,  he  sat  down  in  a  chair  beside  the  table  and 
thought  awhile,  his  brow  wrinkled,  his  eyes  dream- 
ing. By-and-by  he  laughed  sourly.  "You  have 
lighted  the  fire,  "he  said,  "  and  would  fain  I  put  it 
out," 

"  We  would  have  you  hinder  it  spreading." 

"You  have  done  the  deed  and  are  loth  to  pay  the 
blood-money.  That  is  it,  is  it?  " 

"We  prefer  to  pay  it  to  M.  de  Biron,"  Count  Han- 
nibal answered  civilly. 

Again  the  Grand  Master  was  silent  awhile.  At 
length  he  looked  up  and  fixed  Tavannes  with  eyes 
keen  as  steel.  "What  is  behind?"  he  growled. 
"Say,  man,  what  is  it?  What  is  behind?  " 

"If  there  be  aught  behind,  I  do  not  know  it,"  Ta- 
vannes answered  steadfastly. 

M.  de  Biron  relaxed  the  fixity  of  his  gaze.  "But 
you  said  that  you  bad  an  object?  "  he  returned. 

"I  had — in  being  the  bearer  of  the  message." 

"What  was  it?" 

"My  object?  To  learn  two  things." 

"The  first,  if  it  please  you? "  The  Grand  Master's 
chin  stuck  out  a  little,  as  he  spoke. 


148  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

"  Have  you  in  the  Arsenal  a  M.  de  Tignonville,  a 
gentleman  of  Poitou  ?  " 

"I  have  not,"  Biron  answered  curtly.  "The  sec- 
ond?" 

"Have  you  here  a  Huguenot  minister  f  " 

"  I  have  not.  And  if  I  had  I  should  not  give  him 
up,"  he  added  firmly. 

Tavannes  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "I  have  a  use 
for  one,"  he  said  carelessly.  "But  it  need  not  harm 
him." 

"For  what,  then,  do  you  need  him  1" 

"To  marry  me." 

The  other  stared.  "But  you  are  a  Catholic,"  he 
said. 

"But  she  is  a  Huguenot,"  Tavannes  answered. 

The  Grand  Master  did  not  attempt  to  hide  his 
astonishment.  "And  she  sticks  on  that?"  he  ex- 
claimed. "To-day?" 

"  She  sticks  on  that.     To-day. " 

"To-day?  NomdeDieu!  To-day!  Well,"  brush- 
ing the  matter  aside  after  a  pause  of  bewilderment, 
"any  way,  I  cannot  help  her.  I  have  no  minister 
here.  If  there  be  aught  else  I  can  do  for  her " 

"Nothing,  I  thank  you,"  Tavannes  answered. 
"Then  it  only  remains  for  me  to  take  your  answer  to 
the  King  ? "  And  he  rose  politely,  and  taking  his 
mask  from  the  table  prepared  to  assume  it. 

M.  de  Biron  gazed  at  him  a  moment  without  speak- 
ing, as  if  he  pondered  on  the  answer  he  should  give. 
At  length  he  nodded,  and  rang  the  bell  which  stood 
beside  him. 

"  The  mask ! "  he  muttered  in  a  low  voice  as  foot- 
steps sounded  without.  And,  obedient  to  the  hint, 
Tavannes  disguised  himself.  A  second  later  the  offl- 


DIPLOMACY.  149 

cer  who  had  introduced  him  opened  the  door  and 
entered. 

^Peridol,"  M.  de  Biron  said — he  had  risen  to  his 
feet — "I  have  received  a  message  which  needs  confir- 
mation ;  and  to  obtain  this  I  must  leave  the  Arsenal. 
I  am  going  to  the  house — you  will  remember  this — 
of  Marshal  Tavannes,  who  will  be  responsible  for  my 
person ;  in  the  meantime  this  gentleman  will  remain 
under  strict  guard  in  the  south  chamber  upstairs. 
You  will  treat  him  as  a  hostage,  with  all  respect,  and 
will  allow  him  to  preserve  his  incognito.  But  if  I  do 
not  return  by  noon  to-morrow,  you  will  deliver  him 
to  the  men  below,  who  will  know  how  to  deal  with 
him." 

Count  Hannibal  made  no  attempt  to  interrupt  him, 
nor  did  he  betray  the  discomfiture  which  he  undoubt- 
edly felt.  But  as  the  Grand  Master  paused,  "  M.  de 
Biron, "  he  said,  in  a  voice  harsh  and  low,  "  you  will 
answer  to  me  for  this ! "  And  his  eyes  glittered 
through  the  slits  in  the  mask. 

" Possibly,  but  not  to-day  or  to-morrow!"  Biron 
replied,  shrugging  his  shoulders  contemptuously. 
"  Peridol !  see  the  gentleman  bestowed  as  I  have  or- 
dered, and  then  return  to  me.  Monsieur,"  with  a 
bow,  half  courteous,  half  ironical,  "let  me  commend 
to  you  the  advantages  of  silence  and  your  mask." 
And  he  waved  his  hand  in  the  direction  of  the  door. 

A  moment  Count  Hannibal  hesitated.  He  was  in 
the  heart  of  a  hostile  fortress  where  the  resistance  of 
a  single  man  armed  to  the  teeth  must  have  been  fu- 
tile ;  and  he  was  unarmed,  save  for  a  poniard.  Nev- 
ertheless, for  a  moment  the  impulse  to  spring  on  Bi- 
ron, and  with  the  dagger  at  his  throat  to  make  his 
life  the  price  of  a  safe  passage,  was  strong.  Then — 


150  COUNT   HANNIBAL. 

for  with  the  warp  of  a  harsh  and  passionate  character 
were  interwrought  an  odd  shrewdness  and  some  things 
little  suspected — he  resigned  himself.  Bowing  grave- 
ly, he  turned  with  dignity,  and  in  silence  followed  the 
officer  from  the  room. 

Peridol  had  two  men  with  lanterns  in  waiting  at 
the  door.  From  one  of  these  the  lieutenant  took  the 
light,  and,  with  an  air  at  once  sullen  and  deferential, 
led  the  way  up  the  stone  staircase  to  the  floor  over 
that  in  which  M.  de  Biron  had  his  lodging.  Ta- 
vannes  followed ;  the  two  guards  came  last,  carrying 
the  second  lantern.  At  the  head  of  the  staircase, 
whence  a  bare  passage  ran  north  and  south,  the  pro- 
cession turned  right-handed,  and,  passing  two  doors, 
halted  before  the  third  and  last,  which  faced  them  at 
the  end  of  the  passage.  The  lieutenant  unlocked  it 
with  a  key  which  he  took  from  a  hook  beside  the 
doorpost.  Then,  holding  .up  his  light,  he  invited  his 
charge  to  enter. 

The  room  was  not  small,  but  it  was  low  in  the  roof, 
and  prison-like,  it  had  bare  walls  and  sinoke-niarks 
on  the  ceiling.  The  window,  set  in  a  deep  recess,  the 
floor  of  which  rose  a  foot  above  that  of  the  room,  was 
unglazed ;  and  through  the  gloomy  orifice  the  night 
wind  blew  in,  laden  even  on  that  August  evening 
with  the  dank  mist  of  the  river  flats.  A  table,  two 
stools,  and  a  truckle  bed  without  straw  or  covering 
made  up  the  furniture;  but  Peridol,  after  glancing 
round,  ordered  one  of  the  men  to  fetch  a  truss  of 
straw  and  the  other  to  bring  up  a  pitcher  of  wine. 
While  they  were  gone  Tavannes  and  he  stood  silently 
waiting,  until,  observing  that  the  captive's  eyes 
sought  the  window,  the  lieutenant  laughed. 

"No  bars?"  he  said.     "No,  monsieur,  and  no  need 


DIPLOMACY.  151 

of  them.  You  will  not  go  by  that  road,  bars  or  no 
bars. " 

" What  is  below?"  Count  Hannibal  asked  careless- 
ly. "The  river?" 

"Yes,  monsieur,"  with  a  grin,  "but  not  water. 
Mud,  and  six  feet  of  it,  soft  as  Christmas  porridge, 
but  not  so  sweet.  I've  known  two  puppies  thrown  in 
under  this  window  that  did  not  weigh  more  than  a  fat 
pullet  apiece.  One  was  gone  before  you  could  count 
fifty,  and  the  other  did  not  live  thrice  as  long — nor 
would  have  lasted  that  time,  but  that  it  fell  on  the 
first  and  clung  to  it. " 

Tavannes  dismissed  the  matter  with  a  shrug,  and, 
drawing  his  cloak  about  him,  set  a  stool  against  the 
wall  and  sat  down.  The  men  who  brought  in  the 
wine  and  the  bundle  of  straw  were  inquisitive,  and 
would  have  loitered,  scanning  him  stealthily;  but 
Peridol  hurried  them  away.  The  lieutenant  himself 
stayed  only  to  cast  a  glance  round  the  room  and  to 
mutter  that  he  would  return  when  his  lord  returned ; 
then,  with  a  "Good  night"  which  said  more  for  his 
manners  than  his  good  will,  he  followed  them  out. 
A  moment  later  the  grating  of  the  key  in  the  lock  and 
the  sound  of  the  bolts  as  they  sped  home  told  Tavan- 
nes that  he  was  a  prisoner. 


CHAPTEE  XIV. 

TOO   SHORT   A   SPOON. 

COUNT  HANNIBAL  remained  seated,  his  chin  sunk  on 
his  breast,  until  his  ear  assured  him  that  the  three 
men  had  descended  the  stairs  to  the  floor  below. 
Then  he  rose,  and,  taking  the  lantern  from  the  table, 
on  which  Peridol  had  placed  it,  he  went  softly  to  the 
door,  which,  like  the  window,  stood  in  a  recess — in 
this  case  the  prolongation  of  the  passage.  A  brief 
scrutiny  satisfied  him  that  escape  that  way  was  im- 
possible, and  he  turned,  after  a  cursory  glance  at  the 
floor  and  ceiling,  to  the  dark,  windy  aperture  which 
yawned  at  the  end  of  the  apartment.  Placing  the 
lantern  on  the  table,  and  covering  it  with  his  cloak, 
he  mounted  the  window  recess,  and,  stepping  to  the 
unguarded  edge,  looked  out. 

He  knew,  rather  than  saw,  that  Peridol  had  told 
the  truth.  The  smell  of  the  aguish  flats  which 
fringed  that  part  of  Paris  rose  strong  in  his  nostrils. 
He  guessed  that  the  sluggish  arm  of  the  Seine  which 
divided  the  Arsenal  from  the  lie  des  Louviers  crawled 
below ;  but  the  night  was  dark,  and  it  was  impossible 
to  discern  land  from  water.  He  fancied  that  he  could 
trace  the  outline  of  the  island — an  uninhabited  place, 
given  up  to  wood  piles ;  but  the  lights  of  the  college 
quarter  beyond  it,  which  rose  feebly  twinkling,  to 
the  crown  of  St.  Genevieve,  confused  his  sight  and 
rendered  the  nearer  gloom  more  opaque.  From  that 


TOO   SHORT  A  SPOON.  153 

direction  and  from  the  Cit6  to  his  right  came  sounds 
which  told  of  a  city  still  heaving  in  its  blood-stained 
sleep,  and  even  in  its  dreams  planning  further  ex- 
cesses. Now  a  distant  shot,  and  now  a  faint  murmur 
on  one  of  the  bridges,  or  a  far-off  cry,  raucous,  sud- 
den, curdled  the  blood.  But  even  of  what  was  pass- 
ing under  cover  of  the  darkness,  he  could  leam  little ; 
and  after  standing  awhile  with  a  hand  on  either  side 
of  the  window  he  found  the  night  air  chill.  He 
stepped  back,  and,  descending  to  the  floor,  uncovered 
the  lantern  and  set  it  on  the  table.  His  thoughts 
travelled  back  to  the  preparations  he  had  made  the 
night  before  with  a  view  to  securing  Mademoiselle's 
person,  and  he  considered,  with  a  grim  smile,  how  lit- 
tle he  had  foreseen  that  within  twenty-four  hours  he 
would  himself  be  a  prisoner.  Presently,  finding  his 
mask  oppressive,  he  removed  it,  and,  laying  it  on  the 
table  before  him,  sat  scowling  at  the  light. 

Biron  had  jockeyed  him  cleverly.  Well,  the  worse 
for  Armand  de  Gontaut  de  Biron  if  after  this  adven- 
ture the  luck  went  against  him !  But  in  the  mean- 
time 1  In  the  meantime  his  fate  was  sealed  if  harm 
befell  Biron.  And  what  the  King's  real  mind  in 
Birou's  case  was,  and  what  the  Queen -Mother's,  he 
could  not  say ;  just  as  it  was  impossible  to  predict 
how  far,  when  they  had  the  Grand  Master  at  their 
mercy,  they  would  resist  the  temptation  to  add  him 
to  the  victims.  If  Biron  placed  himself  at  once  in 
Marshal  Tavannes'  hands,  all  might  be  well.  But  if 
he  ventured  within  the  long  arm  of  the  Guises,  or 
went  directly  to  the  Louvre,  the  fact  that  with  the 
Grand  Master's  fate  Count  Hannibal's  was  bound  up, 
would  not  weigh  a  straw.  In  such  crises  the  great 
sacrificed  the  less  great,  the  less  great  the  small,  with- 


154  COUNT   HANNIBAL. 

out  a  scruple.  And  the  Guises  did  not  love  Count 
Hannibal;  he  was  not  loved  by  many.  Even  the 
strength  of  his  brother  the  Marshal  stood  rather  in 
the  favour  of  the  King's  heir,  for  whom  he  had  won 
the  battle  of  Jariiac,  than  intrinsically ;  and,  durable 
in  ordinary  times,  might  snap  in  the  clash  of  forces 
and  interests  which  the  desperate  madness  of  this  day 
had  let  loose  on  Paris. 

It  was  not  the  peril  in  which  he  stood,  however — 
though,  with  the  cold  clear  eye  of  the  man  who  had 
often  faced  peril,  he  appreciated  it  to  a  nicety — that 
Count  Hannibal  found  least  bearable,  but  his  enforced 
inactivity.  He  had  thought  to  ride  the  whirlwind 
and  direct  the  storm,  and  out  of  the  danger  of  others 
to  compact  his  own  success.  Instead  he  lay  here,  not 
only  powerless  to  guide  his  destiny,  which  hung  on 
the  discretion  of  another,  but  unable  to  stretch  forth 
a  finger  to  further  his  plans. 

As  he  sat  looking  darkly  at  the  lantern,  his  mind 
followed  Biron  and  his  riders  through  the  midnight 
streets :  along  St.  Autoine  and  La  Verrerie,  through 
the  gloomy  narrows  of  the  Eue  la  Ferronerie,  and  so 
past  the  house  in  the  Eue  St.  Honore  where  Made- 
moiselle sat  awaiting  the  morrow — sat  awaiting  Tig- 
nouville,  the  minister,  the  marriage !  Doubtless  there 
were  still  bands  of  plunderers  roaming  to  and  fro ;  at 
the  barriers  troops  of  archers  stopping  the  suspected ; 
at  the  windows  pale  faces  gazing  down;  at  the  gates 
of  the  Temple,  and  of  the  walled  enclosures  which 
largely  made  up  the  city,  strong  guards  set  to  prevent 
invasion.  Biron  would  go  with  sufficient  to  secure 
himself;  and  unless  he  encountered  with  the  body- 
guard of  Guise  his  passage  would  quiet  the  town. 
But  was  it  so  certain  that  she  was  safe  ?  He  knew  his 


TOO   SHOET  A  SPOOK.  155 

men,  and  while  he  had  been  free  he  had  not  hesitated 
to  leave  her  in  their  care.  But  now  that  he  could  not 
go,  now  that  he  could  not  raise  a  hand  to  help,  the 
confidence  which  had  not  failed  him  in  straits  more 
dangerous  grew  weak.  He  pictured  the  things  which 
might  happen,  at  which,  in  his  normal  frame  of  mind, 
he  would  have  laughed.  Now  they  troubled  him  so 
that  he  started  at  a  shadow,  so  that  he  quailed  at  a 
thought.  He,  who  last  night,  when  free  to  act,  had 
timed  his  coming  and  her  rescue  to  a  minute !  Who 
had  rejoiced  in  the  peril,  since  with  the  glamour  of 
such  things  foolish  women  were  taken !  Who  had  not 
flinched  when  the  crowd  roared  most  fiercely  for  her 
blood ! 

Why  had  he  suffered  himself  to  be  trapped!  Why 
indeed?  And  thrice  in  passion  he  paced  the  room. 
Long  ago  the  famous  Nostradamus  had  told  him  that 
he  would  live  to  be  a  king,  but  of  the  smallest  king- 
dom in  the  world.  "Every  man  is  a  king  in  his 
coffin,"  he  had  answered.  "The  grave  is  cold  and 
your  kingdom  shall  be  warm,"  the  wizard  had  re- 
joined. On  which  the  courtiers  had  laughed,  prom- 
ising him  a  Moorish  island  and  a  black  queen.  And 
he  had  gibed  with  the  rest,  but  secretly  had  taken 
note  of  the  sovereign  counties  of  France,  their  rulers 
and  their  heirs.  Now  he  held  the  thought  in  horror, 
foreseeing  no  county,  but  the  cage  under  the  stifling 
tiles  at  Loches,  in  which  Cardinal  Balue  and  many 
another  had  worn  out  their  hearts. 

He  came  to  that  thought  not  by  way  of  his  own 
peril,  but  of  Mademoiselle's ;  which  affected  him  in 
so  novel  a  fashion  that  he  wondered  at  his  folly. 
At  last,  tired  of  watching  the  shadows  which  the 
draught  set  dancing  on  the  wall,  he  drew  his  cloak 


156  COUNT   HANNIBAL. 

about  him  and  lay  down  on  the  straw.  He  had  kept 
vigil  the  previous  night,  and  in  a  few  minutes,  with  a 
campaigner's  ease,  he  was  asleep. 

Midnight  had  struck.  About  two  the  light  in  the 
lantern  burned  low  in  the  socket,  and  with  a  soft 
sputtering  went  out.  For  an  hour  after  that  the  room 
lay  still,  silent,  dark;  then  slowly  the  grey  dawn, 
the  greyer  for  the  river  mist  which  wrapped  the 
neighbourhood  in  a  clammy  shroud,  began  to  creep 
into  the  room  and  discover  the  vague  shapes  of  things. 
Again  an  hour  passed,  and  the  sun  was  rising  above 
Montreuil,  and  here  and  there  the  river  began  to 
shimmer  through  the  fog.  But  in  the  room  it  was 
barely  daylight  when  the  sleeper  awoke,  and  sat  up, 
his  face  expectant.  Something  had  roused  him.  He 
listened. 

His  ear,  and  the  habit  of  vigilance  which  a  life 
of  danger  instils,  had  not  deceived  him.  There  were 
men  moving  in  the  passage ;  men  who  shuffled  their 
feet  impatiently.  Had  Biron  returned!  Or  had 
aught  happened  to  him,  and  were  these  men  come  to 
avenge  him?  Count  Hannibal  rose  and  stole  across 
the  boards  to  the  door,  and,  setting  his  ear  to  it,  lis- 
tened. 

He  listened  while  a  man  might  count  a  hundred 
and  fifty,  counting  slowly.  Then,  for  the  third  part 
of  a  second,  he  turned  his  head,  and  his  eyes  travelled 
the  room.  He  stooped  again  and  listened  more  close- 
ly, scarcely  breathing.  There  were  voices  as  well  as 
feet  to  be  heard  now ;  one  voice — he  thought  it  was 
Peridol's — which  held  on  long,  now  low,  now  rising 
into  violence.  Others  were  audible  at  intervals,  but 
only  in  a  growl  or  a  bitter  exclamation,  that  told  of 
minds  made  up  and  hands  which  would  not  be  re- 


TOO  SHOET  A  SPOON.  157 

strained.  He  caught  his  own  name,  Tavannes — the 
mask  was  useless  then !  And  once  a  noisy  movement 
which  came  to  nothing,  foiled,  he  fancied,  by  Peridol. 

He  knew  enough.  He  rose  to  his  full  height,  and 
his  eyes  seemed  a  little  closer  together ;  an  ugly  smile 
curved  his  lips.  His  gaze  travelled  over  the  objects 
in  the  room,  the  bare  stools  and  table,  the  lantern,  the 
wine  pitcher;  beyond  these,  in  a  corner,  the  cloak 
and  straw  on  the  low  bed.  The  light,  cold  and  grey, 
fell  cheerlessly  on  the  dull  chamber,  and  showed  it  in 
harmony  with  the  ominous  whisper  which  grew  in  the 
gallery ;  with  the  stern-faced  listener  who  stood,  his 
one  hand  on  the  door.  He  looked,  but  he  found 
nothing  to  his  purpose,  nothing  to  serve  his  end, 
whatever  his  end  was ;  and  with  a  quick  light  step  he 
left  the  door,  mounted  the  window  recess,  and,  poised 
on  the  very  edge,  looked  down. 

If  he  thought  to  escape  that  way  his  hope  was  des- 
perate. The  depth  to  the  water-level  was  not,  he 
judged,  twelve  feet.  But  Peridol  had  told  the  truth. 
Below  lay  not  water,  but  a  smooth  surface  of  viscid 
slime,  here  luminous  with  the  florescence  of  rotten- 
ness, there  furrowed  by  a  tiny  runnel  of  moisture 
which  sluggishly  crept  across  it  to  the  slow  stream 
beyond.  This  quicksand,  vile  and  treacherous, 
lapped  the  wall  below  the  window,  and  more  than  ac- 
coitnted  for  the  absence  of  bars  or  fastenings.  But, 
leaning  far  out,  he  saw  that  it  ended  at  the  angle  of 
the  building,  at  a  point  twenty  feet  or  so  to  the  right 
of  his  position. 

He  sprang  to  the  floor  again,  and  listened  an  in- 
stant ;  then,  with  guarded  movements — for  there  was 
fear  in  the  air,  fear  in  the  silent  room,  and  at  any 
moment  the  rush  might  be  made,  the  door  burst  in — 


158  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

lie  set  the  lantern  and  wine  pitcher  on  the  floor,  and 
took  up  the  table  in  his  arms.  He  began  to  carry  it 
to  the  window,  but,  halfway  thither,  his  eye  told  him 
that  it  would  not  pass  through  the  opening,  and  he 
set  it  down  again  and  glided  to  the  bed.  Again  he 
was  thwarted ;  the  bed  was  screwed  to  the  floor.  An- 
other might  have  despaired  at  that,  but  he  rose  with 
no  sign  of  dismay,  and  listening,  always  listening,  he 
spread  his  cloak  on  the  floor,  and  deftly,  with  as  lit- 
tle noise  and  rustling  as  might  be,  he  piled  the  straw 
in  it,  compressed  the  bundle,  and,  cutting  the  bed- 
cords  with  his  dagger,  bound  all  together  with  them. 
In  three  steps  he  was  in  the  embrasure  of  the  win- 
dow, and,  even  as  the  men  in  the  passage  thrust  the 
lieutenant  aside  and  with  a  sudden  uproar  came  down 
to  the  door,  he  flung  the  bundle  lightly  and  carefully 
to  the  right — so  lightly  and  carefully,  and  with  so 
nice  and  deliberate  a  calculation,  that  it  seemed  odd 
it  fell  beyond  the  reach  of  an  ordinary  leap. 

An  instant  and  he  was  on  the  floor  again.  The 
men  had  to  unlock,  to  draw  back  the  bolts,  to  draw 
back  the  door  which  opened  outwards;  their  num- 
bers, as  well  as  their  savage  haste,  impeded  them. 
When  they  burst  in  at  last,  with  a  roar  of  "To  the 
river!  To  the  river!  " — burst  in  a  rush  of  struggling 
shoulders  and  lowered  pikes,  they  found  him  stand- 
ing, a  solitary  figure,  on  the  further  side  of  the  table, 
his  arms  folded.  And  the  sight  of  the  passive  figure 
for  a  moment  stayed  them. 

"Say  your  prayers,  child  of  Satan !  "  cried  the  lead- 
er, waving  his  weapon.  "We  give  you  one  minute!  " 

"Ay,  one  minute!"  his  followers  chimed  in.  "Be 
ready ! " 

"You  would  murder  me?"  he  said  with  dignity. 


TOO   SHOET   A  SPOOK  159 

And  when  they  shouted  assent,  "Good ! "  he  answered. 
"It  is  between  you  and  M.  de  Biroii,  whose  guest  I 
am.  But" — with  a  glance  which  passed  round  the 
ring  of  glaring  eyes  and  working  features — "I  would 
leave  a  last  word  for  some  one.  Is  there  any  one 
here  who  values  a  safe-conduct  from  the  King?  'Tis 
for  two  men  coming  and  going  for  a  fortnight. "  And 
he  held  up  a  slip  of  paper. 

The  leader  cried  "To  hell  with  his  safe-conduct! 
Say  your  prayers !  " 

But  all  were  not  of  his  mind;  on  one  or  two  of  the 
crimson  savage  faces — the  faces,  for  the  most  part,  of 
honest  men  maddened  by  their  wrongs — flashed  an 
avaricious  gleam.  A  safe-conduct?  To  avenge,  to 
slay,  to  kill — and  to  go  safe !  For  some  minds  such  a 
thing  has  an  invincible  fascination.  A  man  thrust 
himself  forward.  "Ay,  I'll  have  it!"  he  cried. 
"Give  it  here!" 

"It  is  yours,"  Count  Hannibal  answered,  "if  you 
will  carry  ten  words  to  Marshal  Tavannes — when  I 
am  gone." 

The  man's  neighbour  laid  a  restraining  hand  on  his 
shoulder.  "And  Marshal  Tavannes  will  pay  you 
finely,"  he  said. 

But  Maudron,  the  man  who  had  offered,  shook  off 
the  hand.  "If  I  take  the  message!  "  he  muttered  in 
a  grim  aside.  "Do  you  think  me  mad?  "  And  then 
aloud  he  cried,  "Ay,  I'll  take  your  message!  Give 
me  the  paper." 

"You  swear  you  will  take  it? " 

The  man  had  no  intention  of  taking  it,  but  he  per- 
jured himself  and  went  forward.  The  others  would 
have  pressed  round  too,  half  in  envy,  half  in  scorn ; 
but  Tavannes  by  a  gesture  stayed  them.  "Gentle- 


160  COUNT   HANNIBAL. 

men,  I  ask  a  minute  only,  "he  said.  "A  minute  for 
a  dying  man  is  not  much.  Your  friends  had  as 
much."  And  the  fellows,  acknowledging  the  claim 
and  assured  that  their  victim  could  not  escape,  let 
Maudron  go  round  the  table  to  him. 

The  man  was  in  haste  and  ill  at  ease,  conscious  of 
his  evil  intentions  and  the  fraud  he  was  practising ; 
and  at  once  greedy  to  have,  yet  ashamed  of  the 
bargain  he  was  making.  His  attention  was  divided 
between  the  slip  of  paper,  on  which  his  eyes  fixed 
themselves,  and  the  attitude  of  his  comrades ;  he  paid 
little  heed  to  Count  Hannibal,  whom  he  knew  to  be 
unarmed.  Only  when  Tavannes  seemed  to  ponder 
on  his  message,  and  to  be  fain  to  delay,  "  Go  on, "  he 
muttered  with  brutal  frankness;  "your  time  is  up!  " 

Tavannes  started,  the  paper  slipped  from  his  fin- 
gers. Maudron  saw  a  chance  of  getting  it  without 
committing  himself,  and  quick  as  the  thought  leapt 
up  in  his  mind  he  stooped,  and  grasped  the  paper, 
and  would  have  leapt  back  with  it !  But  quick  as  he, 
and  quicker,  Tavauues  too  stooped,  gripped  him  by 
the  waist,  and  with  a  prodigious  effort,  and  a  yell  in 
which  all  the  man's  stormy  nature,  restrained  to  a 
part  during  the  last  few  minutes,  broke  forth,  he 
flung  the  ill-fated  wretch  head  first  through  the  win- 
dow. 

The  movement  carried  Tavannes  himself — even 
while  his  victim's  scream  rang  through  the  chamber 
— into  the  embrasure.  An  instant  he  hung  on  the 
verge;  then,  as  the  men,  a  moment  thunderstruck, 
sprang  forward  to  avenge  their  comrade,  he  leapt  out, 
jumping  for  the  struggling  body  that  had  struck  the 
mud,  and  now  lay  in  it  face  downwards. 

He  alighted  on  it,  and  drove  it  deep  into  the  quak- 


TOO  SHORT  A  SPOOK  161 

ing  slime ;  but  he  himself  bounded  off  right-handed. 
The  peril  was  appalling,  the  possibility  untried,  the 
chance  one  which  only  a  doomed  man  would  have 
taken.  But  he  reached  the  straw-bale,  and  it  gave 
him  a  momentary,  a  precarious  footing.  He  could 
not  regain  his  balance,  he  could  not  even  for  an  in- 
stant stand  upright  on  it.  But  from  its  support  he 
leapt  on  convulsively,  and  as  a  pike,  flung  from  above, 
wounded  him  in  the  shoulder,  he  fell  his  length  in  the 
slough — but  forward,  with  his  outstretched  hands 
resting  on  soil  of  a  harder  nature.  They  sank,  it  is 
true,  to  the  elbow,  but  he  dragged  his  body  forward 
on  them,  and  forward,  and  freeing  one  by  a  last  effort 
of  strength — he  could  not  free  both,  and,  as  it  was, 
half  his  face  was  submerged — he  reached  out  another 
yard,  and  gripped  a  balk  of  wood,  which  projected 
from  the  corner  of  the  building  for  the  purpose  of 
fending  off  the  stream  in  flood-time. 

The  men  at  the  window  shrieked  with  rage  as  he 
slowly  drew  himself  from  the  slough,  and  stood  from 
head  to  foot  a  pillar  of  mud.  Shout  as  they  might, 
they  had  no  firearms,  and,  crowded  together  in  the 
narrow  embrasure,  they  could  take  no  aim  with  their 
pikes.  They  could  only  look  on  in  furious  impo- 
tence, flinging  curses  at  him  until  he  passed  from 
their  view,  behind  the  angle  of  the  building. 

Here  for  a  score  of  yards  a  strip  of  hard  foreshore 
ran  between  mud  and  wall.  He  struggled  along  it 
until  he  reached  the  end  of  the  wall ;  then  with  a 
shuddering  glance  at  the  black  heaving  pit  from 
which  he  had  escaped,  and  which  yet  gurgled  above 
the  body  of  the  hapless  Maudron — a  tribute  to  horror 
which  even  his  fierce  nature  could  not  withhold — he 
turned  and  painfully  climbed  the  river-bank.  The 
11 


162  COUNT   HANNIBAL. 

pike-wound  in  his  shoulder  was  slight,  but  the  effort 
had  been  supreme ;  the  sweat  poured  from  his  brow, 
his  visage  was  grey  and  drawn.  Nevertheless,  when 
he  had  put  fifty  paces  between  himself  and  the  build- 
ings of  the  Arsenal  he  paused,  and  turned.  He  saw 
that  the  men  had  run  to  other  windows  which  looked 
that  way ;  and  his  face  lightened  and  his  form  dilated 
with  triumph. 

He  shook  his  fist  at  them.  "Ho,  fools! "  he  cried, 
"you  kill  not  Tavannes  so!  Till  our  next  meeting  at 
Montf aucon,  fare  you  well  1 " 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE   BROTHER   OF   ST.    MAGLOIRE. 

As  the  exertion  of  power  is  for  the  most  part  pleas- 
ing, so  the  exercise  of  that  which  a  woman  possesses 
over  a  man  is  especially  pleasant.  "When  in  addition 
a  risk  of  no  ordinary  kind  has  been  run,  and  the 
happy  issue  has  been  barely  expected — above  all 
when  the  momentary  gain  seems  an  augury  of  final 
victory — it  is  impossible  that  a  feeling  akin  to  exul- 
tation should  not  arise  in  the  mind.,  however  black 
the  horizon,  and  however  distant  the  fair  haven. 

The  situation  in  which  Count  Hannibal  left  Made- 
moiselle de  Vrillac  will  be  remembered.  She  had  pre- 
vailed on  him ;  but  in  return  he  had  bowed  her  to  the 
earth,  partly  by  subtle  threats,  and  partly  by  sheer 
savagery.  He  had  left  her  weeping,  with  the  words 
"Madame  de  Tavannes"  ringing  doom  in  her  ears, 
and  the  dark  phantom  of  his  will  pointing  onward  to 
an  inevitable  future.  Had  she  abandoned  hope,  it 
would  have  been  natural 

But  the  girl  was  of  a  spirit  not  long  nor  easily 
cowed;  and  Tavannes  had  not  left  her  half  an  hour 
before  the  reflection,  that  so  far  the  honours  of  the 
day  were  hers,  rose  up  to  console  her.  In  spite  of  his 
power  and  her  impotence,  she  had  imposed  her  will 
upon  his ;  she  had  established  an  influence  over  him, 
she  had  discovered  a  scruple  which  stayed  him,  and  a 
limit  beyond  which  he  would  not  pass.  In  the  result 


164  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

she  might  escape ;  for  the  conditions  which  he  had 
accepted  with  an  ill  grace,  might  prove  beyond  his 
fulfilling.  She  might  escape!  True,  many  in  her 
place  would  have  feared  a  worse  fate  and  harsher 
handling.  But  there  lay  half  the  merit  of  her  vic- 
tory. It  had  left  her  not  only  in  a  better  position,  but 
with  a  new  confidence  in  her  power  over  her  adver- 
sary. He  would  insist  on  the  bargain  struck  between 
them ;  within  its  four  corners  she  could  look  for  no 
indulgence.  But  if  the  conditions  proved  to  be  be- 
yond his  power,  she  believed  that  he  would  spare  her: 
with  an  ill  grace,  indeed,  writh  such  ferocity  and 
coarse  reviling  as  her  woman's  pride  might  scarcely 
support.  But  he  would  spare  her. 

And  if  the  worst  befell  her  ?  She  would  still  have 
the  consolation  of  knowing  that  from  the  cataclysm 
which  had  overwhelmed  her  friends  she  had  ransomed 
those  most  dear  to  her.  Owing  to  the  position  of  her 
chamber,  she  saw  nothing  of  the  excesses  to  which 
Paris  gave  itself  up  during  the  remainder  of  that  day, 
and  to  wrhich  it  returned  with  unabated  zest  on  the 
following  morning.  But  the  Carlats  and  her  women 
learned  from  the  guards  below  what  was  passing ;  and 
quaking  and  cowering  in  their  corners  fixed  fright- 
ened eyes  on  her,  who  was  their  stay  and  hope. 
How  could  she  prove  false  to  them?  How  doom 
them  to  perish,  had  there  been  no  question  of  her 
lover? 

Of  him  she  sat  thinking  by  the  hour  together.  She 
recalled  with  solemn  tenderness  the  moment  in  which 
he  had  devoted  himself  to  the  death  wrhich  came  but 
halfway  to  seize  them ;  nor  was  she  slow  to  forgive 
his  subsequent  withdrawal,  and  his  attempt  to  rescue 
her  in  spite  of  herself.  She  found  the  impulse  to  die 


THE  BEOTHEE   OF   ST.  MAGLOIEE.     165 

glorious ;  the  withdrawal — for  the  actor  was  her  lover 
— a  thing  done  for  her,  which  he  would  not  have  done 
for  himself,  and  which  she  quickly  forgave  him.  The 
revulsion  of  feeling  which  had  conquered  her  at  the 
time,  and  led  her  to  tear  herself  from  him,  no  longer 
moved  her  much ;  while  all  in  his  action  that  might 
have  seemed  in  other  eyes  less  than  heroic,  all  in  his 
conduct — in  a  crisis  demanding  the  highest  —  that 
smacked  of  common  or  mean,  vanished,  for  she  still 
clung  to  him.  Clung  to  him,  not  so  much  with  the 
passion  of  the  mature  woman,  as  with  the  maiden  and 
sentimental  affection  of  one  who  has  now  no  hope  of 
possessing,  and  for  whom  love  no  longer  spells  life 
but  sacrifice. 

She  had  leisure  for  these  musings,  for  she  was  left 
to  herself  all  that  day,  and  until  late  on  the  following 
day.  Her  own  servants  waited  on  hei,  ard  it  was 
known  that  below  stairs  Count  Hannibal's  riders  kept 
sullen  ward  behind  barred  doors  and  shuttered  win- 
dows, refusing  admission  to  all  who  came.  Now  and 
again  echoes  of  the  riot  which  filled  the  streets  with 
bloodshed  reached  her  ears:  or  word  of  the  more 
striking  occurrences  was  brought  to  her  by  Madame 
Carlat.  And  early  on  this  second  day,  Monday,  it 
was  whispered  that  M.  de  Tavannes  had  not  returned, 
and  that  the  men  below  were  growing  uneasy. 

At  last,  when  the  suspense  below  and  above  was 
growing  tense,  it  was  broken.  Footsteps  and  voices 
were  heard  ascending  the  stairs,  the  trampling  and 
hubbub  were  followed  by  a  heavy  knock ;  perforce 
the  door  was  opened.  While  Mademoiselle,  who  had 
risen,  awaited  with  a  beating  heart  she  knew  not 
what,  a  cowled  father,  in  the  dress  of  the  monks  of 
St.  Magloire,  stoo4  on  the  threshold,  and,  crossing 


166  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

himself,  muttered  the  words  of  benediction.  He  en- 
tered slowly. 

No  sight  could  have  been  more  dreadful  to  Made- 
moiselle; for  it  set  at  naught  the  conditions  which 
she  had  so  hardly  exacted.  What  if  Count  Hannibal 
were  behind,  were  even  now  mounting  the  stairs, 
prepared  to  force  her  to  a  marriage  before  this  shave- 
ling? Or  ready  to  proceed,  if  she  refused,  to  the  last 
extremity'?  Sudden  terror  taking  her  by  the  throat 
choked  her;  her  colour  fled,  her  hand  flew  to  her 
breast.  Yet,  before  the  door  had  closed  on  Bigot, 
she  had  recovered  herself. 

"This  intrusion  is  not  by  M.  de  Tavannes'  orders!  " 
she  cried,  stepping  forward  haughtily.  "This  person 
has  no  business  here.  How  dare  you  admit  him  ?  " 

The  Norman  showed  his  bearded  visage  a  moment 
at  the  door.  "My  lord's  orders,"  he  muttered  sul- 
lenly. And  he  closed  the  door  on  them. 

She  had  a  Huguenot's  hatred  of  a  cowl ;  and,  in 
this  crisis,  her  reasons  for  fearing  it.  Her  eyes 
blazed  with  indignation.  "  Enough ! "  she  cried, 
pointing  with  a  gesture  of  dismissal  to  the  door. 
"Go  back  to  him  who  sent  you !  If  he  will  insult  me, 
let  him  do  it  to  my  face!  If  he  will  perjure  himself, 
let  him  forswear  himself  in  person.  Or,  if  you  come 
on  your  own  account,"  she  continued,  flinging  pru- 
dence to  the  winds,  "  as  your  brethren  came  to  Phil- 
ippa  de  Luns,  to  offer  me  the  choice  you  offered  her, 
I  give  you  her  answer !  If  I  had  thought  of  myself 
only,  I  had  not  lived  so  long !  And  rather  than  bear 
your  presence  or  hear  your  arguments ' 

She  came  to  a  sudden,  odd,  quavering  pause  on  the 
word;  her  lips  remained  parted,  she  swayed  an  in- 
stant on  her  feet.  The  next  moment  Madame  Carlat, 


THE  BROTHER   OF   ST.  MAGLOIRE.     167 

to  whom  the  visitor  had  turned  his  shoulder,  doubted 
her  eyes,  for  Mademoiselle  was  in  the  monk's  arms! 

"Clotilde!  Clotilde!"  he  cried,  and  held  her  to 
him. 

For  the  monk  was  M.  de  Tignonville!  Under 
the  €owl  was  the  lover  with  whom  Mademoiselle's 
thoughts  had  been  engaged.  In  this  disguise,  and 
armed  with  Tavanues'  note  to  Madame  St.  Lo — which 
the  guards  below  knew  for  Count  Hannibal's  hand, 
though  they  were  unable  to  decipher  the  contents — 
he  had  found  no  difficulty  in  making  his  way  to 
her. 

He  had  learned  before  he  entered  that  Tavannes 
was  abroad,  and  was  aware  therefore  that  he  ran  lit- 
tle risk.  His  betrothed,  on  the  other  hand,  who 
knew  nothing  of  his  adventures  in  the  interval,  saw 
in  him  one  who  came  to  her  at  the  greatest  risk, 
across  unnumbered  perils,  through  streets  swimming 
with  blood.  And  though  she  had  never  embraced 
him  save  in  the  crisis  of  the  massacre,  though  she  had 
never  called  him  by  his  Christian  name,  in  the  joy  of 
this  meeting  she  abandoned  herself  to  him,  she  clung 
to  him  weeping,  she  forgot  for  the  time  his  defection, 
and  thought  only  of  him  who  had  returned  to  her  so 
gallantly,  who  brought  into  the  room  a  breath  of  Poi- 
tou,  and  the  sea,  and  the  old  days,  and  the  old  life ; 
and  at  the  sight  of  whom  the  horrors  of  the  last  two 
days  fell  from  her — for  the  moment. 

And  Madame  Carlat  wept  also,  and  in  the  room 
was  a  sound  of  weeping.  The  least  moved  was,  for 
a  certainty,  M.  de  Tignonville  himself,  who,  as  we 
know,  had  gone  through  much  that  day.  But  even 
his  heart  swelled,  partly  with  pride,  partly  with 
thankfulness  that  he  had  returned  to  one  who  loved 


168  COUNT   HANNIBAL. 

him  so  well.  Fate  had  been  kinder  to  him  than  he 
deserved ;  but  he  need  not  confess  that  now.  When 
he  had  brought  off  the  coup  which  he  had  in  his  mind, 
he  would  hasten  to  forget  that  he  had  entertained 
other  ideas. 

Mademoiselle  had  been  the  first  to  be  carood  away ; 
she  was  also  the  first  to  recover  herself.  "I  had  for- 
gotten," she  cried  suddenly.  "I  had  forgotten,"  and 
she  wrested  herself  from  his  embrace  with  violence, 
and  stood  panting,  her  face  white,  her  eyes  aff righted. 
"I  must  not!  And  you — I  had  forgotten  that  too! 
To  be  here,  monsieur,  is  the  worst  office  you  can  do 
me.  You  must  go!  Go,  monsieur,  in  mercy  I  beg  of 
you,  while  it  is  possible.  Every  moment  you  are 
here,  every  moment  you  spend  in  this  house,  I  shud- 
der." 

"You  need  not  fear  for  me,"  he  said,  in  a  tone  of 
bravado.  He  did  not  understand. 

"I  fear  for  myself!"  she  answered.  And  then, 
wringing  her  hands,  divided  between  her  love  for  him 
and  her  fear  for  herself,  "  Oh,  forgive  me !  "  she  said. 
"You  do  not  know  that  he  has  promised  to  spare  me, 
if  he  cannot  produce  you,  and — and — a  minister! 
He  has  granted  me  that;  but  I  thought  when  you 
entered  that  he  had  gone  back  on  his  word,  and  sent 
a  priest,  and  it  maddened  me !  I  could  not  bear  to 
think  that  I  had  gained  nothing.  Now  you  under- 
stand, and  you  will  pardon  me,  monsieur1?  If  he 
cannot  produce  you  I  am  saved.  Go  then,  leave  me, 
I  beg,  without  a  moment's  delay." 

He  laughed  derisively  as  he  turned  back  his  cowl 
and  squared  his  shoulders.  "All  that  is  over!"  he 
said,  "over  and  done  with,  sweet!  M.  de  Tavaunes 
is  at  this  moment  a  prisoner  in  the  Arsenal.  On  my 


THE   BEOTHEE   OF   ST.  MAGLOIEE.     169 

way  hither  I  fell  in  with  M.  de  Biron,  and  he  told  me. 
The  Grand  Master,  who  would  have  had  me  join  his 
company,  had  been  all  night  at  Marshal  Tavannes' 
hotel,  where  he  had  been  detained  longer  than  he 
expected.  He  stood  pledged  to  release  Count  Han- 
nibal on  his  return,  but  at  iny  request  he  consented 
to  hold  him  one  hour,  and  to  do  also  a  little  thing 
for  me." 

The  glow  of  hope  which  had  transfigured  her  face 
faded  slowly.  "It  will  not  help,"  she  said,  "if  he 
find  you  here." 

"He  will  not!     Nor  you!" 

"How,  monsieur?" 

"In  a  few  minutes,"  he  explained — he  couid  not 
hide  his  exultation,  "a  message  will  come  from  the 
Arsenal  in  the  name  of  Tavanues,  bidding  the  monk 
he  sent  to  you  bring  you  to  him.  A  spoken  message, 
corroborated  by  my  presence,  should  suffice:  'Bid  the 
monk  who  is  now  with  Mademoiselle, '  it  will  run,  'bring 
her  to  me  at  the  Arsenal,  and  let  four  pikes  guard  them 
hither.''  When  I  begged  M.  de  Biron  to  do  this,  he 
laughed.  'I  can  do  better,'  he  said.  '  They  shall 
bring  one  of  Count  Hannibal's  gloves,  which  he  left 
on  my  table.  Always  supposing  my  rascals  have 
done  him  no  harm,  which  God  forbid,  for  I  am  an- 
swerable. ' ; 

Tignonville,  delighted  with  the  stratagem  which  the 
meeting  with  Biron  had  suggested,  could  see  110  flaw 
in  it.  She  could,  and  though  she  heard  him  to  the 
end,  no  second  glow  of  hope  softened  the  lines  of  her 
features.  With  a  gesture  full  of  dignity,  which  took 
in  not  only  Madame  Carlat  and  the  waiting-woman 
who  stood  at  the  door  but  the  absent  servants,  "And 
what  of  these?"  she  said.  "What  of  these?  You 


170  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

forgot  them,  monsieur.  You  do  not  think,  you  can- 
not have  thought,  that  I  would  abandon  them  ?  That 
I  would  leave  them  to  such  mercy  as  he,  defeated, 
might  extend  to  them  ?  No,  you  forgot  them. " 

He  did  not  know  what  to  answer,  for  the  jealous 
eyes  of  the  frightened  waiting-woman,  fierce  with  the 
fierceness  of  a  hunted  animal,  were  on  him.  The 
Caiiat  and  she  had  heard,  could  hear.  At  last,  "  Bet- 
ter one  than  none ! "  he  muttered,  in  a  voice  so  low 
that  if  the  servants  caught  his  meaning  it  was  but  in- 
distinctly. "I  have  to  think  of  you." 

"And  I  of  them,"  she  answered  firmly.  ".Nor  is 
that  all.  Were  they  not  here,  it  could  not  be.  My 
word  is  passed — though  a  moment  ago,  monsieur,  in 
the  joy  of  seeing  you  I  forgot  it.  And  how,"  she 
continued,  "if  I  keep  not  my  word,  can  I  expect  him 
to  keep  his?  Or  how,  if  I  am  ready  to  break  the 
bond,  on  this  happening  which  I  never  expected,  can 
I  hold  him  to  conditions  which  he  loves  as  little — as 
little  as  I  love  him?" 

Her  voice  dropped  piteously  on  the  last  words; 
her  eyes,  craving  her  lover's  pardon,  sought  his.  But 
rage,  not  pity  or  admiration,  was  the  feeling  roused 
in  Tignonville's  breast.  He  stood  staring  at  her, 
struck  dumb  by  folly  so  immense.  At  last,  "You 
cannot  mean  this,"  he  blurted  out.  "You  cannot 
mean,  Mademoiselle,  that  you  intend  to  stand  on  that ! 
To  keep  a  promise  wrung  from  you  by  force,  by 
treachery,  in  the  midst  of  such  horrors  as  he  and  his 
have  brought  upon  us !  It  is  inconceivable ! " 

She  shook  her  head.     "I  promised,"  she  said. 

"You  were  forced  to  it." 

"But  the  promise  saved  our  lives." 

"From  murderers!    From  assassins! "  he  protested. 


THE  BEOTHEE   OF  ST.  MAGLOIEE.     171 

She  shook  her  head.  "I  cannot  go  back,"  she  said 
firmly;  "I  cannot.-" 

"Then  you  are  willing  to  marry  him,"  he  cried  in 
ignoble  anger.  "That  is  it!  Nay,  you  must  wish  to 
marry  him!  For,  as  for  his  conditions,  Mademoi- 
selle," the  young  man  continued,  with  an  insulting- 
laugh,  "you  cannot  think  seriously  of  them.  He 
keep  conditions  and  you  in  his  power!  He,  Count 
Hannibal!  But  for  the  matter  of  that,  and  were  he 
in  the  mind  to  keep  them,  what  are  they  I  There  axe 
plenty  of  ministers.  I  left  one  only  this  morning.  I 
could  lay  my  hand  on  one  in  five  minutes.  He  has 
only  to  find  one  therefore — and  to  find  me ! " 

"Yes,  monsieur,"  she  cried,  trembling  with  wound- 
ed pride,  "it  is  for  that  reason  I  implore  you  to  go. 
The  sooner  you  leave  me,  the  sooner  you  place  your- 
self in  a  position  of  security,  the  happier  for  me ! 
Every  moment  that  you  spend  here,  you  endanger 
both  yourself  and  me ! " 

"  If  you  will  not  be  persuaded — 

"I  shall  not  be  persuaded,"  she  answered  firmly, 
"and  you  do  but" — alas!  her  pride  began  to  break 
down,  her  voice  to  quiver,  she  looked  piteously  at 
him — "by  staying  here  make  it  harder  for  me  to — 
to " 

"Hush!"  cried  Madame  Carlat,  "Hush!"  And 
as  they  started  and  turned  towards  her — she  was  at  the 
end  of  the  chamber  by  the  door,  almost  out  of  earshot 
— she  raised  a  warning  hand.  "Listen!"  she  mut- 
tered, "some  one  has  entered  the  house." 

"'Tis  my  messenger  from  Biron,"  Tignonville  an- 
swered sullenly.  And  he  drew  his  cowl  over  his  face, 
and,  hiding  his  hands  in  his  sleeves,  moved  towards 
the  door.  But  on  the  threshold  he  turned  and 


172  .       COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

held  out  his  arms.  He  could  not  go  thus.  "Made- 
moiselle! Clotilde!"  he  cried  with  passion,  "for 
the  last  time,  listen  to  me,  come  with  me.  Be  per- 
suaded ! " 

"Hush!"  Madame  Carlat  interposed  again,  and 
turned  a  scared  face  on  them.  "It  is  no  messenger! 
It  is  Tavannes  himself:  I  know  his  voice."  And  she 
wrung  her  hands.  "  Oh,  mon  Dieu,  mon  Dieu,  what 
are  we  to  do  ? "  she  continued,  panic-stricken.  And 
she  looked  all  ways  about  the  room. 


CHAPTEE  XVI. 

AT  CLOSE  QUARTERS. 

FEAR  leapt  into  Mademoiselle's  eyes,  but  she  com- 
manded herself.  She  signed  to  Madame  Carlat  to  be 
silent,  and  they  listened,  gazing  at  one  another,  hop- 
ing against  hope  that  the  woman  was  mistaken.  A 
long  moment  they  waited,  and  some  were  beginning 
to  breathe  again,  when  the  strident  tones  of  Count 
Hannibal's  voice  rolled  up  the  staircase,  and  put  an 
end  to  doubt.  Mademoiselle  grasped  the  table  and 
stood  supporting  herself  by  it.  "What  are  we  to 
do?  "  she  muttered.  "What  are  we  to  do?  "  and  she 
turned  distractedly  towards  the  women.  The  cour- 
age which  had  supported  her  in  her  lover's  absence 
had  abandoned  her  now.  "If  he  finds  him  here  I  am 
lost!  I  am  lost!" 

"He  will  not  know  me,"  Tignonville  muttered. 
But  he  spoke  uncertainly;  and  his  gaze,  shifting  hith- 
er and  thither,  belied  the  boldness  of  his  words. 

Madame  Carlat's  eyes  flew  round  the  room ;  on  her 
for  once  the  burden  seemed  to  rest.  Alas !  the  room 
had  no  second  door,  and  the  windows  looked  on  a 
courtyard  guarded  by  Tavannes'  people.  And  even 
now  Count  Hannibal's  step  rang  on  the  stair!  his 
hand  was  almost  on  the  latch.  The  woman  wrung 
her  hands ;  then,  a  thought  striking  her,  she  darted 
to  a  corner  where  Mademoiselle's  robes  hung  on  pegs 
against  the  wall. 


174  COUNT   HANNIBAL. 

"Here!"  she  cried,  raising  them.  "Behind  these! 
He  may  not  be  seen  here !  Quick,  monsieur,  quick ! 
Hide  yourself ! " 

It  was  a  forlorn  hope — the  suggestion  of  one 
who  had  not  thought  out  the  position;  and,  what- 
ever its  promise,  Mademoiselle's  pride  revolted 
against  it. 

"No,"  she  cried.  "Not  there!  "  while  Tiguonville, 
who  knew  that  the  step  was  useless,  since  Count  Han- 
nibal must  have  learned  that  a  monk  had  entered, 
held  his  ground. 

"You  could  not  deny  yourself!  "  he  muttered  hur- 
riedly. 

"And  a  priest  with  me?"  she  answered;  and  she 
shook  her  head. 

There  was  no  time  for  more,  and  even  as  Mademoi- 
selle spoke  Count  Hannibal's  knuckles  tapped  the 
door.  She  cast  a  last  look  at  her  lover.  He  had 
turned  his  back  on  the  window ;  the  light  no  longer 
fell  on  his  face.  It  was  possible  that  he  might  pass 
unrecognised,  if  Tavannes'  stay  was  brief;  at  any 
rate  the  risk  must  be  run.  In  a  half -stifled  voice  she 
bade  her  woman,  Javette,  open  the  door. 

Count  Hannibal  bowed  low  as  he  entered ;  and  he 
deceived  the  others.  But  he  did  not  deceive  her. 
He  had  not  crossed  the  threshold  before  she  repented 
that  she  had  not  acted  on  Tignonville's  suggestion, 
and  denied  herself.  For  what  could  escape  those 
hard  keen  eyes,  which  swept  the  room,  saw  all,  and 
seemed  to  see  nothing — those  eyes  in  which  there 
dwelt  even  now  a  glint  of  cruel  humour  ?  He  might 
deceive  others,  but  she  who  panted  within  his  grasp, 
as  the  wild  bird  palpitates  in  the  hand  of  the  fowler, 
was  not  deceived!  He  saw,  he  knew!  although,  a» 


AT  CLOSE  QUAETEES.  175 

he  bowed,  and  smiling,  stood  upright,  he  looked  only 
at  her. 

"I  expected  to  be  with  you  before  this,"  he  said 
courteously,  "but  I  have  been  detained.  First,  Ma- 
demoiselle, by  some  of  your  friends,  who  were  re- 
luctant to  part  with  me ;  then  by  some  of  your  ene- 
mies, who,  finding  me  in  no  handsome  case,  took  me 
for  a  Huguenot  escaped  from  the  river,  and  drove  me 
to  shifts  to  get  clear  of  them.  However,  now  I  am 
come,  I  have  news." 

"News?"  she  muttered  with  dry  lips.  It  could 
hardly  be  good  news. 

"Yes,  Mademoiselle,  of  M.  de  Tignonville, "  he  an- 
swered. "  I  have  little  doubt  that  I  shall  be  able  to 
produce  him  this  evening,  and  so  to  satisfy  one  of 
your  scruples.  And  as  I  trust  that  this  good  father, " 
he  went  on,  turning  to  the  ecclesiastic,  and  speaking 
with  the  sneer  from  which  he  seldom  refrained,  Cath- 
olic as  he  was,  when  he  mentioned  a  priest,  "has  by 
this  time  succeeded  in  removing  the  other,  and  per- 
suading you  to  accept  his  ministrations " 

"No!  "  she  cried  impulsively. 

"No?"  with  a  dubious  smile,  and  a  glance  from 
one  to  the  other.  "Oh,  I  had  hoped  better  things. 
But  he  still  may?  He  still  may.  I  am  sure  he  may. 
In  which  case,  Mademoiselle,  your  modesty  must  par- 
don me  if  I  plead  urgency,  and  fix  the  hour  after  sup- 
per this  evening  for  the  fulfilment  of  your  promise." 

She  turned  white  to  the  lips.  "After  supper?" 
she  gasped. 

"Yes,  Mademoiselle,  this  evening.  Shall  I  say — 
at  eight  o'clock?  " 

In  horror  of  the  thing  which  menaced  her,  of  the 
thing  from  which  only  two  hours  separated  her,  she 


176  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

could  find  no  words  but  those  which  she  had  already 
used.  The  worst  was  upon  her;  worse  than  the 
worst  could  not  befall  her.  "But  he  has  not  per- 
suaded me ! "  she  cried,  clenching  her  hands  in  pas- 
sion. "  He  has  not  persuaded  me !  " 

" Still  he  may,  Mademoiselle." 

"He  will  not!  "  she  cried  wildly.     "He  will  not!  " 

The  room  was  going  round  with  her.  The  preci- 
pice yawned  at  her  feet ;  its  naked  terrors  turned  her 
brain.  She  had  been  pushed  nearer,  and  nearer,  and 
nearer ;  struggle  as  she  might  she  was  on  the  verge. 
A  mist  rose  before  her  eyes,  and  though  they  thought 
she  listened  she  understood  nothing  of  what  was  pass- 
ing. When  she  came  to  herself  after  the  lapse  of  a 
minute,  Count  Hannibal  was  speaking. 

"Permit  him  another  trial,  "he  was  saying  in  a  tone 
of  bland  irony.  "  A  short  time  longer,  Mademoiselle ! 
One  more  assault,  father!  The  weapons  of  the 
Church  could  not  be  better  directed  or  to  a  more 
worthy  object;  and,  successful,  shall  not  fail  of  due 
recognition  and  an  earthly  reward." 

And  while  she  listened,  half  fainting,  with  a  hum- 
ming in  her  ears,  he  was  gone.  The  door  closed  on 
him,  and  the  three — Mademoiselle's  woman  had  with- 
drawn when  she  opened  to  him — looked  at  one  an- 
other. The  girl  parted  her  lips  to  speak,  but  she 
only  smiled  piteously ;  and  it  was  M.  de  Tignonville 
who  broke  the  silence,  in  a  tone  which  betrayed  rather 
relief  than  any  other  feeling. 

"Come,  all  is  not  lost  yet,"  he  said  briskly.  "If  I 
can  escape  from  the  house " 

"He  knows  you,"  she  answered. 

"What?" 

"He  knows  you,"  Mademoiselle  repeated  in  a  tone 


AT  CLOSE   QUAETEES.  177 

almost  apathetic.  "I  read  it  in  his  eyes.  He  knew 
you  at  once:  and  knew,  too,"  she  added  bitterly, 
"that  he  had  here  under  his  hand  one  of  the  two 
things  he  required." 

"Then  why  did  he  hide  his  knowledge?"  the 
young  man  retorted  sharply. 

"Why?"  she  answered.  "To  induce  me  to  waive 
the  other  condition  in  the  hope  of  saving  you.  Oh !  " 
she  continued  in  a  tone  of  bitter  raillery,  "he  has  the 
cunning  of  hell,  of  the  priests!  You  are  no  match 
for  him,  monsieur.  Kor  I ;  nor  any  of  us.  And  " — 
with  a  gesture  of  despair — "he  will  be  my  master! 
He  will  break  me  to  his  will  and  to  his  hand !  I  shall 
be  his!  His,  body  and  soul,  body  and  soul!"  she 
continued  drearily,  as  she  sank  into  a  chair  and, 
rocking  herself  to  and  fro,  covered  her  face.  "I 
shall  be  his !  His  till  I  die !  " 

The  man's  eyes  burned,  and  the  pulse  in  his  tem- 
ples beat  wildly.  "But  you  shall  not,"  he  exclaimed. 
"I  may  be  no  match  for  him  in  cunning,  you  say 
well.  But  I  can  kill  him.  And  I  will ! "  He  paced 
up  and  down.  "I  will ! " 

"You  should  have  done  it  when  he  was  here,"  she 
answered,  half  in  scorn,  half  in  earnest. 

"It  is  not  too  late,"  he  cried;  and  then  he  stopped, 
silenced  by  the  opening  door.  It  was  Javette  who 
entered. 

They  looked  at  her,  and  before  she  spoke  were  on 
their  feet.  Her  face,  white  and  eager,  marking  some- 
thing besides  fear,  announced  that  she  brought  news. 
She  closed  the  door  behind  her,  and  in  a  moment  it 
was  told. 

"Monsieur  can  escape,  if  he  is  quick,"  she  cried  in 
a  low  tone ;  and  they  saw  that  she  trembled  with  ex- 
12 


178  COUNT   HANNIBAL. 

citemeut.  "They  are  at  supper.  But  he  must  be 
quick !  He  must  be  quick !  " 

"Is  not  the  door  guarded!" 

"It  is,  but " 

"And  he  knows!  Your  mistress  says  that  he 
knows  that  I  am  here. " 

For  a  moment  Javette  looked  startled.  "It  is  pos- 
sible," she  muttered.  "But  he  has  gone  out." 

Madame  Carlat  clapped  her  hands.  "I  heard  the 
door  close,"  she  said,  "three  minutes  ago." 

"And  if  monsieur  can  reach  the  room  in  which  he 
supped  last  night,  the  window  that  was  broken  is 
only  blocked  " — she  swallowed  once  or  twice  in  her 
excitement— "  with  something  he  can  move.  And 
then  monsieur  is  in  the  street,  where  his  cowl  will 
protect  him." 

"But  Count  Hannibal rs  men?  "  he  asked  eagerly. 

"They  are  eating  in  the  lodge  by  the  door." 

"Ha!  And  they  cannot  see  the  other  room  from 
there?" 

Javette  nodded.  Her  tale  told,  she  seemed  to  be 
unable  to  add  a  word.  Mademoiselle,  who  knew  her 
for  a  craven,  wondered  that  she  had  found  courage 
either  to  note  what  she  had  or  to  bring  the  news. 
But  as  Providence  had  been  so  good  to  them  as  to  put 
it  into  this  woman's  head  to  act  as  she  had,  it  behoved 
them  to  use  the  opportunity — the  last,  the  very  last 
opportunity  they  might  have. 

She  turned  to  Tignonville.  "Oh,  go!"  she  cried 
feverishly.  "Go,  I  beg!  Go  now,  monsieur!  The 
greatest  kindness  you  can  do  me  is  to  place  yourself 
as  quickly  as  possible  beyond  his  reach."  A  faint 
colour,  the  flush  of  hope,  had  returned  to  her  cheeks. 
Her  eyes  glittered. 


AT  CLOSE  QTJAETEES.  179 

"Eight,  Mademoiselle!"  he  cried,  obedient  for 
once.  "I  go!  And  do  you  be  of  good  courage."  He 
held  her  hand  an  instant,  then,  moving  to  the  door, 
he  opened  it  and  listened.  They  all  pressed  behind 
him  to  hear.  A  murmur  of  voices,  low  and  distant, 
mounted  the  staircase  and  bore  out  the  girl's  tale; 
apart  from  this  the  house  was  silent.  Tignonville 
cast  a  last  look  at  Mademoiselle,  and,  with  a  gesture 
of  farewell,  glided  a-tiptoe  to  the  stairs  and  began  to 
descend,  his  face  hidden  in  his  cowl.  They  watched 
him  reach  the  angle  of  the  staircase,  they  watched 
him  vanish  beyond  it ;  and  still  they  listened,  looking 
at  one  another  when  a  board  creaked  or  the  voices 
below  were  hushed  for  a  moment. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

THE   DUEL. 

AT  the  foot  of  the  staircase  Tignonville  paused. 
The  droning  Norman  voices  of  the  men  on  guard 
issued  from  an  open  door  a  few  paces  before  him  on 
the  left.  He  caught  a  jest,  the  coarse  chuckling 
laughter  which  attended  it,  and  the  gurgle  of  ap- 
plause which  followed ;  and  he  knew  that  at  any  mo- 
ment one  of  the  men  might  step  out  and  discover 
him.  Fortunately  the  door  of  the  room  with  the 
shattered  window  was  almost  within  reach  of  his 
hand  on  the  right  side  of  the  passage,  and  he  stepped 
softly  to  it.  He  stood  an  instant  hesitating,  his  hand 
on  the  latch ;  then,  alarmed  by  a  movement  in  the 
guard-room,  as  if  some  were  rising,  he  pushed  the 
door  in  a  panic,  slid  into  the  room,  and  shut  the  door 
behind  him.  He  was  safe,  and  he  had  made  no  noise ; 
but  at  the  table,  at  supper,  with  his  back  to  him  and 
his  face  to  the  partly  closed  window,  sat  Count  Han- 
nibal ! 

The  young  man's  heart  stood  still.  For  a  long 
minute  he  gazed  at  the  Count's  back,  spellbound  and 
unable  to  stir.  Then,  as  Tavannes  ate  on  without 
looking  round,  he  began  to  take  courage.  Possibly 
he  had  entered  so  quietly  that  he  had  not  been  heard, 
or  possibly  his  entrance  was  taken  for  that  of  a  ser- 
vant. In  either  case,  there  was  a  chance  that  he 


THE   DUEL.  181 

might  retire  after  the  same  fashion ;  arid  he  had  actu- 
ally raised  the  latch,  and  was  drawing  the  door  to 
him  with  infinite  precaution,  when  Tavanues'  voice 
struck  him,  as  it  were,  in  the  face. 

"Pray  do  not  admit  the  draught,  M.  de  Tignon- 
ville,"  he  said,  without  looking  round.  "In  your 
cowl  you  do  not  feel  it,  but  it  is  otherwise  with  me. " 

The  unfortunate  Tignouville  stood  transfixed,  glar- 
ing at  the  back  of  the  other's  head.  For  an  instant 
he  could  not  find  his  voice.  At  last  "Curse  you!  "  he 
hissed  in  a  transport  of  rage.  "Curse  you !  You  did 
know,  then?  And  she  was  right." 

"If  you  mean  that  I  expected  you,  to  be  sure,  mon- 
sieur," Count  Hannibal  answered.  "See,  your  place 
is  laid.  You  will  not  feel  the  air  from  without  there. 
The  very  becoming  dress  which  you  have  adopted  se- 
cures you  from  cold.  But — do  you  not  find  it  some- 
what oppressive  this  summer  weather?  " 

"Curse  you!  "  the  young  man  cried,  trembling. 

Tavannes  turned  and  looked  at  him  with  a  dark 
smile.  "The  curse  may  fall,"  he  said,  "but  I  fancy 
it  will  not  be  in  consequence  of  your  petitions,  mon- 
sieur. And  now,  were  it  not  better  you  played  the 
man?" 

"If  I  were  armed,"  the  other  cried  passionately, 
"you  would  not  insult  me !  " 

"Sit  down,  sir,  sit  down,"  Count  Hannibal  an- 
swered sternly.  "We  will  talk  of  that  presently.  In 
the  meantime  I  have  something  to  say  to  you.  Will 
you  not  eat?" 

But  Tiguonville  would  not. 

"Very  well,"  Count  Hannibal  answered;  and  he 
went  on  with  Ms  supper,  "I  am  indifferent  whether 
you  eat  or  not.  It  is  enough  for  me  that  you  are  one 


182  COUNT   HANNIBAL. 

of  the  two  things  I  lacked  an  hour  ago ;  and  that  I 
have  you,  M.  de  Tignonville.  And  through  you  I 
look  to  obtain  the  other." 

"What  other?"  Tignonville  cried. 

"A  minister,"  Tavannes  answered,  smiling.  "A 
minister.  There  are  not  many  left  in  Paris — of  your 
faith.  But  you  met  one  this  morning,  I  know !  " 

"II     I  met  one?" 

"  Yes,  monsieur,  you !  And  can  lay  your  hand  on 
him  in  five  minutes,  you  know. " 

M.  de  Tignonville  gasped.  His  face  turned  a  shade 
paler.  "You  have  a  spy,"  he  cried.  "You  have  a 
spy  upstairs ! " 

Tavannes  raised  his  cup  to  his  lips,  and  drank. 
When  he  had  set  it  down,  "It  may  be,"  he  said,  and 
he  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "I  know,  it  boots  not 
how  I  know.  It  is  my  business  to  make  the  most  of 
my  knowledge — and  of  yours !  " 

M.  de  Tignonville  laughed  rudely.  "Make  the 
most  of  your  own,"  he  said;  "you  will  have  none  of 
mine. " 

"That  remains  to  be  seen,"  Count  Hannibal  an- 
swered. u  Carry  your  mind  back  two  days,  M.  de 
Tignonville.  Had  I  gone  to  Mademoiselle  de  Vrillac 
last  Saturday  and  said  to  her  '  Marry  me,  or  promise 
to  marry  me, '  what  answer  would  she  have  given  ?  " 

"She  would  have  called  you  an  insolent!"  the 
young  man  replied  hotly.  "And  I " 

"No  matter  what  you  would  have  done!"  Tavan- 
nes said.  "Suffice  it  that  she  would  have  answered 
as  you  suggest.  Yet  to-day  she  has  given  me  her 
promise." 

"Yes,  "the  young  man  retorted,  "in  circumstances 
in  which  no  man  of  honour " 


THE  DUEL.  183 

"Let  us  say  in  peculiar  circumstances." 

"Well?" 

"Which  still  exist!  Mark  me,  M.  de  Tignonville, " 
Count  Hannibal  continued,  leaning  forward  and  eye- 
ing the  young  man  with  meaning,  "which  still  exist! 
And  may  have  the  same  effect  on  another's  will  as  on 
hers!  Listen!  Do  you  hear?"  And  rising  from  his 
seat  with  a  darkening  face,  he  pointed  to  the  partly 
shuttered  window,  through  which  the  measured  tramp 
of  a  body  of  men  came  heavily  to  the  ear.  "Do  you 
hear,  monsieur?  Do  you  understand?  As  it  was 
yesterday  it  is  to-day !  They  killed  the  President  La 
Place  this  morning !  And  they  are  searching !  They 
are  still  searching !  The  river  is  not  yet  full,  nor  the 
gibbet  glutted!  I  have  but  to  open  that  window 
and  denounce  you,  and  your  life  would  hang  by  no 
stronger  thread  than  the  life  of  a  mad  dog  which  they 
chase  through  the  streets ! " 

The  younger  man  had  risen  also.  He  stood  con- 
fronting Tavannes,  the  cowl  fallen  back  from  his  face, 
his  eyes  dilated.  "You  think  to  frighten  me! "  he 
cried.  "You  think  that  I  am  craven  enough  to  sac- 
rifice her  to  save  myself.  You " 

"You  were  craven  enough  to  draw  back  yester- 
day, when  you  stood  at  this  window  and  waited  for 
death!"  Count  Hannibal  answered  brutally.  "You 
flinched  then,  and  may  flinch  again ! " 

"Try  me!"  Tignonville  retorted,  trembling  with 
passiou.  "Try  me!"  And  then,  as  the  other  stared 
at  him  and  made  no  movement,  "But  you  dare  not!" 
lie  cried.  "  Yon  dare  not ! " 

"No?" 

"No!  For  if  I  die  you  lose  her! "  Tiguouville  re- 
plied in  a  voice  of  triumph.  "Ha,  ha!  I  touch  you 


184  COUNT   HANNIBAL. 

there! "  he  continued.  "You  dare  not,  for  my  safety 
is  part  of  the  price,  and  is  more  to  you  than  it  is  to 
myself!  You  may  threaten,  M.  de  Tavannes,  you 
may  bluster,  and  shout  and  point  to  the  window" 
— and  he  mocked,  with  a  disdainful  mimicry,  the 
other's  gesture — "but  my  safety  is  more  to  you  than 
to  me !  And  'twill  end  there !  " 

"You  believe  that?" 

"I  know  it!" 

In  two  strides  Count  Hannibal  was  at  the  window. 
He  seized  a  great  piece  of  the  boarding  which  closed 
one  half  of  the  opening ;  he  wrenched  it  away.  A 
flood  of  evening  light  burst  in  through  the  aperture, 
and  fell  on  and  heightened  the  flushed  passion  of  his 
features,  as  he  turned  again  to  his  opponent.  "Then 
if  you  know  it,"  he  cried  vehemently,  "in  God's 
name  act  upon  it ! "  And  he  pointed  to  the  window. 

"Act  upon  it?" 

"  Ay,  act  upon  it ! "  Tavannes  repeated,  with  a 
glance  of  flame.  "The  road  is  open!  If  you  would 
save  your  mistress,  behold  the  way !  If  you  would 
save  her  from  the  embrace  she  abhors,  from  the  eyes 
under  which  she  trembles,  from  the  hand  of  a  master, 
there  lies  the  way !  And  it  is  not  her  glove  only  you 
will  save,  but  herself,  her  soul,  her  body!  So,"  he 
continued  with  a  certain  wildness  and  in  a  tone 
wherein  contempt  and  bitterness  were  mingled,  "to 
the  lions,  brave  lover!  Will  you  your  life  for  her 
honour  ?  Will  you  death  that  she  may  live  a  maid  ? 
Will  you  your  head  to  save  her  finger?  Then,  leap 
down!  leap  down!  The  lists  are  open,  the  sand  is 
strewed !  Out  of  your  own  mouth  I  have  it  that  if 
you  perish  she  is  saved!  Then  out,  monsieur!  Cry 
'I  am  a  Huguenot! '  And  God's  will  be  done! " 


THE   DUEL.  185 

Tignonville  was  livid.  "Rather,  your  will!"  he 
panted.  "  Your  will,  you  devil !  Nevertheless " 

"  You  will  go !     Ha !  ha !     You  will  go !  " 

For  an  instant  it  seemed  that  he  would  go.  Stung 
by  the  challenge,  wrought  on  by  the  contempt  in 
which  Tavannes  held  him,  he  shot  a  look  of  hate  at 
the  tempter ;  he  caught  his  breath,  and  laid  his  hand 
on  the  edge  of  the  shuttering  as  if  he  would  leap  out. 

But  it  goes  hard  with  him  who  has  once  turned 
back  from  the  foe.  The  evening  light,  glancing  cold 
on  the  burnished  pike-points  of  a  group  of  archers 
who  stood  near,  caught  his  eye  and  went  chill  to  his 
heart.  Death,  not  in  the  arena,  not  in  the  sight  of 
shouting  thousands,  but  in  this  darkening  street,  with 
an  enemy  laughing  from  the  window,  death  with  no 
revenge  to  follow,  with  no  certainty  that  after  all  she 
would  be  safe,  such  a  death  could  be  compassed  only 
by  pure  love — the  love  of  a  child  for  a  parent,  of  a 
parent  for  a  child,  of  a  man  for  the  one  woman  in  the 
world ! 

He  recoiled.  "You  would  not  spare  her!"  he 
cried,  his  face  damp  with  sweat — for  he  knew  now 
that  he  would  not  go.  "You  want  to  be  rid  of  me! 
You  would  fool  me,  and  then " 

"Out  of  your  own  mouth  you  are  convict!"  Count 
Hannibal  retorted  gravely.  "It  was  you  who  said  it! 
But  still  I  swear  it !  Shall  I  swear  it  to  you  ?  " 

But  Tignonville  recoiled  another  step  and  was 
silent. 

"No?  O  preux  chevalier,  O  gallant  knight!  I 
knew  it!  Do  you  think  that  I  did  not  know  with 
whom  I  had  to  deal?"  And  Count  Hannibal  burst 
into  harsh  laughter,  turning  his  back  on  the  other, 
as  if  he  no  longer  counted.  "You  will  neither  die 


186  COUNT   HANNIBAL. 

with  her  nor  for  her !  You  were  better  in  her  petti- 
coats and  she  in  your  breeches !  Or  no,  you  are  best 
as  you  are,  good  father!  Take  my  advice,  M.  de  Tig- 
nonville,  have  done  with  arms ;  and  with  a  string  of 
beads,  and  soft  words,  and  talk  of  Holy  Mother 
Church,  you  will  fool  the  women  as  surely  as  the  best 
of  them !  They  are  not  all  like  my  cousin,  a  flouting, 
gibing,  jeering  woman — you  had  poor  fortune  there, 
I  fear?" 

"If  I  had  a  sword!"  Tignonville  hissed,  his  face 
livid  "with  rage.  "You  call  me  coward,  because  I 
will  not  die  to  please  you.  But  give  me  a  sword,  and 
I  will  show  you  if  I  aru  a  coward ! " 

Tavannes  stood  still.  "You  are  there,  are  you?" 
he  said  in  an  altered  tone.  "  I " 

"Give  me  a  sword,"  Tignonville  repeated,  hold- 
ing out  his  open  trembling  hands.  "A  sword!  A 
sword!  'Tis  easy  taunting  an  unarmed  man,  but " 

"You  wish  to  fight?" 

"I  ask  no  more !  No  more !  Give  me  a  sword,"  he 
urged,  his  voice  quivering  with  eagerness.  "It  is 
you  who  are  the  coward ! " 

Count  Hannibal  stared  at  him.  "And  what  am  I 
to  get  by  fighting  you  ?"  he  reasoned  slowly.  "You 
are  in  iny  power.  I  can  do  with  you  as  I  please.  I 
can  call  from  this  window  and  denounce  you,  or  I 
can  summon  my  men ' 

* '  Coward !     Coward !  " 

"Ay?  Well,  I  will  tell  you  what  I  will  do,"  with 
a  subtle  smile.  "I  will  give  you  a  sword,  M.  de  Tig- 
nonville, and  I  will  meet  you  foot  to  foot  here,  in 
this  room,  on  a  condition." 

"What  is  it?  What  is  it?"  the  young  man  cried 
with  incredible  eagerness.  "Name  your  condition ! " 


THE   DUEL.  187 

"That  if  I  get  the  better  of  you,  you  find  me  a  min- 
ister. " 

"I  find  you  a " 

"A  minister.  Yes,  that  is  it.  Or  tell  me  where  I 
can  find  one." 

The  young  man  recoiled.     "Never!  "  he  said. 

"You  know  where  to  find  one." 

"Never!     Never!" 

"You  can  lay  your  hand  on  one  in  five  minutes, 
you  know." 

"I  wiU  not." 

"Then  I  shall  not  fight  you!  "  Count  Hannibal  an- 
swered coolly;  and  he  turned  from  him,  and  back 
again.  "You  will  pardon  me  if  I  say,  M.  de  Tignon- 
ville,  that  you  are  in  as  many  minds  about  fighting  as 
about  dying!  I  do  not  think  that  you  would  have 
made  your  fortune  at  Court.  Moreover,  there  is  a 
thing  which  I  fancy  you  have  not  considered.  If  we 
fight  you  may  kill  me,  in  which  case  the  condition 
will  not  help  me  much.  Or  I — which  is  more  like- 
ly— "  he  added  with  a  harsh  smile,  "may  kill  you,  and 
again  I  am  no  better  placed. " 

The  young  man's,  pallid  features  betrayed  the  con- 
flict in  his  breast.  To  do  him  justice,  his  hand  itched 
for  the  sword-hilt — he  was  brave  enough  for  that ;  he 
hated,  and  only  so  could  he  avenge  himself.  But  the 
penalty  if  he  had  the  worse!  And  yet  what  of  it? 
He  was  in  hell  now,  in  a  hell  of  humiliation,  shame, 
defeat,  tormented  by  this  fiend !  'Twas  only  to  risk 
a  lower  hell. 

At  last,  "I  will  do  it!"  he  cried  hoarsely.  "Give 
me  a  sword  and  look  to  yourself." 

"  You  promise  ?  " 

"Yes,  yes,  I  promise!" 


188  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

"Good,"  Count  Hannibal  answered  suavely;  "but 
we  cannot  fight  so,  we  must  have  more  light,"  and 
striding  to  the  door  he  opened  it,  and  calling  the  Nor- 
man bade  him  move  the  table  and  bring  caudles — a 
dozen  candles ;  for  in  the  narrow  streets  the  light  was 
waning,  and  in  the  half -shuttered  room  it  was  grow- 
ing dusk.  Tignonville,  listening  with  a  throbbing 
brain,  wondered  that  the  attendant  expressed  no  sur- 
prise and  said  no  word — until  Tavannes  added  to  his 
orders  one  for  a  pair  of  swords. 

Then,  "Monsieur's  sword  is  here,"  Bigot  answered 
in  his  half-intelligible  patois.  "  He  left  it  here  yes- 
ter  morning." 

"You  are  a  good  fellow,  Bigot,"  Tavannes  an- 
swered, with  a  gaiety  and  good-humour  which  aston- 
ished Tiguouville.  "And  one  of  these  days  you  shall 
marry  Suzanne." 

The  Norinau  smiled  sourly  and  went  in  search  of 
the  weapon. 

"You  have  a  poniard?  "  Count  Hannibal  continued 
in  the  same  tone  of  unusual  good  temper,  which  had 
already  struck  Tignonville.  "Excellent!  Will  you 
strip,  then,  or — as  we  are  ?  Very  good,  monsieur ;  in 
the  unlikely  evthit  of  fortune  declaring  for  you,  you 
will  be  in  a  better  condition  to  take  care  of  yourself. 
A  man  running  through  the  streets  in  his  shirt  is  ex- 
posed to  inconveniences ! "  And  he  laughed  gaily. 

"While  he  laughed  the  other  listened ;  and  his  rage 
began  to  give  place  to  wonder.  A  man  who  regarded 
as  a  pastime  a  sword  and  dagger  conflict  between  four 
walls,  who,  having  his  adversary  in  his  power,  was 
ready  to  discard  the  advantage,  to  descend  into  the 
lists,  and  to  risk  life  for  a  whim,  a  fancy— such  a 
man  was  outside  his  experience,  though  in  Poitou  in 


THE  DUEL.  189 

those  days  of  war  were  men  reckoned  brave.  For 
what,  he  asked  himself  as  he  waited,  had  Tavaunes  to 
gain  by  fighting?  The  possession  of  Mademoiselle1? 
But  Mademoiselle,  if  his  passion  for  her  overwhelmed 
him,  was  in  his  power;  and  if  his  promise  were  a  bar- 
rier— which  seemed  inconceivable  in  the  light  of  his 
reputation — he  had  only  to  wait,  and  to-morrow,  or 
the  next  day,  or  the  next,  a  minister  would  be  found, 
and  without  risk  he  could  gain  that  for  which  he  was 
now  risking  all. 

Tignonville  did  not  know  that  it  was  in  the  other's 
nature  to  find  pleasure  in  such  utmost  ventures. 
Nevertheless  the  recklessness  to  which  Tavannes'  ac- 
tion bore  witness  had  its  effect  upon  him.  By  the 
time  the  young  man's  sword  arrived  something  of  his 
passion  for  the  conflict  had  evaporated ;  and  though 
the  touch  of  the  hilt  restored  his  determination,  the 
locked  door,  the  confined  space,  and  the  unaccus- 
tomed light  went  a  certain  distance  towards  substitut- 
ing despair  for  courage. 

The  use  of  the  dagger  in  the  duels  of  that  day, 
however,  rendered  despair  itself  formidable.  And 
Tignonville,  when  he  took  his  place,  appeared  any- 
thing but  a  mean  antagonist.  He  had  removed  his 
robe  and  cowl,  and  lithe  and  active  as  a  cat  he  stood 
as  it  were  on  springs,  throwing  his  weight  now  on 
this  foot  and  now  on  that,  and  was  continually  in 
motion.  The  table  bearing  the  caudles  had  been 
pushed  against  the  window,  the  boarding  of  which 
had  been  replaced  by  Bigot  before  he  left  the  room. 
Tignonville  had  this,  and  consequently  the  lights,  on 
his  dagger  hand;  and  he  plumed  himself  on  the 
advantage,  considering  his  point  the  more  difficult  to 
follow. 


190  COUNT   HANNIBAL. 

Count  Hannibal  did  not  seem  to  notice  this,  how- 
ever. "  Are  you  ready  1"  he  asked.  And  then, 

"On  guard!  "  he  cried,  and  he  stamped  the  echo  to 
the  word.  But,  that  done,  instead  of  bearing  the 
other  down  with  a  headlong  rush  characteristic  of 
the  man — as  Tiguouville  feared — he  held  off  warily, 
stooping  low ;  and  when  his  slow  opening  was  met  by 
one  as  cautious,  he  began  to  taunt  his  antagonist. 

"Come!"  he  cried,  and  feinted  half-heartedly. 
"  Come,  monsieur,  are  we  going  to  fight,  or  play  at 
fighting?" 

"Fight  yourself,  then!"  Tignonville  answered,  his 
breath  quickened  by  excitement  and  growing  hope. 
"  'Tis  not  I  hold  back !  "  And  he  lunged,  but  was  put 
aside. 

"Ca!  ca!"  Tavannes  retorted;  and  he  lunged  and 
parried  in  his  turn,  but  loosely  and  at  a  distance. 
Aftei  which  the  two  moved  nearer  the  door,  their 
eyes  glittering  as  they  watched  one  another,  their 
knees  bent,  the  sinews  of  their  backs  straining  for  the 
leap.  Suddenly  Tavannes  thrust,  and  leapt  away, 
and  as  his  antagonist  thrust  in  return  the  Count 
swept  the  blade  aside  with  a  strong  parry,  and  for  a 
moment  seemed  to  be  on  the  point  of  falling  on  Tig- 
nonville with  the  poniard.  But  Tignonville  retired 
his  right  foot  nimbly,  which  brought  them  front  to 
front  again.  And  the  younger  man  laughed. 

"Try  again,  M.  le  Comte!"  he  said.  And,  with 
the  word,  he  dashed  in  himself  quick  as  light ;  for  a 
second  the  blades  ground  on  one  another,  the  daggers 
hovered,  the  two  suffused  faces  glared  into  one  anoth- 
er ;  then  the  pair  disengaged  again.  The  blood  trick- 
led from  a  scratch  on  Count  Hannibal's  neck;  half  an 
inch  to  the  right  and  the  point  had  found  his  throat. 


THE   DUEL.  191 

And  Tignonville,  elated,  laughed  anew,  and  swaying 
from  side  to  side  on  his  hips,  watched  with  growing 
confidence  for  a  second  chance.  Lithe  as  one  of  the 
leopards  Charles  kept  at  the  Louvre,  he  stooped  lower 
and  lower,  and  more  and  more  with  each  moment 
took  the  attitude  of  the  assailant,  watching  for  an 
opening;  while  Count  Hannibal,  his  face  dark  and 
his  eyes  vigilant,  stood  increasingly  on  the  defence. 
The  light  was  waning  a  little,  the  wicks  of  the  caudles 
were  burning  long ;  bnt  neither  noticed  it  or  dared  to 
remove  his  eyes  from  the  other's.  Their  laboured 
breathing  found  an  echo  on  the  farther  side  of  the 
door,  but  this  again  neither  observed. 

"Well?"  Count  Hannibal  said  at  last.  "Are  you 
coming  ? " 

"When  I  please,"  Tignonville  answered;  and  he 
feinted  but  drew  back.  The  other  did  the  same,  and 
again  they  watched  one  another,  their  eyes  seeming 
to  grow  smaller  and  smaller.  Gradually  a  smile  had 
birth  on  Tiguonville's  lips.  He  thrust !  It  was  par- 
ried! He  thrust  again — parried!  Tavannesr  grown 
still  more  cautious,  gave  a  yard.  Tignonville  pushed 
on,  but  did  not  allow  confidence  to  master  caution. 
He  began,  indeed,  to  taunt  his  adversary ;  to  flout  and 
jeer  him.  But  it  was  with  a  motive. 

For  suddenly,  in  the  middle  of  a  sentence,  he  re- 
peated the  peculiar  thrust  which  had  been  successful 
before.  This  time,  however,  Tavannes  was  ready. 
He  put  aside  the  blade  with  a  quick  parade,  and  in- 
stead of  making  a  riposte  sprang  within  the  other's 
guard.  The  two  came  face  to  face  and  breast  to 
shoulder,  and  struck  furiously  with  their  daggers. 
Count  Hannibal  was  outside  his  opponent's  sword 
and  had  the  advantage.  Tignonville' s  dagger  fell, 


192  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

but  glanced  off  the  metalwork  of  the  other's  hilt ;  Ta- 
vaimes'  fell  swift  and  hard  between  the  young  man's 
eyes.  The  Huguenot  flung  up  his  hands  and  stag- 
gered back,  falling  his  length  on  the  floor. 

In  an  instant  Count  Hannibal  was  on  his  breast, 
and  had  knocked  away  his  dagger.  Then,  "You  own 
yourself  vanquished?"  he  cried. 

The  young  man,  blinded  by  the  blood  which  trick- 
led down  his  face,  made  a  sign  with  his  hands. 
Count  Hannibal  rose  to  his  feet  again,  and  stood  a 
moment  looking  at  his  foe  without  speaking.  Pres- 
ently he  seemed  to  be  satisfied.  He  nodded,  and 
going  to  the  table  dipped  a  napkin  in  water.  He 
brought  it,  and  carefully  supporting  Tignonville's 
head,  laved  his  brow.  "It  is  as  I  thought,"  he  said, 
when  he  had  stanched  the  blood.  "You  are  not  hurt, 
man.  You  are  stunned.  It  is  no  more  than  a 
bruise. " 

The  young  man  was  coming  to  himself.  "But  I 

thought "  he  muttered,  and  broke  off  to  pass  his 

hand  over  his  face.  Then  he  got  up  slowly,  reeling  a 
little,  "I  thought  it  was  the  point,"  he  muttered. 

"No,  it  was  the  pommel,"  Tavannes  answered 
drily.  "It  would  not  have  served  me  to  kill  you. 
I  could  have  done  that  ten  times." 

Tignouville  groaned,  and,  sitting  down  at  the  table, 
held  the  napkin  to  his  aching  head.  One  of  the  can- 
dles had  been  overturned  in  the  struggle  and  lay  on 
the  floor,  flaring  in  a  little  pool  of  grease.  Tavannes 
set  his  heel  upon  it ;  then,  striding  to  the  farther  end 
of  the  room,  he  picked  up  Tignonville's  dagger  and 
placed  it  beside  his  sword  on  the  table.  He  looked 
about  to  see  if  aught  else  remained  to  do,  and,  finding 
nothing,  he  returned  to  Tignonville's  side. 


THE  DUEL.  193 

"Now,  monsieur,"  he  said  in  a  voice  hard  and  con- 
strained, "  I  must  ask  you  to  perform  your  part  of 
the  bargain. " 

A  groan  of  anguish  broke  from  the  unhappy  man. 
And  yet  he  had  set  his  life  on  the  cast ;  what  more 
could  he  have  done?  "You  will  not  harm  him?"  he 
muttered. 

"He  shall  go  safe,"  Count  Hannibal  replied 
gravely. 

"And "  he  fought  a  moment  with  his  pride, 

then  blurted  out  the  words,  "you  will  not  tell  her — 
that  it  was  through  me — you  found  him?  " 

"I  will  not,"  Tavannes  answered  in  the  same  tone. 
He  stooped  and  picked  up  the  other's  robe  and  cowl, 
which  had  fallen  from  a  chair — so  that  as  he  spoke 
his  eyes  were  averted.  "She  shall  never  know 
through  me,"  he  said. 

And  Tignonville,  his  face  hidden  in  his  hands,  told 
him. 

13 


CHAPTER  XVIH. 

ANDKOMEDA,    PERSEUS  BEING  ABSENT. 

LITTLE  by  little — while  they  fought  below — the 
gloom  had  thickened,  and  night  had  fallen  in  the 
room  above.  But  Mademoiselle  would  not  have  can- 
dles brought.  Seated  in  the  darkness,  on  the  upper- 
most step  of  the  stairs,  her  hands  clasped  about  her 
knees,  she  listened  and  listened,  as  if  by  that  action 
she  could  avert  misfortune ;  or  as  if,  by  going  so  far 
forward  to  meet  it,  she  could  turn  aside  the  worst. 
The  women  shivering  in  the  darkness  about  her 
would  fain  have  struck  a  light  and  drawn  her  back 
into  the  room,  for  they  felt  safer  there.  But  she  was 
not  to  be  moved.  The  laughter  and  chatter  of  the 
men  in  the  guard-room,  the  coming  and  going  of 
Bigot  as  he  passed,  below  but  out  of  sight,  had  no 
terrors  for  her ;  nay,  she  breathed  more  freely  on  the 
bare  open  landing  of  the  staircase  than  in  the  close 
confines  of  a  room  which  her  fears  made  hateful  to 
her.  Here  at  least  she  could  listen,  her  face  unseen ; 
and  listening  she  bore  the  suspense  more  easily. 

A  turn  in  the  staircase,  with  the  noise  which  pro- 
ceeded from  the  guard-room,  rendered  it  difficult  to 
hear  what  happened  in  the  closed  room  below.  But 
she  thought  that  if  an  alarm  were  raised  there  she 
must  hear  it ;  and  as  the  moments  passed  and  nothing 
happened,  she  began  to  feel  confident  that  her  lover 
had  made  good  his  escape  by  the  window. 


ANDEOMEDA,  PEESEUS  BEING  ABSENT.   195 

Presently  she  got  a  fright.  Three  or  four  men  came 
from  the  guard-room  and  went,  as  it  seemed  to  her, 
to  the  door  of  the  room  with  the  shattered  easement. 
She  told  herself  that  she  had  rejoiced  too  soon,  and 
her  heart  stood  still.  She  waited  for  a  rush  of  feet, 
a  cry,  a  struggle.  But  except  an  uncertain  muffled 
sound  which  lasted  for  some  minutes,  and  was  fol- 
lowed by  a  dull  shock,  she  heard  nothing  more.  And 
presently  the  men  went  back  whispering,  the  noise  in 
the  guard-room  which  had  been  partially  hushed 
broke  forth  anew,  and  perplexed  but  relieved  she 
breathed  again.  Surely  he  had  escaped  by  this  time. 
Surely  by  this  time  he  was  far  away,  in  the  Arsenal, 
or  in  some  place  of  refuge!  And  she  might  take 
courage,  and  feel  that  for  this  day  the  peril  was  over- 
past. 

"Mademoiselle  will  have  the  lights  now?"  one  of 
the  women  ventured. 

"No!  no!"  she  answered  feverishly,  and  she  con- 
tinued to  crouch  where  she  was  on  the  stairs,  bathing 
herself  and  her  burning  face  in  the  darkness  and  cool- 
ness of  the  stairway.  The  air  entered  freely  through 
a  window  at  her  elbow  and  the  place  was  fresher, 
were  that  all,  than  the  room  she  had  left.  Javette 
began  to  whimper,  but  she  paid  no  heed  to  her;  a 
man  came  and  went  along  the  passage  below,  and  she 
heard  the  outer  door  unbarred,  and  the  jarring  tread 
of  three  or  four  men  who  passed  through  it.  Biit  all 
without  disturbance;  aaad  afterwards  the  house  was 
quiet  again.  And  as  on  this  Monday  evening  the 
prime  virulence  of  the  massacre  had  begun  to  abate 
— though  it  held  after  a  fashion  to  the  end  of  the 
week — Paris  without  was  quiet  also.  The  sounds 
which  had  chilled  her  heart  at  intervals  during  two 


196  COUNT   HANNIBAL. 

days  were  no  longer  heard.  A  feeling  almost  of 
peace,  almost  of  comfort — a  drowsy  feeling,  that  was 
three  parts  a  reaction  from  excitement — took  posses- 
sion of  her.  In  the  darkness  her  head  sank  lower 
and  lower  on  her  knees.  And  half  an  hour  passed, 
while  Javette  whimpered,  'and  Madame  Carlat  slum- 
bered, her  broad  back  propped  against  the  wall. 

Suddenly  Mademoiselle  opened  her  eyes,  and  saw, 
three  steps  below  her,  a  strange  man  whose  upward 
way  she  barred.  Behind  him  came  Carlat,  and  be- 
hind him  Bigot,  lighting  both ;  and  in  the  confusion 
of  her  thoughts  as  she  rose  to  her  feet  the  three,  all 
staring  at  her  in  a  common  amazement,  seemed  a 
company.  The  air  entering  through  the  open  win- 
dow beside  her  blew  the  flame  of  the  caudle  this  way 
and  that,  and  added  to  the  nightmare  character  of  the 
scene ;  for  by  the  shifting  light  the  men  seemed  to 
laugh  one  moment  and  scowl  the  next,  and  their 
shadows  were  now  high  and  now  low  on  the  wall.  In 
truth  they  were  as  much  amazed  at  coming  on  her  in 
that  place  as  she  at  their  appearance ;  but  they  were 
awake,  and  she  newly  roused  from  sleep ;  and  the  ad- 
vantage was  with  them. 

"  What  is  it?  "  she  cried  in  a  panic.    "  What  is  it?  " 

"If  Mademoiselle  will  return  to  her  room?  "  one  of 
the  men  said  courteously. 

"But — what  is  it?  "     She  was  frightened. 

"If  Mademoiselle " 

Then  she  turned  without  more  and  went  back  into 
the  room,  and  the  three  followed,  and  her  woman  and 
Madame  Carlat.  She  stood  resting  one  hand  on  the 
table  while  Javette  with  shaking  fingers  lighted  the 
caudles.  Then,  "Now,  monsieur,"  she  said  in  a  hard 
voice,  "if  you  will  tell  me  your  business?  " 


ANDROMEDA,  PERSEUS  BEING  ABSENT.   197 

"You  do  not  know  me?"  The  stranger's  eyes 
dwelt  kindly  and  pitifully  on  her. 

She  looked  at  him  steadily,  crushing  down  the 
fears  which  knocked  at  her  heart.  "No,"  she  said. 
"And  yet  I  think  I  have  seen  you." 

"You  saw  me  a  week  last  Sunday,"  the  stranger 
answered  sorrowfully.  "My  name  is  La  Tribe.  I 
preached  that  day,  Mademoiselle,  before  the  King  of 
Navarre.  I  believe  that  you  were  there." 

For  a  moment  she  stared  at  him  in  silence,  her  lips 
parted.  Then  she  laughed,  a  laugh  which  set  the 
teeth  on  edge.  "Oh,  he  is  clever!"  she  cried.  "He 
has  the  wit  of  the  priests !  Or  the  devil !  But  you 
come  too  late,  monsieur !  You  come  too  late !  The 
bird  has  flown. " 

"Mademoiselle " 

"  I  tell  you  the  bird  has  flown ! "  she  repeated  ve- 
hemently. And  her  laugh  of  joyless  triumph  rang 
through  the  room.  "He  is  clever,  but  I  have  out- 
witted him !  I  have " 

She  paused  and  stared  about  her  wildly,  struck  by 
the  silence ;  struck,  too,  by  something  solemn,  some- 
thing pitiful  in  the  faces  that  were  turned  on  her. 
And  her  lip  began  to  quiver.  "'What?"  she  mut- 
tered. "Why  do  you  look  at  me  so?  He  has  not" 
— she  turned  from  one  to  another — "he  has  not  been 
taken?" 

"M.  Tignonville?" 

She  nodded. 

"He  is  below." 

"Ah!"  she  said. 

They  expected  to  see  her  break  down,  perhaps  to 
see  her  fall.  But  she  only  groped  blindly  for  a  chair 
and  sat.  And  for  a  moment  there  was  silence  in  the 


198  COUNT   HANNIBAL. 

room.  It  was  the  Huguenot  minister  who  broke  it  in 
a  tone  formal  and  solemn. 

"Listen,  all  present!  "  he  said  slowly.  "The  ways 
of  God  are  past  finding  out.  For  two  days  in  the 
midst  of  great  perils  I  have  been  preserved  by  His 
hand  and  fed  by  His  bounty,  and  I  am  told  that  I 
shall  live  if,  in  this  matter,  I  do  the  will  of  those  who 
hold  me  in  their  power.  But  be  assured — and  heark- 
en all, "  he  continued,  lowering  his  voice  to  a  sterner 
note.  "Bather  than  marry  this  woman  to  this  man 
against  her  will — if  indeed  in  His  sight  such  marriage 
can  be — rather  than  save  my  life  by  such  base  com- 
pliance, I  will  die  not  once  but  ten  times !  See.  I 
am  ready !  I  will  make  no  defence ! "  And  he 
opened  his  arms  as  if  to  welcome  the  stroke.  "If 
there  be  trickery  here,  if  there  has  been  practising 
below,  where  they  told  me  this  and  tyiat,  it  shall  not 
avail  !  Until  I  hear  from  Mademoiselle's  own  lips 
that  she  is  willing,  I  will  not  say  over  her  so  much  as 
Yea,  yea,  or  Nay,  nay !  " 

"She  is  willing!"  ' 

La  Tribe  turned  sharply,  and  beheld  the  speaker. 
It  was  Count  Hannibal,  who  had  entered  a  few  sec- 
onds earlier,  and  had  taken  his  stand  within  the 
door. 

"She  is  willing!  "  Tavannes  repeated  quietly.  And 
if,  in  this  moment  of  the  fruition  of  his  schemes,  he 
felt  his  triumph,  he  masked  it  under  a  face  of  sombre 
purpose.  "Do  you  doubt  me,  man?  " 

"From  her  own  lips!  "  the  other  replied,  undaunted 
— and  few  could  say  as  much — by  that  harsh  pres- 
ence. "  From  no  other's !" 

"Sirrah,  you " 

"I  can  die.     And  you  can  no  more,  my  lord!"  the 


ANDROMEDA,  PERSEUS  BEING  ABSENT.   199 

minister  answered  bravely.  "You  have  no  threat 
can  move  me." 

"I  am  not  sure  of  that,"  Tavannes  answered,  more 
blandly.  "  But  had  you  listened  to  me  and  been  less 
anxious  to  be  brave,  M.  La  Tribe,  where  no  danger 
is,  you  had  learned  that  here  is  no  call  for  heroics! 
Mademoiselle  is  willing,  and  will  tell  you  so." 

"With  her  own  lips?" 

Count  Hannibal  raised  his  eyebrows.  "  With  her 
own  lips,  if  you  will, "  he  said.  And  then,  advanc- 
ing a  step  and  addressing  her,  with  unusual  gravity, 
"Mademoiselle  de  Vriltoc,"  he  said,  "you  hear  what 
this  gentleman  requires.  Will  you  be  pleased  to  con- 
firm what  I  have  said  ?  " 

She  did  not  answer,  and  in  the  intense  silence 
which  held  the  room  in  its  freezing  grasp  a  woman 
choked,  another  broke  into  weeping.  The  colour 
ebbed  from  the  cheeks  of  more  than  one;  the  men 
fidgeted  on  their  feet. 

Count  Hannibal  looked  round,  his  head  high. 
"There  is  no  call  for  tears,"  he  said;  and  whether  he 
spoke  in  irony  or  in  a  strange  obtuseness  was  known 
only  to  himself.  "  Mademoiselle  is  in  no  hurry — and 
rightly — to  answer  a  question  so  momentous.  Under 
the  pressure  of  utmost  peril,  she  passed  her  word; 
the  more  reason  that,  now  the  time  has  come  to  re- 
deem it,  she  should  do  so  at  leisure  and  after  thought. 
Since  she  gave  her  promise,  monsieur,  she  has  had 
more  than  one  opportunity  of  evading  its  fulfilment. 
But  she  is  a  Vrillac,  and  I  know  that  nothing  is  far- 
ther from  her  thoughts. " 

He  was  silent  a  moment;  and  then  "Mademoi- 
selle," he  said,  "I  would  not  hurry  you." 

Her  eyes  were  closed,  but  at  that  her  lips  moved. 


20u  COUNT   HANNIBAL. 

"I  am — willing,"  she  whispered.  And  a  fluttering 
sigh,  of  relief,  of  pity,  of  God  knows  what,  filled  the 
room. 

"You  are  satisfied,  M.  La  Tribe?  " 

"I  do  not " 

"Man!  "  With  a  growl  as  of  a  tiger,  Count  Hanni- 
bal dropped  the  mask.  In  two  strides  he  was  at  the 
minister's  side,  his  hand  gripped  his  shoulder;  his 
face,  flushed  with  passion,  glared  into  his.  "Will 
you  play  with  lives!"  he  hissed.  "If  you  do  not 
value  your  own,  have  you  no  thought  of  others'?  Of 
these?  Look  and  count!  Have  you  no  bowels?  If 
she  will  save  them,  will  not  you?  " 

"My  own  I  do  not  value." 

"Curse  your  own!"  Tavauues  cried  in  furious 
scorn.  And  he  shook  the  other  to  and  fro.  "Who 
thought  of  your  life?  Will  you  doom  these?  Will 
you  give  them  to  the  butcher?  " 

"My  lord,"  La  Tribe  answered,  shaken  in  spite  of 
himself,  "if  she  be  willing " 

"She  is  willing." 

"I  have  nought  to  say.  But  I  caught  her  words 
indistinctly.  And  without  her  consent — 

"  She  shall  speak  more  plainly.     Mademoiselle — 

She  anticipated  him.  She  had  risen,  and  stood 
looking  straight  before  her,  seeing  nothing.  "I  am 
willing,"  she  muttered  with  a  strange  gesture,  "if  it 
must  be." 

He  did  not  answer. 

"If  it  must  be,"  she  repeated  slowly,  and  with  a 
heavy  sigh.  And  her  chin  dropped  on  her  breast. 
Then,  abruptly,  suddenly — it  was  a  strange  thing  to 
see— she  looked  up.  A  change  as  complete  as  the 
change  which  had  come  over  Count  Hannibal  a  min- 


ANDROMEDA,  PERSEUS  BEIXG  ABSENT.   201 

ute  before  came  over  her.  She  sprang  to  his  side; 
she  clutched  his  arm  and  devoured  his  face  with 
her  eyes.  "You  are  not  deceiving  me"? "  she  cried. 
"You  have  Tignonville  below?  You — oh,  no,  no!" 
And  she  fell  back  from  him,  her  eyes  distended,  her 
voice  grown  suddenly  shrill  and  defiant,  "You  have 
not!  You  are  deceiving  me!  He  has  escaped,  and 
you  have  lied  to  me !  " 
« If  » 

"Yes,  you  have  lied  to  me! "  It  was  the  last  fierce 
flicker  of  hope  when  hope  seemed  dead:  the  last 
clutch  of  the  drowning  at  the  straw  that  floated  be- 
fore the  eyes. 

He  laughed  harshly.  "You  will  be  my  wife  in 
five  minutes,"  he  said,  "and  you  give  me  the  lie?  A 
week,  and  you  will  know  me  better !  A  month,  and 
— but  we  will  talk  of  that  another  time.  For  the 
present,"  he  continued,  turning  to  La  Tribe,  "do  you, 
sir,  tell  her  that  the  gentleman  is  below.  Perhaps 
she  will  believe  you.  For  you  know  him." 

La  Tribe  looked  at  her  sorrowfully;  his  heart  bled 
for  her.  "I  have  seen  M.  de  Tignonville,"  he  said. 
"And  M.  le  COrnte  says  truly.  He  is  in  the  same 
case  with  ourselves,  a  prisoner." 

"You  have  seen  him1? "  she  wailed. 

"I  left  him  in  the  room  below,  when  I  mounted  the 
stairs." 

Count  Hannibal  laughed,  the  grim  mocking  laugh 
which  seemed  to  revel  in  the  pain  it  inflicted.  "  Will 
you  have  him  for  a  witness?"  he  cried.  "There 
could  not  be  a  better,  for  he  will  not  forget.  Shall  I 
fetch  him?" 

She  bowed  her  head,  shivering.  "Spare  me  that," 
she  said.  And  she  pressed  her  hands  to  her  eyes 


202  COUNT   HANNIBAL. 

while  an  uncontrollable  shudder  passed  over  her 
frame.  Then  she  stepped  forward:  "I  am  ready," 
she  whispered.  "Do  with  me  as  you  will !  " 

When  they  had  all  gone  out  and  closed  the  door 
behind  them,  and  the  two  whom  the  minister  had 
joined  were  left  together,  Count  Hannibal  continued 
for  a  time  to  pace  the  room,  his  hands  clasped  at  his 
back,  and  his  head  sunk  somewhat  on  his  chest.  His 
thoughts  appeared  to  run  in  a  new  channel,  and  one, 
strange  to  say,  widely  diverted  from  his  bride  and 
from  that  which  he  had  just  done.  For  he  did  not 
look  her  way,  or,  for  a  time,  speak  to  her.  He  stood 
once  to  snuff  a  candle,  doing  it  with  an  absent  face ; 
and  once  to  look,  but  still  absently,  as  if  he  read  no 
word  of  it,  at  the  marriage  writing  which  lay,  the  ink 
still  wet,  upon  the  table.  After  each  of  these  inter- 
ruptions he  resumed  his  steady  pacing  to  and  fro,  to 
and  fro,  nor  did  his  eye  wander  once  in  the  direction 
of  her  chair. 

And  she  waited.  The  conflict  of  emotions,  the 
strife  between  hope  and  fear,  the  final  defeat  had 
stunned  her;  had  left  her  exhausted,  almost  apa- 
thetic. Yet  not  quite,  nor  wholly.  For  when  in  his 
walk  he  came  a  little  nearer  to  her,  a  chill  perspira- 
tion broke  out  on  her  brow,  and  shudderings  crept 
over  her ;  and  when  he  passed  farther  from  her — and 
then  only,  it  seemed — she  breathed  again.  But  the 
change  lay  beneath  the  surface,  and  cheated  the  eye. 
Into  her  attitude,  as  she  sat,  her  hands  clasped  on 
her  lap,  her  eyes  fixed,  came  no  apparent  change  or 
shadow  of  movement. 

Suddenly,  with  a  dull  shock,  she  became  aware 
that  he  was  speaking. 


ANDBOMEDA,  PEESEUS  BEING  ABSENT.   203 

"  There  was  need  of  haste, "  he  said,  his  tone 
strangely  low  and  free  from  emotion,  "for  I  am  under 
bond  to  leave  Paris  to-morrow  for  Angers,  whither 
I  bear  letters  from  the  Bang.  And  as  matters  stood, 
there  was  no  one  with  whom  I  could  leave  you.  I 
trust  Bigot ;  he  is  faithful,  and  you  may  trust  him, 
Madame,  fair  or  foul !  But  he  is  not  quick-witted. 
Badelon  also  you  may  trust.  Bear  it  in  mind.  Your 
woman  Javette  is  not  faithful ;  but  as  her  life  is  guar- 
anteed she  must  stay  with  us  until  she  can  be  securely 
placed.  Indeed,  I  must  take  all  with  me — with  one 
exception — for  the  priests  and  monks  rule  Paris,  and 
they  do  not  love  me,  nor  would  spare  aught  at  my 
word. " 

He  was  silent  a  few  moments.  Then  he  resumed  in 
the  same  tone,  "You  ought  to  know  how  we,  Tavan- 
nes,  stand.  It  is  by  Monsieur  and  the  Queen -Mother ; 
and  contra  the  Guises.  We  have  all  been  in  this  mat- 
ter ;  but  the  latter  push  and  we  are  pushed,  and  the 
old  crack  will  reopen.  As  it  is,  I  cannot  answer  for 
much  beyond  the  reach  of  my  arm.  Therefore,  we 
take  all  with  us  except  M.  Tignonville,  who  desires 
to  be  conducted  to  the  Arsenal." 

She  had  begun  to  listen  with  averted  eyes.  But  as 
he  continued  to  speak  surprise  awoke  in  her,  and 
something  stronger  than  surprise — amazement,  stupe- 
faction. Slowly  her  eyes  came  to  him,  and  when  he 
ceased  to  speak,  "Why  do  you  tell  me  these  things!  " 
she  muttered,  her  dry  lips  framing  the  words  with 
difficulty. 

"Because  it  behoves  you  to  know  them,"  he  an- 
swered, thoughtfully  tapping  the  table.  "I  have  no 
one,  save  my  brother,  whom  I  can  trust." 

She  would  not  ask  him  why  he  trusted  her,  nor  why 


204  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

he  thought  he  could  trust  her.  For  a  moment  or  two 
she  watched  him,  while  he,  with  his  eyes  lowered, 
stood  in  deep  thought.  At  last  he  looked  up  and  his 
eyes  met  hers.  "Come!"  he  said  abruptly  and  in  a 
different  tone,  "we  must  end  this!  Is  it  to  be  a  kiss 
or  a  blow  between  us  ?  " 

She  rose,  though  her  knees  shook  under  her ;  and 
they  stood  face  to  face,  her  face  white  as  paper. 
"What — do  you  mean?  "  she  whispered. 

"Is  it  to  be  a  kiss  or  a  blow?  "  he  repeated.  "A 
husband  must  be  a  lover,  Madame,  or  a  master,  or 
both!  I  am  content  to  be  the  one  or  the  other,  or 
both,  as  it  shall  please  you.  But  the  one  I  will  be." 

"Then,  a  thousand  times,  a  blow,"  she  cried,  her 
eyes  flaming,  "from  you!  " 

He  wondered  at  her  courage,  but  he  hid  his  won- 
der. "So  be  it!"  he  answered.  And  before  she 
knew  what  he  would  be  at,  he  struck  her  sharply 
across  the  cheek  with  the  glove  which  he  held  in  his 
hand.  She  recoiled  with  a  low  cry,  and  her  cheek 
blazed  scarlet  where  he  had  struck  it.  "So  be  it!" 
he  continued  sombrely.  "The  choice  shall  be  yours, 
but  you  will  come  to  me  daily  for  the  one  or  the 
other.  If  I  cannot  be  lover,  Madame,  I  will  be  mas- 
ter. And  by  this  sign  I  will  have  you  know  it,  daily, 
and  daily  remember  it." 

She  stared  at  him,  her  bosom  rising  and  falling, 
in  an  astonishment  too  deep  for  words.  But  he  did 
not  heed  her.  He  did  not  look  at  her  again.  He 
had  already  turned  to  the  door,  and  while  she  looked 
he  passed  through  it,  he  closed  it  behind  him.  And 
she  was  alone. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

IN  THE  ORLEANNAIS. 

"BUT  you  fear  him?  " 

"Fear  him?"  Madame  St.  Lo  answered;  and,  to 
the  surprise  of  the  Countess,  she  made  a  little  face  of 
contempt.  "No;  why  should  I  fear  him'?  I  fear  him 
nov  more  than  the  puppy  leaping  at  old  Sancho's 
bridle  fears  his  tall  playfellow !  Or  than  the  cloud 
you  see  above  us  fears  the  wind  before  which  it 
flies ! "  She  pointed  to  a  white  patch,  the  size  of  a 
man's  hand,  which  hung  above  the  hill  on  their  left 
hand  and  formed  the  only  speck  in  the  blue  summer 
sky.  "Fear  him!  Not  I!"  And,  laughing  gaily, 
she  put  her  horse  at  a  narrow  rivulet  which  crossed 
the  grassy  track  on  which  they  rode. 

"But  he  is  hard!"  the  Countess  murmured  in  a 
low  voice,  as  she  regained  her  companion's  side. 

"Hard!"  Madame  St.  Lo  rejoined  with  a  gesture 
of  pride.  "Ay,  hard  as  the  stones  in  my  jewelled 
ring !  Hard  as  flint,  or  the  nether  millstone — to  his 
enemies!  But  to  women!  Bah!  Who  ever  heard 
that  he  hurt  a  woman  !  " 

"Why  then  is  he  so  feared!"  the  Countess  asked, 
her  eyes  on  the  subject  of  their  discussion ;  a  solitary 
figure,  riding  some  fifty  paces  in  front  of  them. 

"Because  he  counts  no  cost!"  her  companion  an- 
swered. "Because  he  killed  Savillon  in  the  court  of 
the  Louvre,  though  he  knew  his  life  the  forfeit.  He 


206  COUNT   HANNIBAL. 

would  have  paid  the  forfeit  too,  or  lost  his  right 
hand,  if  Monsieur,  for  his  brother  the  Marshal's  sake, 
had  not  intervened.  But  Savillon  had  whipped  his 
dog,  you  see.  Then  he  killed  the  Chevalier  de  Mil- 
laud,  but  'twas  in  fair  fight,  in  the  snow,  in  their 
shirts.  For  that,  Millaud's  sou  lay  in  wait  for  him 
with  two,  in  the  passage  under  the  Chatelet;  but 
Hannibal  wounded  one,  and  the  others  saved  them- 
selves. Undoubtedly  he  is  feared ! "  she  added  with 
the  same  note  of  pride  in  her  voice. 

The  two,  who  talked,  rode  at  the  rear  of  the  little 
company  which  had  left  Paris  at  daybreak  two  days 
before,  by  the  Porte  St.  Jacques.  Moving  steadily 
south-westward  by  the  lesser  roads  and  bridle-tracks 
— for  Count  Hannibal  seemed  averse  from  the  great 
road — they  had  lain  the  second  night  in  a  village 
three  leagues  from  Bonueval.  A  journey  of  two 
days  on  fresh  horses  is  apt  to  change  scenery  and  eye 
alike;  but  seldom  has  an  alteration — in  themselves 
and  all  about  them — as  great  as  that  which  blessed 
this  little  company,  been  wrought  in  so  short  a  time. 
From  the  stifling  wyuds  and  evil-smelling  lanes  of 
Paris,  they  had  passed  to  the  green  uplands,  the 
breezy  woods  and  babbling  streams  of  the  upper  Or- 
leannais ;  from  sights  and  sounds  the  most  appalling, 
to  the  solitude  of  the  sandy  heath,  haunt  of  the  great 
bustard,  or  the  sunshine  of  the  hillside,  vibrating 
with  the  songs  of  larks ;  from  an  atmosphere  of  terror 
and  gloom  to  the  freedom  of  God's  earth  and  sky. 
Numerous  enough — they  numbered  a  score  of  armed 
men — to  defy  the  lawless  bands  which  had  their  lairs 
in  the  huge  forest  of  Orleans,  they  halted  where  they 
pleased :  at  mid-day  under  a  grove  of  chestnut-trees, 
or  among  the  willows  beside  a  brook;  at  night,  if 


IN  THE  OBL^ANNAIS.  207 

they  willed  it,  under  God's  heaven.  Far,  not  only 
from  Paris,  but  from  the  great  road,  with  its  gibbets 
and  pillories — the  great  road  which  at  that  date  ran 
through  a  waste,  no  peasant  living  willingly  within 
sight  of  it — they  rode  in  the  morning  and  in  the  even- 
ing, resting  in  the  heat  of  the  day.  And  though  they 
had  left  Paris  with  much  talk  of  haste,  they  rode 
more  at  leisure  with  every  league. 

For  whatever  Tavannes'  motive,  it  was  plain  that 
he  was  iu  no  hurry  to  reach  his  destination.  ISTor  for 
that  matter  were  any  of  his  company.  Madame  St. 
Lo,  who  had  seized  the  opportunity  of  escaping  from 
the  capital  under  her  cousin's  escort,  was  in  an  ill- 
humour  with  cities,  and  declaimed  much  on  the  joys 
of  a  cell  in  the  woods.  For  the  time  the  coarsest  na- 
ture and  the  dullest  rider  had  had  enough  of  alarums 
and  conflicts. 

The  whole  company,  indeed,  though  it  moved  in 
some  fashion  of  array  with  an  avant  and  a  rear- 
guard, the  ladies  riding  together,  and  Count  Hanni- 
bal proceeding  solitary  in  the  midst,  formed  as  peace- 
ful a  band,  and  one  as  innocently  diverted,  as  if  no 
man  of  them  had  ever  grasped  pike  or  blown  a 
match.  There  was  an  old  rider  among  them  who  had 
seen  the  sack  of  Kt>ine,  and  the  dead  face  of  the  great 
Constable,  the  idol  of  the  Free  Companies.  But  he 
had  a  taste  for  simples  and  much  skill  in  them ;  and 
when  Madame  had  once  seen  Badelon  on  his  knees  in 
the  grass  searching  for  plants,  she  lost  her  fear  of 
him.  Bigot,  with  his  low  brow  and  matted  hair,  was 
the  abject  slave  of  Suzanne,  Madame  St.  Lo's  woman, 
who  twitted  him  mercilessly  on  his  Gorman  patois, 
and  poured  the  vials  of  her  scorn  on  him  a  dozen 
times  a  day.  In  all,  with  La  Tribe  and  the  Carlats, 


208  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

Madame  St.  Lo's  servants,  and  the  Countess's  follow- 
ing, they  numbered  not  far  short  of  two  score ;  and 
when  they  halted  at  noon,  and  under  the  shadow  of 
some  leafy  tree,  ate  their  mid-day  meal,  or  drowsed 
to  the  tinkle  of  Madame  St.  Lo's  lute,  it  was  diffi- 
cult to  believe  that  Paris  existed,  or  that  these  same 
people  had  so  lately  left  its  blood-stained  pavements. 

They  halted  this  morning  a  little  earlier  than 
usual.  Madame  St.  Lo  had  barely  answered  her  com- 
panion's question  before  the  subject  of  their  discus- 
sion swung  himself  from  old  Sancho's  back,  and  stood 
waiting  to  assist  them  to  dismount.  Behind  him, 
where  the  green  valley  through  which  the  road  passed 
narrowed  to  a  rocky  gate,  an  old  mill  stood  among 
willows  at  the  foot  of  a  mound.  On  the  mound  be- 
hind it  a  ruined  castle  which  had  stood  siege  in  the 
Hundred  Years'  War  raised  its  grey  walls;  and  be- 
yond this  the  stream  which  turned  the  mill  poured 
over  rocks  with  a  cool  rushing  sound  that  proved 
irresistible.  The  men,  their4  horses  watered  and  hob- 
bled, went  off,  shouting  like  boys,  to  bathe  below  the 
falls;  and  after  a  moment's  hesitation  Count  Hanni- 
bal rose  from  the  grass  on  which  he  had  flung  himself. 

"Guard  that  for  me,  Madame, "lie  said.  And  he 
dropped  a  packet,  bravely  sealed  and  tied  with  a  silk 
thread,  into  the  Countess's  lap.  "'Twill  be  safer 
than  leaving  it  in  my  clothes.  Ohe ! "  And  he 
turned  to  Madame  St.  Lo.  "Would  you  fancy  a  life 
that  was  all  gipsyiug,  cousin  ? "  And  if  there  was 
irony  in  his  voice,  there  was  desire  in  his  eyes. 

"There  is  only  one  happy  man  in  the  world,"  she 
answered,  with  conviction. 

"By  name?" 

"The  hermit  of  Compiegne." 


IN  THE   OKLEANNAIS.  209 

"And  in  a  week  you  would  be  wild  for  a  masque ! " 
he  said  cynically.  And  turning  on  his  heel  he  fol- 
lowed the  men. 

Madame  St.  Lo  sighed  complacently.  "Heigho!" 
she  said.  "He's  right!  We  are  never  content,  ma 
mie !  When  I  am  trifling  in  the  Gallery  my  heart  is 
in  the  greenwood.  And  when  I  have  eaten  black 
bread  and  drunk  spring  water  for  a  fortnight  I  do 
nothing  but  dream  of  Zainet's,  and  white  mulberry 
tarts!  And  you  are  in  the  same  case.  You  have 
saved  your  round  white  neck,  or  it  has  been  saved 
for  you,  by  not  so  much  as  the  thickness  of  Zamet's 
pie-crust — I  declare  my  mouth  is  beginning  ;o  water 
for  it! — and  instead  of  being  thankful  and  making 
the  best  of  things,  you  are  thinking  of  poor  Madame 
d'Yverne,  or  dreaming  of  your  calf-love! " 

The  girl's  face — for  a  girl  she  was,  though  they 
called  her  Madame — began  to  work.  She  struggled 
a  moment  with  her  emotion,  and  then  broke  down, 
and  fell  to  weeping  silently.  For  two  days  she  had 
sat  in  public  and  not  given  way.  But  the  reference 
to  her  lover  was  too  much  for  her  strength. 

Madame  St.  Lo  looked  at  her  with  eyes  which  were 
not  unkindly.  "Sits  the  wind  in  that  quarter!"  she 
murmured.  "I  thought  so!  But  there,  my  dear,  if 
you  don't  put  that  packet  in  your  gown  you'll  wash 
out  the  address!  Moreover,  if  you  ask  me,  I  don't 
think  the  young  man  is  worth  it.  It  is  only  that 
which  we  have  not  got — we  want!  " 

But  the  young  Countess  had  borne  to  the  limit  of 
her  powers.  With  an  incoherent  word  she  rose  to 
her  feet,  and  walked  hurriedly  away.  The  thought 
of  what  was  and  of  what  might  have  been,  the 
thought  of  the  lover  who  still — though  he  no  longer 
14 


210  COUNT   HANNIBAL. 

seemed,  even  to  her,  the  perfect  hero — held  a  place 
in  her  heart,  filled  her  breast  to  overflowing.  She 
longed  for  some  spot  where  she  could  weep  unseen, 
where  the  sunshine  and  the  blue  sky  would  not  mock 
her  grief;  and  seeing  in  front  of  her  a  little  clump  of 
alders,  which  grew  beside  the  stream,  in  a  bend  that 
in  winter  was  marshy,  she  hastened  towards  it. 

Madame  St.  Lo  saw  her  figure  blend  with  the 
shadow  of  the  trees — "  Quite  a  la  Ronsard,  I  give  my 
word!"  she  murmured.  "And  now  she  is  out  of 
sight !  La,  la  !  I  could  play  at  the  game  myself,  and 
carve  sweet  sorrow  on  the  barks  of  trees,  if  it  were 
not  so  lonesome !  And  if  I  had  a  man !  " 

And  gazing  pensively  at  the  stream  and  the  wil- 
lows, my  lady  tried  to  work  herself  into  a  proper 
frame  of  mind;  now  murmuring  the  name  of  one 
gallant,  and  now,  finding  it  unsuited,  the  name  of 
another.  But  the  soft  inflection  would  break  into  a 
giggle,  and  finally  into  a  yawn ;  and,  tired  of  the  at- 
tempt, she  began  to  pluck  grass  and  throw  it  from 
her.  By-aud-by  she  discovered  that  Mad? me  Carlat 
and  the  women,  who  had  their  place  a  Lctle  apart, 
had  disappeared ;  and  affrighted  by  the  solitude  and 
silence — for  neither  of  which  she  was  made — she 
sprang  up  and  stared  about  her,  hoping  to  discern 
them.  Eight  and  left,  however,  the  sweep  of  hillside 
curved  upward  to  the  skyline,  lonely  and  untenauted ; 
behind  her  tho  castled  rock  frowned  down  on  the 
rugged  gorge  and  filled  it  with  dispiriting  shadow. 
Madame  St.  Lo  stamped  her  foot  on  the  turf. 

"The  little  fool!  "  she  murmured,  pettishly.  "Does 
she  think  that  I  am  to  be  murdered  that  she  may  fat- 
ten on  sighs?  Oh,  come  up,  Madame,  you  must  be 
dragged  out  of  this!"  And  she  started  briskly  to- 


IN  THE   OKLEANNAIS.  211 

wards  the  alders,  intent  on  gaining  company  as  quick- 
ly as  possible. 

She  had  gone  abont  fifty  yards,  and  had  as  many 
more  to  traverse  when  she  halted.  A  man,  bent 
double,  was  moving  stealthily  along  the  farther  side 
of  the  brook  a  little  in  front  of  him.  Now  she  saw 
him,  now  she  lost  him ;  now  she  caught  a  glimpse  of 
him  again,  through  a  screen  of  willow  branches.  He 
moved  with  the  utmost  caution,  as  a  man  moves 
who  is  pursued  or  in  danger ;  and  for  a  moment  she 
deemed  him  a  peasant  whom  the  bathers  had  dis- 
turbed and  who  was  bent  on  escaping.  But  when  he 
came  opposite  to  the  alder-bed  she  saw  that  that  was 
his  point,  for  he  crouched  down,  sheltered  by  a  wil- 
low, and  gazed  eagerly  among  the  trees,  always  with 
his  back  to  her ;  and  then  he  waved  his  hand  to  some- 
one in  the  wood. 

Madame  St.  Lo  drew  in  her  breath.  As  if  he  had 
heard  the  sound — which  was  impossible — the  man 
dropped  down  where  he  stood,  crawled  a  yard  or  two 
on  his  face,  and  disappeared. 

Madame  stared  a  moment,  expecting  to  see  him  or 
hear  him.  Then,  as  nothing  happened,  she  screamed. 
She  was  a  woman  of  quick  impulses,  essentially  femi- 
nine ;  and  she  screamed  three  or  four  times,  standing 
where  she  was,  her  eyes  on  the  edge  of  the  wood. 
"If  that  does  not  bring  her  out,  nothing  will!"  she 
thought. 

It  brought  her.  An  instant,  and  the  Countess  ap- 
peared, and  hurried  in  dismay  to  her- side.  "What 
is  it?"  the  younger  woman  asked,  glancing  over 
her  shoulder;  for  all  the  valley,  all  the  hills  were 
peaceful,  and  behind  Madame  St.  Lo — but  the  lady 
had  not  discovered  it — the  servants  who  had  re- 


212  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

turned  were  laying  the  meal.  "What  is  it?"  she  re- 
peated anxiously. 

"  Who  was  it? "  Madame  St.  Lo  asked  curtly.  She 
was  quite  calm  now. 

"Who  was— who?" 

"The  mau  in  the  wood?  " 

The  Countess  stared  a  moment,  then  laughed. 
"Only  the  old  soldier  they  call  Badelou,  gathering 
simples.  Did  you  think  that  he  would  harm  me?  " 

"  It  was  not  old  Badelou  whom  I  saw ! "  Madame 
St.  Lo  retorted.  "It  was  a  younger  man,  who  crept 
along  the  other  side  of  the  brook,  keeping  under 
cover.  When  I  first  saw  him  he  was  there,"  she  con- 
tinued, pointing  to  the  place.  "And  he  crept  on  and 
on  until  he  came  opposite  to  you.  Then  he  waved 
his  hand. " 

"To  me!" 

Madame  nodded. 

"But  if  you  saw  him,  who  was  he?"  the  Countess 
asked. 

"I  did  not  see  his  face,"  Madame  St.  Lp  answered. 
"But  he  waved  to  you.  That  I  saw." 

The  Countess  had  a  thought  which  slowly  flooded 
her  face  with  crimson.  Madame  St.  Lo  saw  the 
change,  saw  the  tender  light  which  on  a  sudden  soft- 
ened the  other's  eyes ;  and  the  same  thought  occurred 
to  her.  And  having  a  mind  to  punish  her  companion 
for  her  reticence — for  she  did  not  doubt  that  the  girl 
knew  more  than  she  acknowledged — she  proposed 
that  they  should  return  and  find  Badelou,  and  learn 
if  he  had  .seen  the  man. 

"  Why  ?  "  Madame  Tavannes  asked.  And  she  stood 
stubbornly,  her  head  high.  "  Why  should  we?  " 

"To  clear  it  up,"  the  elder  woman  answered  mis- 


IN   THE   OBLEANNAIS.  213 

chievously.  "But  perhaps,  it  were  better  to  tell 
your  husband  and  let  his  nieii  search  the  coppice. " 

The  colour  left  the  Countess's  face  as  quickly  as 
it  had  come.  For  a  moment  she  was  tongue-tied. 
Then,  "Have  we  not  had  enough  of  seeking  and  being 
sought?"  she  cried;  more  bitterly  than  befitted  the 
occasion.  "Why  should  we  hunt  him?  I  am  not 
timid,  and  he  did  me  no  harm.  I  beg,  Madame,  that 
you  will  do  me  the  favour  of  being  silent  on  the 
matter. " 

"Oh,  if  you  insist?     But  what  a  pother — 

"I  did  not  see  him,  and  he  did  not  see  me,"  Madame 
de  Tavanues  answered  vehemently.  "I  fail,  there- 
fore, to  understand  why  we  should  harass  him,  who- 
ever he  be.  Besides,  M.  de  Tavannes  is  waiting  for 
us." 

"And  M.  de  Tignonville  —  is  following  us!" 
Madame  St.  Lo  muttered — under  her  breath.  And 
she  made  a  face  at  the  other's  back. 

She  was  silent,  however;  they  returned  to  the 
others;  and  nothing  of  import,  it  would  seem,  had 
happened.  The  soft  summer  air  played  ou  the  meal 
laid  under  the  willows  as  it  had  played  on  the  meal 
of  yesterday  laid  under  the  chestnut -trees.  The 
horses  grazed  within  sight,  moving  now  and  again, 
with  a  jingle  of  trappings  or  a  jealous  neigh ;  the 
women's  chatter  vied  with  the  unceasing  sound  of  the 
mill-stream.  After  dinner,  Madame  St.  Lo  touched 
the  lute,  and  Badelon — Badelou  who  had  seen  the 
sack  of  the  Colonua's  Palace,  and  been  served  by 
cardinals  on  the  knee — fed  a  water-rat,  which  had  its 
home  in  one  of  the  willow-stumps,  with  carrot -par- 
ings. One  by  one  the  men  laid  themselves  to  sleep 
with  their  faces  on  their  arms ;  and  to  the  eyes  all 


214  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

was  as  all  had  been  yesterday  iu  this  camp  of  armed 
men  living  peacefully. 

But  not  to  the  Countess!  She  had  accepted  her 
life,  she  had  resigned  herself,  she  had  marvelled  that 
it  was  no  worse.  After  the  horrors  of  Paris  the  calm 
of  the  last  two  days  had  fallen  on  her  as  balm  on  a 
wound. .  Worn  out  in  body  and  mind,  she  had  rested, 
and  only  rested;  without  thought,  almost  without 
emotion,  save  for  the  feeling,  half  fear,  half  curi- 
osity, which  stirred  her  in  regard  to  the  strange 
man,  her  husband.  Who  on  his  side  left  her  alone. 

But  the  last  hour  had  wrought  a  change.  Her  eyes 
were  grown  restless,  her  colour  came  and  went.  The 
past  stirred  in  its  shallow — ah,  so  shallow — grave; 
and  dead  hopes  and  dead  forebodings,  strive  as  she 
might,  thrust  out  hands  to  plague  and  torment  her. 
If  the  man  who  sought  to  speak  with  her  by  stealth, 
who  dogged  her  footsteps  and  hung  on  the  skirts  of 
her  party,  were  Tignonville — her  lover,  who  at  his 
own  request  had  been  escorted  to  the  Arsenal  before 
their  departure  from  Paris — then  her  plight  was  a 
sorry  one.  For  what  woman,  wedded  as  she  had 
been  wedded,  could  think  otherwise  than  indulgently 
of  his  persistence1?  And  yet,  lover  and  husband! 
What  peril,  what  shame  the  words  had  often  spelled  I 
At  the  thought  only  she  trembled  and  her  colour 
ebbed.  She  saw,  as  one  who  stands  on  the  brink  of 
a  precipice,  the  depth  which  yawned  before  her. 
She  asked  herself,  shivering,  if  she  would  ever  sink 
to  that. 

All  the  loyalty  of  a  strong  nature,  all  the  virtue  of 
a  good  woman  revolted  against  the  thought.  True, 
her  husband — husband  she  must  call  him — had  not 
deserved  her  love ;  but  his  bizarre  magnanimity,  the 


IN  THE  OBLEANNAIS.  215 

gloomy,  disdainful  kindness  with  which  he  had 
crowned  possession,  even  the  unity  of  their  interests, 
which  he  had  impressed  upon  her  in  so  strange  a 
fashion,  claimed  a  return  in  honour. 

To  be  paid — how  ?  how  1  That  was  the  crux  which 
perplexed,  which  frightened,  which  harassed  her. 
For,  if  she  told  her  suspicions,  she  exposed  her  lover 
to  capture  by  one  who  had  no  longer  a  reason  to  be 
merciful.  And  if  she  sought  occasion  to  see  Tignon- 
ville  and  so  to  dissuade  him,  she  did  it  at  deadly  risk 
to  herself.  Yet  what  other  course  lay  open  to  her  if 
she  would  not  stand  by  ?  If  she  would  not  play  the 
traitor?  If  she 

"Madame," — it  washer  husband,  and  he  spoke  to 
her  suddenly, — "are  you  not  well?"  And,  looking 
up  guiltily,  she  found  his  eyes  fixed  curiously  on  hers. 

Her  face  turned  red  and  white  and  red  again,  and 
she  faltered  something  and  looked  from  him,  but  only 
to  meet  Madame  St.  Lo's  eyes.  My  lady  laughed 
softly  in  sheer  mischief. 

"What  is  it?  "  Count  Hannibal  asked  sharply. 

But  Madame  St.  Lo's  answer  was  a  line  of  Eonsard. 


CHAPTEE    XX. 

ON   THE   CASTLE   HILL. 

THRICE  she  hummed  it,  bland  and  smiling.  Then 
from  the  neighbouring  group  came  an  interruption. 
The  wine  he  had  drunk  had  put  it  into  Bigot's  head 
to  snatch  a  kiss  from  Suzanne ;  and  Suzanne's  mod- 
esty, which  was  very  nice  in  company,  obliged  her  to 
squeal.  The  uproar  which  ensued,  the  men  backing 
the  man  and  the  women  the  woman,  brought  Ta- 
vauues  to  his  feet.  He  did  not  speak,  but  a  glance 
from  his  eyes  was  enough.  There  was  not  one  who 
failed  to  see  that  something  was  amiss  with  him,  and 
a  sudden  silence  fell  on  the  party. 

He  turned  to  the  Countess.  "You  wished  to  see 
the  castle?"  he  said.  "You  had  better  go  now,  but 
uot  alone. "  He  cast  his  eyes  over  the  company,  and 
summoned  La  Tribe,  who  was  seated  with  the  Carlats. 
"Go  with  Madame,"  he  said  curtly.  "She  has  a 
mind  to  climb  the  hill.  Bear  in  mind,  we  start  at 
three,  and  do  not  venture  out  of  hearing. " 

"I  understand,  M.  le  Comte,"  the  minister  an- 
swered. He  spoke  quietly,  but  there  was  a  strange 
light  in  his  face  as  he  turned  to  go  with  her. 

None  the  less  he  was  silent  until  Madame's  lagging 
feet — for  all  her  interest  in  the  expedition  was  gone 
— had  borne  her  a  hundred  paces  from  the  company. 
Then,  "Who  knoweth  our  thoughts  and  forerun- 
neth  all  our  desires,"  he  murmured.  And  when  she 


ON  THE   CASTLE  HILL.  217 

turned  to  him,  astonished,  "Madame,"  he  continued, 
"I  have  prayed,  ah,  how  I  have  prayed,  for  this  op- 
portunity of  speaking  to  you !  And  it  has  come.  I 
would  it  had  come  this  morning,  but  it  has  come. 
Do  not  start  or  look  round ;  many  eyes  are  on  us,  and 
alas !  I  have  that  to  say  to  you  which  it  will  move  you 
to  hear,  and  that  to  ask  of  you  which  it  must  task 
your  courage  to  perform." 

She  began  to  tremble,  and  stood,  looking  up  the 
green  slope  to  the  broken  grey  wall  which  crowned 
its  summit.  "What  is  it?"  she  whispered,  com- 
manding herself  with  an  effort.  "What  is  if?  If  it 
have  aught  to  do  with  M.  Tignonville " 

"It  has  not!" 

In  her  surprise — for  although  she  had  put  the  ques- 
tion she  had  felt  no  doubt  of  the  answer — she  started 
and  turned  to  him.  "It  has  not?"  she  exclaimed 
almost  incredulously. 

"No." 

"Then  what  is  it,  monsieur?"  she  replied,  a  little 
haughtily.  "What  can  there  be  that  should  move 
me  so  ? " 

"Life  or  death,  Madame,"  he  answered  solemnly. 
"Nay,  more;  for  since  Providence  has  given  me  this 
chance  of  speaking  to  you,  a  thing  of  which,  I  de- 
spaired, I  know  that  the  burden  is  laid  on  us,  and 
that  it  is  guilt  or  it  is  innocence,  according  as  we  re- 
fuse the  burden  or  bear  it." 

"  What  is  it  then  ? "  she  cried  impatiently.  "  What 
is  it?" 

"  I  tried  to  speak  to  you  this  morning. " 

"Was  it  you  then,  whom  Madame  St.  Lo  saw  stalk- 
ing me  before  dinner?  " 

"It  was." 


218  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

She  clasped  her  hands  arid  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief. 
" Thank  God,  monsieur!"  she  replied.  "You  have 
lifted  a  weight  from  me.  I  fear  nothing  in  compari- 
son of  that.  Nothing !  " 

11  Alas,"  he  answered  sombrely,  "there  is  much  to 
fear,  for  others  if  not  for  ourselves!  Do  you  know 
what  that  is  which  M.  de  Tavaunes  bears  always  in 
his  belt?  What  it  is  he  carries  with  such  care? 
What  it  was  he  handed  to  you  to  keep  while  he 
bathed  to-day?" 

"Letters  from  the  King." 

"Yes,  but  the  import  of  those  letters?  " 

"No." 

"And  yet  should  they  be  written  in  letters  of 
blood ! "  the  minister  exclaimed,  his  face  kindling. 
"They  should  scorch  the  hands  that  hold  them  and 
blister  the  eyes  that  read  them.  They  are  the  fire  and 
the  sword !  They  are  the  King's  order  to  do  at  An- 
gers as  they  have  done  in  Paris.  To  slay  all  of  the 
religion  who  are  found  there — and  they  are  many! 
To  spare  none,  to  have  mercy  neither  on  the  old  man 
nor  the  unborn  child !  See  yonder  hawk ! "  he  con- 
tinued, pointing  with  a  shaking  hand  to  a  falcon 
which  hung  light  and  graceful  above  the  valley,  the 
movement  of  its  wings  invisible.  "How  it  disports 
itself  in  the  face  of  the  sun !  How  easy  its  way,  how 
smooth  its  flight !  But  see,  it  drops  upon  ite  prey  in 
the  rushes  beside  the  brook,  and  the  end  of  its  beauty 
is  slaughter !  So  is  it  with  yonder  company !  "  His 
finger  sank  until  it  indicated  the  little  camp  seated 
toy-like  in  the  green  meadow  four  hundred  feet  below 
them,  with  every  man  and  horse,  and  the  very  camp- 
kettle,  clear-cut  and  visible,  though  diminished  by 
distance  to  fairy-like  proportions.  "So  it  is  with 


ON  THE   CASTLE  HILL.  219 

yonder  company!  "  he  repeated  sternly.  "They  play 
and  are  merry,  and  one  fishes  and  another  sleeps! 
But  at  the  end  of  the  journey  is  death.  Death  for 
their  victims,  and  for  them  the  judgment! " 

She  stood,  as  he  spoke,  in  the  ruined  gateway,  a 
walled  grass-plot  behind  her  and  at  her  feet  the 
stream,  the  smiling  valley,  the  alders,  and  the  little 
camp.  The  sky  was  cloudless,  the  scene  drowsy  with 
the  stillness  of  an  August  afternoon.  But  his  words 
went  home  so  truly  that  the  sunlit  landscape  before 
the  eyes  added  one  more  horror  to  the  picture  he 
called  up  before  the  mind. 

The  Countess  turned  white  and  sick.  "Are  you 
sure? "  she  whispered  at  last. 

"Quite  sure." 

"Ah,  God!"  she  cried,  "are  we  never  to  have 
peace  ? "  And  turning  from  the  valley,  she  walked 
some  distance  into  the  grass  court,  and  stood.  After 
a  time,  she  turned  to  him ;  he  had  followed  her 
doggedly,  pace  for  pace.  "What  do  you  want  me 
to  do?"  she  cried,  despair  in  her  voice.  "What 
can  I  do  ?  " 

"Were  the  letters  he  bears  destroyed " 

"The  letters?" 

"Yes,  were  the  letters  destroyed,"  La  Tribe  an- 
swered relentlessly,  " he  could  do  nothing !  Nothing! 
Without  that  authority  the  magistrates  of  Angers 
would  not  move.  He  could  do  nothing.  And  men 
and  women  and  children — men  and  women  and  chil- 
dren whose  blood  will  otherwise  cry  for  vengeance, 
perhaps  for  vengeance  on  us  who  might  have  saved 
them — will  live !  Will  live ! "  he  repeated  with  a  soft- 
ening eye.  And  with  an  all-embracing  gesture  he 
seemed  to  call  to  witness  the  open  heavens,  the  sun- 


220  COUNT   HANNIBAL. 

shine  and  the  summer  breeze  which  wrapped  them 
round.  "Will  live!" 

She  drew  a  deep  breath.  "  And  you  have  brought 
me  here,"  she  said,  "to  ask  me  to  do  this? " 

"I  was  sent  here  to  ask  you  to  do  this." 

"Why  me?  Why  me!"  she  wailed,  and  she  held 
out  her  open  hands  to  him,  her  face  wan  and  colour- 
less. "  You  come  to  me,  a  woman !  Why  to  me  ?  " 

"You  are  his  wife!  " 

"And  he  is  my  husband!  " 

"Therefore  he  trusts  you,"  was  the  unyielding,  the 
pitiless  answer.  "  You,  and  you  alone,  have  the  op- 
portunity of  doing  this." 

She  gazed  at  him  in  astonishment.  "And  it  is  you 
who  say  that?"  she  faltered,  after  a  pause.  "You 
who  made  us  one,  who  now  bid  me  betray  him,  whom 
I  have  sworn  to  love?  To  ruin  him  whom  I  have 
sworn  to  honour?  " 

"I  do!"  he  answered  solemnly.  "On  my  head  be 
the  guilt,  and  on  yours  the  merit." 

"Nay,  but — "  she  cried  quickly,  and  her  eyes  glit- 
tered with  passion — "do  you  take  both  guilt  and 
merit!  You  are  a  man,"  she  continued,  her  words 
coming  quickly  in  her  excitement,  "he  is  but  a  man! 
Why  do  you  not  call  him  aside,  trick  him  apart  on 
some  pretence  or  other,  and  when  there  are  but  you 
two,  man  to  man,  wrench  the  warrant  from  him? 
Staking  your  life  against  his,  with  all  those  lives  for 
prize?  And  save  them  or  perish?  Why  I,  even  I,  a 
woman,  could  find  it  in  my  heart  to  do  that,  were  he 
not  my  husband !  Surely  you,  you  who  are  a  man, 
and  young " 

"Am  no  match  for  him  in  strength  or  arms,"  the 
minister  answered  sadly.  "Else  would  I  do  it.' 


ON  THE  CASTLE  HILL.  221 

Else  would  I  stake  my  life,  Heaven  knows,  as  gladly 
to  save  their  lives  as  I  sit  down  to  meat!  But  I 
should  fail,  and  if  I  failed  all  were  lost.  Moreover," 
he  continued  solemnly,  "I  am  certified  that  this  task 
has  been  set  for  you.  It  was  not  for  nothing,  Ma- 
dame, nor  to  save  one  poor  household  that  you  were 
joined  to  this  man ;  but  to  ransom  all  these  lives  and 
this  great  city.  To  be  the  Judith  of  our  faith,  the 
saviour  of  Augers,  the " 

"  Fool !  Fool ! "  she  cried.  "  Will  you  be  silent  ? " 
And  she  stamped  the  turf  passionately,  while  her  eyes 
blazed  in  her  white  face.  "I  am  no  Judith,  and  no 
madwoman  as  you  are  fain  to  make  me.  Mad  ?  "  she 
continued,  overwhelmed  with  agitation.  "My  God, 
I  would  I  were,  and  I  should  be  free  from  this ! " 
And,  turning,  she  walked  a  little  way  from  him  with 
the  gesture  of  one  under  a  crushing  burden. 

He  waited  a  minute,  two  minutes,  three  minutes, 
and  still  she  did  not  *  return.  At  length  she  came 
back,  her  bearing  more  composed ;  she  looked  at  him 
and  her  eyes  seized  his  and  seemed  as  if  they  would 
read  his  soul.  "Are  you  sure,"  she  said,  "of  what 
you  have  told  me  ?  Will  you  swear  that  the  contents 
of  these  letters  are  as  you  say  1 " 

"As  I  live,"  he  answered  gravely.  "As  God 
lives." 

"And  you  know — of  no  other  way,  monsieur?  Of 
no  other  way  ?  "  she  repeated  slowly  and  piteously. 

"Of  none,  Madame,  of  none,  I  swear." 

She  sighed  deeply,  and  stood  sunk  in  thought. 
Then,  "When  do  we  reach  Augers?"  she  asked 
heavily. 

"The  day  after  to-morrow." 

"I  have — until  the  day  after  to-morrow?  " 


222  COUNT   HANNIBAL. 

"Yes.     To-night  we  lie  near  Vend6me." 

"And  to-morrow  night?" 

"Near  a  place  called  La  Fleche.  It  is  possible,"  he 
went  on  with  hesitation — for  he  did  not  understand 
her — "that  he  may  bathe  to-morrow,  and  may  hand 
the  packet  to  you,  as  he  did  to-day  when  I  vainly 
sought  speech  with  you.  If  he  does  that " 

"Yes'?  "  she  said,  her  eyes  on  his  face. 

"The  taking  will  be  easy.  But  when  he  finds  you 
have  it  not — "  he  faltered  anew — "it  may  go  hard 
with  you." 

She  did  not  speak. 

"  And  there,  I  think,  I  can  help  you.  If  you  will 
stray  from  the  party,  I  will  meet  you  and  destroy  the 
letter.  That  done — and  would  God  it  were  done  al- 
ready— I  will  take  to  flight  as  best  I  can,  and  you 
will  raise  the  alarm  and  say  that  I  robbed  you  of  it! 
And  if  you  tear  your  dress " 

"No,"  she  said. 

He  looked  a  question. 

"No!"  she  repeated  in  a  low  voice.  "If  I  betray 
him  I  will  not  lie  to  him !  And  no  other  shall  pay 
the  price !  If  I  ruin  him  it  shall  be  between  him  and 
me,  and  no  other  shall  have  part  in  it !  " 

He  shook  his  head.  "I  do  not  know,"  he  mur- 
mured, "what  he  may  do  to  you! " 

"Nor  I,"  she  said  proudly.  "That  will  be  for 
him." 

Curious  eyes  had  watched  the  two  as  they  climbed 
the  hill.  For  the  path  ran  up  the  slope  to  the  gap 
which  served  for  gate,  much  as  the  path  leads  up  to 
the  Castle  Beautiful  in  old  prints  of  the  Pilgrim's 
journey;  and  Madame  St.  Lo  had  marked  the  first 


ON  THE   CASTLE  HILL.  223 

halt  and  the  second,  and,  noting  every  gesture,  had 
lost  nothing  of  the  interview  save  the  words.  But 
until  the  two,  after  pausing  a  moment,  passed  out  of 
sight  she  made  no  sign.  Then  she  laughed.  And  as 
Count  Hannibal,  at  whom  the  laugh  was  aimed,  did 
not  heed  her,  she  laughed  again.  And  she  hummed 
the  line  of  Eonsard. 

Still  he  would  not  be  roused,  and,  piqued,  she  had 
recourse  to  words.  '"I  wonder  what  you  would  do," 
she  said,  "if  the  old  lover  followed  us,  and  she  went 
off  with  him ! " 

"She  would  not  go,"  he  answered  coldly,  and  with- 
out looking  up. 

"  But  if  he  rode  off  with  her?  " 

"She  would  come  back  on  her  feet! " 

Madame  St.  Lo's  prudence  was  not  proof  against 
that.  She  had  the  woman's  inclination  to  hide  a 
woman's  secret;  and  she  had  not  intended,  when  she 
laughed,  to  do  more  than  play  with  the  formidable 
man  with  whom  so  few  dared  to  play.  Now,  stung 
by  his  tone  and  his  assurance,  she  must  needs  show 
him  that  his  trustfulness  had  no  base.  And,  as  so 
often  happens  in  the  circumstances,  she  went  a  little 
farther  than  the  facts  bore  her.  "Any  way,  he  has 
followed  us  so  far !  "  she  cried  viciously. 

"M.  deTignonville?" 

"Yes.  I  saw  him  this  morning  while  you  were 
bathing.  She  left  me  and  went  into  the  little  cop- 
pice. He  came  down  the  other  side  of  the  brook, 
stooping  and  running,  and  went  to  join  her." 

"  How  did  he  cross  the  brook  ?  " 

Madame  St.  Lo  blushed.  "Old  Badelon  was  there, 
gathering  simples,"  she  said.  "He  scared  him. 
And  he  crawled  away." 


224  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

"Then  he  did  not  cross?  " 

"No.     I  did  not  say  he  did! " 

"Nor  speak  to  her?  " 

"No.  But  if  you  think  it  will  pass  so  next  time 
— you  do  not  know  much  of  women !  " 

"Of  women  generally,  not  much,"  he  answered, 
grimly  polite.  "  Of  this  woman  a  great  deal !  " 

"  Yon  looked  in  her  big  eyes,  I  suppose !  "  Madame 
St.  Lo  cried  with  heat.  "And  straightway  fell  down 
and  worshipped  her ! "  She  liked  rather  than  dis- 
liked the  Countess ;  but  she  was  of  the  lightest,  and 
the  least  opposition  drove  her  out  of  her  course. 
"And  you  think  you  know  her!  And  she,  if  she 
could  save  you  from  death  by  opening  an  eye,  would 
go  with  a  patch  on  it  till  her  dying  day !  Take  my 
word  for  it,  monsieur,  between  her  and  her  lover  you 
will  come  to  harm. " 

Count  Hannibal's  swarthy  face  darkened  a  tone, 
and  his  eyes  grew  a  very  little  smaller.  "I  fancy 
that  he  runs  the  greater  risk, "  he  muttered. 

"You  may  deal  with  him,  but,  for  her " 

"I  can  deal  with  her.  You  deal  with  some  women 
with  a  whip " 

"You  would  whip  me,  I  suppose? " 

"Y"es,"  he  said  quietly.  "It  would  do  you  good, 
Madame.  And  with  other  women  otherwise.  There 
are  women  who,  if  they  are  well  frightened,  will  not 
deceive  you.  And  there  are  others  who  will  not  de- 
ceive you  though  they  are  frightened.  Madame  de 
Tavannes  is  of  the  latter  kind." 

"Wait!     Wait  and  see! "  Madame  cried  in  scorn. 

"I  am  waiting." 

"Yes!  And  whereas  if  you  had  come  to  me  I  could 
have  told  her  that  about  M.  Tignouville  which  would 


ON  THE   CASTLE  HILL.  225 

have  surprised  her,  you  will  go  on  waiting  and  wait- 
ing and  waiting  until  one  fine  day  you'll  wake  up  and 
find  Madame  gone,  and— 

"Then  I'll  take  a  wife  I  can  whip! "  he  answered, 
with  a  look  which  apprised  her  how  far  she  had  car- 
ried it.     "  But  it  will  not  be  you,  sweet  cousin.     For 
I  have  no  whip  heavy  enough  for  your  case." 
15 


CHAPTEE  XXI. 

WOULD,    AND   WOULD   NOT. 

WE  noted  some  way  back  the  ease  with  which  women 
use  one  concession  as  a  stepping-stone  to  a  second; 
and  the  lack  of  magnanimity,  amounting  almost  to 
unscrupulousness,  which  the  best  display  in  their 
dealings  with  a  retiring  foe.  But  there  are  conces- 
sions which  touch  even  a  good  woman's  conscience; 
and  Madame  de  Tavannes,  free  by  the  tenure  of  a 
blow,  and  with  that  exception  treated  from  hour  to 
hour  with  rugged  courtesy,  shrank  appalled  before 
the  task  which  confronted  her. 

To  ignore  what  La  Tribe  had  told  her,  to  remain 
passive  when  a  movement  on  her  part  might  save 
men,  women,  and  children  from  death,  and  a  whole 
city  from  massacre — this  was  a  line  of  conduct  so 
craven,  so  selfish  that  from  the  first  she  knew  herself 
incapable  of  it.  But  to  take  the  only  other  course 
open  to  her,  to  betray  her  husband  and  rob  him  of 
that,  the  loss  of  which  might  ruin  him,  this  needed 
not  courage  only,  not  devotion  only,  but  a  hardness 
proof  against  reproaches  as  well  as  against  punish- 
ment. And  the  Countess  was  no  fanatic.  No  haze 
of  bigotry  glorified  the  thing  she  contemplated,  or 
dressed  it  in  colours  other  than  its  own.  Even  while 
she  acknowledged  the  necessity  of  the  act  and  its 
ultimate  righteousness,  even  while  she  owned  the  ob- 
ligation which  lay  upon  her  to  perform  it,  she  saw  it 


SHE  WOULD,    AND   WOULD  NOT.       227 

as  he  would  see  it,  and  saw  herself  as  he  would  see 
her. 

True,  he  had  done  her  a  great  wrong ;  and  this  in 
the  eyes  of  some  might  pass  for  punishment.  But  he 
had  saved  her  life  where  many  had  perished;  and, 
the  wrong  done,  he  had  behaved  to  her  with  fantastic 
generosity.  In  return  for  which  she  was  to  ruin  him ! 
It  was  not  hard  to  imagine  what  he  would  say  of  her, 
and  of  the  reward  with  which  she  had  requited  him. 

She  pondered  over  it  as  they  rode  that  evening, 
with  the  westering  sun  in  their  eyes  and  the  lengthen- 
ing shadows  of  the  oaks  falling  athwart  the  bracken 
which  fringed  the  track.  Across  breezy  heaths  and 
over  downs,  through  green  bottoms  and  by  hamlets, 
from  which  every  human  creature  fled  at  their  ap- 
proach, they  ambled  on  by  twos  and  threes ;  riding  in 
a  world  of  their  own,  so  remote,  so  different  from 
the  real  world — from  which  they  came  and  to  which 
they  must  return — that  she  could  have  wept  in  an- 
guish, cursing  God  for  the  wickedness  of  man  which 
lay  so  heavy  on  creation.  The  gaunt  troopers  riding 
at  ease  with  swinging  legs  and  swaying  stirrups — and 
singing  now  a  refrain  from  Eonsard,  and  now  one  of 
those  verses  of  Marot's  psalms  which  all  the  world 
had  sung  three  decades  before — wore  their  most  lamb- 
like aspect.  Behind  them  Madame  St.  Lo  chattered 
to  Suzanne  of  a  riding  mask  which  had  not  been 
brought,  or  planned  expedients,  if  nothing  sufficiently 
in  the  mode  could  be  found  at  Angers.  And  the 
other  women  talked  and  giggled,  screamed  when  they 
came  to  fords,  and  made  much  of  steep  places,  where 
the  men  must  help  them.  In  time  of  war  death's 
shadow  covers  but  a  day,  and  sorrow  out  of  sight  is 
out  of  mind.  Of  all  the  troop  whom  the  sinking  sun 


228  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

left  within  sight  of  the  lofty  towers  and  vine-clad 
hills  of  Vendome,  three  only  wore  faces  attuned 
to  the  cruel  August  week  just  ending;  three  only, 
like  dark  beads  strung  far  apart  on  a  gay  nun's  ros- 
ary, rode,  brooding  and  silent,  in  their  places.  The 
Countess  was  one ;  the  others  were  k_3  two  men  whose 
thoughts  she  filled,  and  whose  eyes  now  and  again 
sought  her,  La  Tribe's  with  sombre  fire  in  their 
depths,  Count  Hannibal's  fraught  with  a  gloomy 
speculation,  which  belied  his  brave  words  to  Madame 
St.  Lo. 

He,  moreover,  as  he  rode,  had  other  thoughts; 
dark  ones,  which  did  not  touch  her.  And  she,  too, 
had  other  thoughts  at  times,  dreams  of  her  young 
lover,  spasms  of  regret,  a  wild  revolt  of  heart,  a  cry 
out  of  the  darkness  which  had  suddenly  whelmed  her. 
So  that  of  the  three  only  La  Tribe  was  single-minded. 

This  day  they  rode  a  long  league  after  sunset, 
through  a  scattered  oak-wood,  where  the  rabbits 
sprang  up  under  their  horses'  heads  and  the  squirrels 
made  angry  faces  at  them  from  the  lower  branches. 
Night  was  hard  upon  them  when  they  reached  the 
southern  edge  of  the  forest,  and  looked  across  the 
dusky  open  slopes  to  a  distant  light  or  two  which 
marked  where  Vendorne  stood.  "Another  league," 
Count  Hannibal  muttered ;  and  he  bade  the  men  light 
fires  where  they  were,  and  unload  the  packhorses. 
"'Tis  pure  and  dry  here,"  he  said.  "Set  a  watch, 
Bigot,  and  let  two  men  go  down  for  water.  I  hear 
frogs  below.  You  do  not  fear  to  be  moonstruck, 
Madame  !  " 

"I  prefer  this,"  she  answered  in  a  low  voice. 

"Houses  are  for  monks  and  nuns!"  he  rejoined 
heartily.  "Give  me  God's  heaven." 


SHE  WOULD,  AND   WOULD   NOT.       229 

"The  earth  is  His,  but  we  deface  it,"  she  murmured, 
reverting  to  her  thoughts,  and  unconscious  that  it  was 
to  him  she  spoke. 

He  looked  at  her  sharply,  but  the  fire  was  not  yet 
kindled ;  and  in  the  gloaming  her  face  was  a  pale  blot 
undecipherable.  He  stood  a  moment,  but  she  did  not 
speak  again;  and  Madame  St.  Lo  bustling  up,  he 
moved  away  to  give  an  order.  By-and-by  the  fires 
burned  up,  and  showed  the  pillared  aisle  in  which, 
they  sat,  small  groups  dotted  here  and  there  on  the 
floor  of  Nature's  cathedral.  Through  the  shadowy 
Gothic  vaulting,  the  groining  of  many  boughs  which 
met  overhead,  a  rare  star  twinkled,  as  through  some 
clerestory  window ;  and  from  the  dell  below  rose  in 
the  night,  now  the  monotonous  chanting  of  the  frogs, 
and  now,  as  some  great  bull-frog  took  the  note,  a 
diapason  worthy  of  a  Brescian  organ.  The  darkness 
walled  all  in ;  the  night  was  still ;  a  falling  caterpillar 
sounded.  Even  the  rude  men  at  the  farthest  fire 
stilled  their  voices  at  times;  awed,  they  knew  not 
why,  by  the  silence  and  vastness  of  the  night. 

The  Countess  long  remembered  that  vigil — for  she 
lay  late  awake ;  the  cool  gloom,  the  faint  wood-rus- 
tlings, the  distant  cry  of  fox  or  wolf,  the  soft  glow  of 
the  expiring  fires  that  at  last  left  the  world  to  dark- 
ness and  the  stars ;  above  all,  the  silent  wheeling  of 
the  planets,  which  spoke  indeed  of  a  supreme  Euler, 
but  crushed  the  heart  under  a  sense  of  its  insignifi- 
cance, and  of  the  insignificance  of  all  human  revo- 
lutions. "Yet,  I  believe!"  she  cried,  wrestling  up- 
wards, wrestling  with  herself.  "Though  I  have  seen 
what  I  have  seen,  yet  I  believe! " 

And  though  she  had  to  bear  what  she  had  to  bear, 
and  do  that  from  which  her  soul  shrank !  The  wo- 


230  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

man,  indeed,  within  her  continued  to  cry  out  against 
this  tragedy  ever  renewed  in  her  path,  against  this 
necessity  for  choosing  evil  or  good,  ease  for  herself  or 
life  for  others.  But  the  moving  heavens,  pointing 
onward  to  a  time  when  good  and  evil  alike  should  be 
past,  strengthened  a  nature  essentially  noble ;  and  be- 
fore she  slept  no  shame  and  no  suffering  seemed — for 
the  moment  at  least — too  great  a  price  to  pay  for  the 
lives  of  little  children.  Love  had  been  taken  from 
her  life ;  the  pride  which  would  fain  answer  generos- 
ity with  generosity — that  must  go,  too ! 

She  felt  no  otherwise  when  the  day  came,  and  the 
bustle  of  the  start  and  the  common  round  of  the  jour- 
ney put  to  flight  the  ideals  of  the  night.  But  things 
fell  out  in  a  manner  she  had  not  pictured.  They 
halted  before  noon  on  the  north  bank  of  the  Loir,  in 
a  level  meadow  with  lines  of  poplars  running  this 
way  and  that,  and  filling  all  the  place  with  the  soft 
shimmer  of  leaves.  Blue  succory,  tiny  mirrors  of  the 
summer  sky,  flecked  the  long  grass,  and  the  women 
picked  bunches  of  them,  or,  Italian  fashion,  twined 
the  blossoms  in  their  hair.  A  road  ran  across  the 
meadow  to  a  ferry,  but  the  ferryman,  alarmed  by 
the  aspect  of  the  party,  had  conveyed  his  boat  to  the 
other  side  and  hidden  himself. 

Presently  Madame  St.  Lo  espied  the  boat,  clapped 
her  hands  and  must  have  it.  The  poplars  threw  no 
shade,  the  flies  teased  her,  the  life  of  a  hermit — in  a 
meadow — was  no  longer  to  her  taste.  "Let  us  go  on 
the  water!"  she  cried.  "Presently  you  will  go  to 
bathe,  monsieur,  and  leave  us  to  grill ! " 

"Two  livres  to  the  man  who  will  fetch  the  boat .!  " 
Count  Hannibal  cried.  In  less  than  half  a  minute 
three  men  had  thrown  off  their  boots,  and  were  swim- 


SHE  WOULD,  AND   WOULD   NOT.       231 

ming  across,  amid  the  laughter  and  shouts  of  their 
fellows.  Iii  five  minutes  the  boat  was  brought. 

It  was  not  large  and  would  hold  no  more  than  four. 
Tavannes'  eye  fell  on  Carlat.  "You  understand  a 
boat,"  he  said.  "Go  with  Madame  St.  Lo.  And 
you,  M.  La  Tribe." 

"But  you  are  coming1?"  Madame  St.  Lo  cried, 
turning  to  the  Countess.  "Oh,  Madame,"  with  a 
curtsey,  "you  are  not?  You " 

"Yes,  I  will  come,"  the  Countess  answered. 

"I  shall  bathe  a  short  distance  up  the  stream," 
Count  Hannibal  said.  He  took  from  his  belt  the 
packet  of  letters,  and  as  Carlat  held  the  boat  for 
Madame  St.  Lo  to  enter,  he  gave  it  to  the  Countess, 
as  he  had  given  it  to  her  yesterday.  "Have  a  care  of 
it,  Madame,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice,  "and  do  not  let 
it  pass  out  of  your  hands.  To  lose  it  may  be  to  lose 
my  head. " 

The  colour  ebbed  from  her  cheeks.  In  spite  of 
herself  her  shaking  hand  put  back  the  packet.  "  Had 
you  not  better  then — give  it  to  Bigot?"  she  fal- 
tered. 

"He  is  bathing." 

"Let  him  bathe  afterwards." 

"No,"  he  answered  almost  harshly;  he  found  a 
species  of  pleasure  in  showing  her  that,  strange  as 
their  relations  were,  he  trusted  her.  "No;  take  it, 
Madame.  Only  have  a  care  of  it. " 

She  took  it  then,  hid  it  in  her  dress,  and  he  turned 
away;  and  she  turned  towards  the  boat.  La  Tribe 
stood  beside  the  stern,  holding  it  for  her  to  enter,  and 
as  her  fingers  rested  an  instant  on  his  arm  their  eyes 
met.  His  were  alight,  his  arm  even  quivered;  and 
she  shuddered. 


232  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

She  avoided  looking  at  him  a  second  time,  and 
this  was  easy,  since  he  took  his  seat  in  the  bows  be- 
yond Carlat,  who  handled  the  oars.  Silently  the  boat 
glided  out  on  the  surface  of  the  stream,  and  floated 
downwards,  Carlat  now  and  again  touching  an  oar, 
and  Madame  St.  Lo  chattering  gaily  in  a  voice  which 
carried  far  on  the  water.  Now  it  was  a  flowering 
rush  she  must  have,  now  a  green  bough  to  shield  her 
face  from  the  sun's  reflection ;  and  now  they  must  lie 
in  some  cool,  shadowy  pool  under  fern-clad  banks, 
where  the  fish  rose  heavily,  and  the  trickle  of  a  rivu- 
let fell  down  over  stones. 

It  was  idyllic.  But  not  to  the  Countess.  Her  face 
burned,  her  temples  throbbed,  her  fingers  gripped 
the  side  of  the  boat  in  the  vain  attempt  to  steady  her 
pulses.  The  packet  within  her  dress  scorched  her. 
The  great  city  and  its  danger,  Tavannes  and  his  faith 
in  her,  the  need  of  action,  the  irrevocableness  of  ac- 
tion hurried  through  her  brain.  The  knowledge  that 
she  must  act  now — or  never — pressed  upon  her  with 
distracting  force.  Her  hand  felt  the  packet,  and  fell 
again  nerveless. 

"The  sun  has  caught  you,  ma  mie,"  Madame  St.  Lo 
said.  "You  should  ride  in  a  mask  as  I  do." 

"I  have  not  one  with  me,"  she  muttered,  her  eyes 
on  the  water. 

"  And  I  but  an  old  one.     But  at  Angers " 

The  Countess  heard  no  more;  on  that  word  she 
caught  La  Tribe's  eye.  He  was  beckoning  to  her  be- 
hind Carlat's  back,  pointing  imperiously  to  the  water, 
making  signs  to  her  to  drop  the  packet  over  the  side. 
When  she  did  not  obey — she  felt  sick  and  faint — she 
saw  through  a  mist  his  brow  grow  dark.  He  men- 
aced her  secretly.  And  still  the  packet  scorched  her ; 


SHE  WOULD,  BJSD   WOULD  NOT.        233 

and  twice  her  hand  went  to  it,  and  dropped  again 
empty. 

On  a  sudden  Madame  St.  Lo  cried  out.  The  bank 
on  one  side  of  the  stream  was  beginning  to  rise  more 
boldly  above  the  water,  and  at  the  head  of  the  steep 
thus  formed  she  had  espied  a  late  rose-bush  in  bloom ; 
nothing  would  now  serve  but  she  must  land  at  once 
and  plunder  it.  The  boat  was  put  in  therefore,  she 
jumped  ashore,  and  began  to  scale  the  bank. 

"Go  with  Madame ! "  La  Tribe  cried,  roughly  nudg- 
ing Carlat  in  the  back.  "Do  you  not  see  that  she 
cannot  climb  the  bank!  Up,  manr  up!  " 

The  Countess  opened  her  mouth  to  cry  "No!"  but 
the  word  died  half -born  on  her  lips;  and  when  the 
steward  looked  at  her,  uncertain  what  she  had  said, 
she  nodded.  "  Yes,  go ! "  she  muttered.  She  was 
pale. 

"Yes,  man,  go!"  cried  the  minister,  his  eyes  burn- 
ing. And  he  almost  pushed  the  other  out  of  the  boat. 

The  next  second  the  craft  floated  from  the  bankr  and 
began  to  drift  downwards.  La  Tribe  waited  until  a 
tree  interposed  and  hid  them  from  the  two  whom  they 
had  left;  then  he  leaned  forward.  "Now,  Madame!  " 
he  cried  imperiously.  "  In  God's  name,  now ! " 

"  Oh ! "  she  cried.     "  Wait !  Wait  I  I  want  to  think. " 

"To  think?" 

"  He  trusted  me ! "  she  wailed.  "  He  trusted  me ! 
How  can  I  do  it?"  Nevertheless,  and  even  while 
she  spoke,  she  drew  forth  the  packet. 

"Heaven  has  given  you  the  opportunity! " 

"  If  I  could  have  stolen  it ! "  she  answered. 

"Fool!"  he  returned  rocking  himself  to  and  fro 
and  fairly  beside  himself  with  impatience.  "Why 
steal  it?  It  is  in  your  hands!  You  have  it!  It  i* 


234  COUNT   HANNIBAL. 

Heaven's  own  opportunity,  it  is  God's  opportunity 
given  to  you ! " 

For  he  could  not  read  her  mind  nor  comprehend 
the  scruple  which  held  her  hand.  He  was  single- 
minded.  He  had  but  one  aim,  one  object.  He  saw 
the  haggard  faces  of  brave  men  hopeless;  he  heard 
the  dying  cries  of  women  and  children.  Such  an 
opportunity  of  saving  God's  elect,  of  redeeming  the 
innocent,  was  in  his  eyes  a  gift  from  Heaven.  And 
having  these  thoughts  and  seeing  her  hesitate — hesi- 
tate when  every  movement  caused  him  agony,  so 
imperative  was  haste,  so  precious  the  opportunity — 
he  could  bear  the  suspense  no  longer.  When  she 
did  not  answer  he  stooped  forward,  until  his  knees 
touched  the  thwart  on  which  Carlat  had  sat;  then 
without  a  word  he  flung  himself  forward,  and,  with 
one  hand  far  extended,  grasped  the  packet. 

•Had  he  not  moved,  she  would  have  done  his  will ; 
almost  certainly  she  would  have  done  it.  But,  thus 
attacked,  she  resisted  instinctively ;  she  clung  to  the 
letters.  "  No !  "  she  cried.  "No!  Let  go,  monsieur  I." 
And  she  tried  to  drag  the  packet  from  him. 

"Give  it  me!" 

"Let  go,  monsieur!  Do  you  hear!"  she  repeated. 
And  with  a  vigorous  jerk  she  forced  it  from  him — he 
had  caught  it  by  the  edge  only — and  held  it  behind 
her.  "Go  back,  and " 

"  Give  it  me !  "  he  panted. 

"I  will  not!" 

"Then  throw  it  overboard!  " 

"I  will  not! "  she  cried  again,  though  his  face,  dark 
with  passion,  glared  into  hers,  and  it  was  clear  that 
the  man,  possessed  by  one  idea  only,  was  no  longer 
master  of  himself.  "Go  back  to  your  place ! " 


SHE  WOULD,    AND   WOULD  JSTOT.        235 

"Give  it  me,"  he  gasped,  "or  I  will  upset  the 
boat !  "  And  seizing  her  by  the  shoulder  he  reached 
over  her,  striving  to  take  hold  of  the  packet  which 
she  held  behind  her.  The  boat  rocked ;  and  as  much 
in  rage  as  fear  she  screamed. 

A  cry  uttered  wholly  in  rage  answered  hers;  it 
came  from  Carlat.  La  Tribe,  however,  whose  whole 
mind  was  fixed  on  the  packet,  did  not  heed,  nor  would 
have  heeded,  the  steward.  But  the  next  moment  a 
second  cry,  fierce  as  that  of  a  wild  beast,  clove  the  air 
from  the  lower  and  farther  bank ;  and  the  Huguenot, 
recognising  Count  Hannibal's  voice,  involuntarily  de- 
sisted and  stood  erect.  A  moment  the  boat  rocked 
perilously  under  him;  then — for  unheeded  it  had 
been  drifting  that  way — it  softly  touched  the  bank  on 
which  Carlat  stood  staring  and  aghast. 

La  Tribe's  chance  was  gone;  he  saw  that  the 
steward  must  reach  him  before  he  could  succeed  in 
a  second  attempt.  On  the  other  hand,  the  under- 
growth on  the  bank  was  thick,  he  could  touch  it  with 
his  hand,  and  if  he  fled  at  once  he  might  escape. 

He  hung  an  instant  irresolute;  then,  with  a  look 
which  went  to  the  Countess's  heart,  he  sprang  ashore, 
plunged  among  the  alders,  and  in  a  moment  was  gone. 

"After  him!  After  him!"  thundered  Count  Han- 
nibal. "After  him,  man!"  and  Carlat,  stumbling 
down  the  steep  slope  and  through  the  rough  briars, 
did  his  best  to  obey.  But  in  vain.  Before  he  reached 
the  water's  edge,  the  noise  of  the  fugitive's  retreat  had 
grown  faint.  A  few  seconds  and  it  died  away. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

PLAYING  WITH   FIEE. 

THE  impulse  of  La  Tribe's  foot  as  lie  landed  liad 
driven  the  boat  into  the  stream.  It  drifted  slowly 
downward,  and  if  naught  intervened  would  take  the 
ground  on  Count  Hannibal's  side,  a  hundred  and 
fifty  yards  below  him.  He  saw  this,  and  walked 
along  the  bank,  keeping  pace  with  it,  while  the 
Countess  sat  motionless,  crouching  in  the  stern  of  the 
craft,  her  fingers  strained  about  the  fatal  packet. 
The  slow  glide  of  the  boat,  as  almost  imperceptibly  it 
approached  the  low  bank ;  the  stillness  of  the  mirror- 
like  surface  on  which  it  moved,  leaving  only  the 
faintest  ripple  behind  it ;  the  silence — for  under  the 
influence  of  emotion  Count  Hannibal  too  was  mute — 
all  were  in  tremendous  contrast  with  the  storm  which 
raged  in  her  breast. 

Should  she — should  she  even  now,  with  his  eyes  on 
her,  drop  the  letters  over  the  side  ?  It  needed  but  a 
movement.  She  had  only  to  extend  her  hand,  to  re- 
lax the  tension  of  her  fingers,  and  the  deed  was  done. 
Ft  needed  only  that ;  but  the  golden  sands  of  oppor- 
tunity were  running  out — were  running  out  fast. 
Slowly  and  more  slowly,  silently  and  more  silently, 
the  boat  slid  in  towards  the  bank  on  which  he  stood, 
and  still  she  hesitated.  The  stillness,  and  the  waiting 
figure,  and  the  watching  eyes  now  but  a  few  feet  dis- 
tant, weighed  on  her  and  seemed  to  paralyse  her  will. 


PLAYING  WITH  FIEE.  237 

A  foot,  another  foot !  A  moment  and  it  would  be  too 
late,  the  last  of  the  sands  would  hare  run  out.  The 
bow  of  the  boat  rustled  softly  through  the  rushes; 
it  kissed  the  bank.  And  her  hand  still  held  the 
letters. 

"You  are  not  hurt?  "  he  asked  curtly. 

"No." 

"The  scoundrel  might  have  drowned  you.  Was  he 
mad?" 

She  was  silent.  He  held  out  his  hand,  and  she 
gave  him  the  packet.  "I  owe  you  much,"  he  said, 
a  ring  of  gaiety,  almost  of  triumph,  in  his  tone. 
"  More  than  you  guess,  Madame.  God  made  you  for 
a  soldier's  wife,  and  a  mother  of  soldiers.  What? 
You  are  not  well,  I  am  afraid  ?  " 

"If  I  could  sit  down  a  minute,"  she  faltered.  She 
was  swaying  on  her  feet. 

He  supported  her  across  the  belt  of  meadow  which 
fringed  the  bank,  and  made  her  recline  against  a 
tree.  Then  as  his  men  began  to  come  up — for  the 
alarm  had  reached  them — he  would  have  sent  two  of 
them  in  the  boat  to  fetch  Madame  St.  Lo  to  her. 
But  she  would  not  let  him.  "Your  maid,  then?"  he 
said. 

"No,  monsieur,  I  need  only  to  be  alone  a  little! 
Only  to  be  alone,"  she  repeated,  her  face  averted; 
and  believing  this  he  sent  the  men  away,  and,  taking 
the  boat  himself,  he  crossed  over,  took  in  Madame  St. 
Lo  and  Carlat,  and  rowed  them  to  the  ferry.  Here 
the  wildest  rumours  were  current.  One  held  that  the 
Huguenot  had  gone  out  of  his  senses ;  another,  that 
he  had  watched  for  this  opportunity  of  avenging  his 
brethren;  a  third,  that  his  intention  had  been  to 
carry  off  the  Countess  and  hold  her  to  ransom. 


238  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

Tavanues  himself,  from  his  position  on  the  farther 
bank,  had  seen  the  packet  of  letters,  and  the  hand 
which  withheld  them;  and  he  said  nothing.  Nay, 
when  some  of  the  men  would  have  crossed  to  search 
for  the  fugitive,  he  forbade  them,  he  scarcely  knew 
why,  save  that  it  might  please  her;  and  when  the 
women  would  have  hurried  to  join  her  and  hear  the 
tale  from  her  lips  he  forbade  them  also. 

"She  wishes  to  be  alone,"  he  said  curtly. 

"Alone?"  Madame  St.  Lo  cried,  in  a  fever  of  cu- 
riosity. "You'll  find  her  dead,  or  worse!  What? 
Leave  a  woman  alone  after  such  a  fright  as  that ! " 

"She  wishes  it." 

Madame  laughed  cynically ;  and  the  laugh  brought 
a  tinge  of  colour  to  his  brow.  "Oh,  does  she?"  she 
sneered.  "  Then  I  understand !  Have  a  care,  have 
a  care,  or  one  of  these  days,  monsieur,  when  you 
leave  her  alone,  you'll  find  them  together!  " 

"Be  silent!" 

"With  pleasure,"  she  returned.  "Only  when  it 
happens  don't  say  that  you  were  not  warned.  You 
think  that  she  does  not  hear  from  him " 

"  How  can  she  hear?  "  The  words  were  wrung  from 
him. 

Madame  St.  Lo's  contempt  passed  all  limits. 
"How  can  she!"  she  retorted.  "You  trail  a  woman 
across  France,  and  let  her  sit  by  herself,  and  lie 
by  herself,  and  all  but  drown  by  herself,  and  you  ask 
how  she  hears  from  her  lover?  You  leave  her  old 
servants  about  her,  and  you  ask  how  she  communi- 
cates with  him?" 

"You  know  nothing!  "  he  snarled. 

"I  know  this,"  she  retorted.  "I  saw  her  sitting 
this  morning,  and  smiling  and  weeping  at  the  same 


PLAYING  WITH   FIEE.  239 

time!  "Was  she  thinking  of  you,  monsieur?  Or  of 
him  I  She  was  looking  at  the  hills  through  tears ;  a 
blue  mist  hung  over  them,  and  I'll  wager  she  saw 
some  one's  eyes  gazing  and  some  one's  hand  beckon- 
ing out  of  the  blue! " 

"Curse  you!  "  he  cried,  tormented  in  spite  of  him- 
self. "You  love  to  make  mischief!  " 

"No!"  she  answered  swiftly.  "For  'twas  not  I 
made  the  match.  But  go  your  way,  go  your  way, 
monsieur,  and  see  what  kind  of  a  welcome  you'll 
get!" 

"I  will,"  Count  Hannibal  growled.  And  he  started 
along  the  bank  to  rejoin  his  wife. 

The  light  in  his  eyes  had  died  down.  Yet  would 
they  have  been  more  sombre,  and  his  face  more  harsh, 
had  he  known  the  mind  of  the  woman  to  whom  he 
was  hastening.  The  Countess  had  begged  to  be  left 
alone;  alone,  she  found  the  solitude  she  had  craved 
a  cruel  gift.  She  had  saved  the  packet.  She  had 
fulfilled  her  trust.  But  only  to  experience,  the  mo- 
ment it  was  too  late,  the  full  poignancy  of  remorse. 
Before  the  act,  while  the  choice  had  lain  with  her,  the 
betrayal  of  her  husband  had  loomed  large ;  now  she 
saw  that  to  treat  him  as  she  had  treated  him  was  the 
true  betrayal,  and  that  even  for  his  own  sake,  and  to 
save  him  from  a  fearful  sin,  it  had  become  her  to 
destroy  the  letters. 

Now,  it  was  no  longer  her  duty  to  him  which 
loomed  large,  but  her  duty  to  the  innocent,  to  the 
victims  of  the  massacre  which  she  might  have  stayed, 
to  the  people  of  her  faith  whom  she  had  abandoned, 
to  the  women  and  children  whose  death-warrant  she 
had  preserved.  Now,  she  perceived  that  a  part  more 
divine  had  never  fallen  to  woman,  nor  a  responsibil- 


240  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

ity  so  heavy  been  laid  upon  woman.  Nor  guilt  more 
dread! 

She  writhed  in  misery,  thinking  of  it.  What  had 
she  done  I  She  could  hear  afar  off  the  sounds  of  the 
camp;  an  occasional  outcry,  a  snatch  of  laughter. 
And  the  cry  and  the  laughter  rang  in  her  ears,  a  bit- 
ter mockery.  This  summer  camp,  to  what  was  it  the 
prelude?  This  forbearance  on  her  husband's  part,  in 
what  would  it  end?  Were  not  the  one  and  the  other 
cruel  make-believes  ?  Two  days,  and  the  men  who 
laughed  beside  the  water  would  slay  and  torture  with 
equal  zest.  A  little,  and  the  husband  who  now  chose 
to  be  generous  would  show  himself  in  his  true  colours. 
And  it  was  for  the  sake  of  such  as  these  that  she  had 
played  the  coward.  That  she  had  laid  up  for  herself 
endless  remorse.  That  henceforth  the  cries  of  the 
innocent  would  haunt  her  dreams. 

Racked  by  such  thoughts  she  did  not  hear  his  step, 
and  it  was  his  shadow  falling  across  her  feet  which 
first  warned  her  of  his  presence.  She  looked  up,  saw 
him,  and  involuntarily  recoiled.  Then,  seeing  the 
change  in  his  face,  "Oh!  monsieur,"  she  stammered 
affrighted,  her  hand  pressed  to  her  side,  "I  ask  your 
pardon !  You  startled  me !  " 

"So  it  seems,"  he  answered.  And  he  stood  over 
her  regarding  her  drily. 

"I  am  not  quite — myself  yet,"  she  murmured.  His 
look  told  her  that  her  start  had  betrayed  her  feelings. 

Alas,  the  plan  of  taking  a  woman  by  force  has 
drawbacks,  and  among  others  this  one :  that  he  must 
be  a  sanguine  husband  who  deems  her  heart  his,  and 
a  husband  without  jealousy,  whose  suspicions  are  not 
aroused  by  the  faintest  flush  or  the  lightest  word. 
He  knows  that  she  is  his  unwillingly,  a  victim,  not  a 


PLAYING  WITH  FIEE.  241 

mistress ;  and  behind  every  bnsh  beside  the  road  and 
behind  every  mask  in  the  crowd  be  espies  a  rival. 

Moreover,  where  women  are  in  question,  who  is 
always  strong1?  Or  who  can  say  how  long  he  will 
pursue  this  plan  or  that"?  A  man  of  sternest  temper, 
Count  Hannibal  had  set  out  on  a  path  of  conduct 
carefully  and  deliberately  chosen ;  knowing — and  he 
still  knew — that  if  he  abandoned  it  he  had  little  to 
hope,  if  the  less  to  fear.  But  the  proof  of  fidelity 
which  the  Countess  had  just  given  him  had  blown  to 
a  white  heat  the  smouldering  flame  in  his  heart,  and 
Madame  St.  Lo's  gibes,  which  should  have  fallen  as 
cold  water  alike  on  his  hopes  and  his  passion,  had 
but  fed  the  desire  to  know  the  best.  For  all  that,  he 
might  not  have  spoken  now,  if  be  had  not  caught  her 
look  of  affright;  strange  as  it  sounds,  that  look, 
which  of  all  things  should  have  silenced  him  and 
warned  him  that  the  time  was  not  yet,  stung  him  out 
of  patience.  Suddenly  the  man  in  him  carried  him 
away. 

"You  still  fear  me,  then!"  he  said,  in  a  voice 
hoarse  and  unnatural.  "Is  it  for  what  I  do  or  for 
what  I  leave  undone  that  yon  hate  me,  Madame? 
Tell  me,  I  beg,  for " 

"For  neither!"  she  said,  trembling.  His  eyes, 
hot  and  passionate,  were  on  her,  and  the  blood  had 
mounted  to  his  brow.  "For  neither!  I  do  not  hate 
you,  monsieur ! " 

"You  fear  me  then!     I  am  right  in  that." 

"I  fear — that  which  you  carry  with  you,"  she  stam- 
mered, speaking  on  impulse  and  scarcely  knowing 
what  she  said. 

He  started,  and  his  expression  changed.  "So?"  he 
exclaimed.  "So?  You  know  what  I  carry,  do  you? 


242  COUNT   HANNIBAL. 

And  from  whom  1  From  whom  ?  "  he  continued  in  a 
tone  of  menace,  "if  you  please,  did  you  get  that 
knowledge  ?  " 

"From  M.  La  Tribe,"  she  muttered.  She  had  not 
meant  to  tell  him.  Why  had  she  told  him  ? 

He  nodded.  "I  might  have  known  it,"  he  said. 
"I  more  than  suspected  it.  Therefore  I  should  be 
the  more  beholden  to  you  for  saving  the  letters. 
But" — he  paused  and  laughed  harshly — "it  was  out 
of  no  love  for  me  you  saved  them.  That,  too,  I 
know. " 

She  did  not  answer  or  protest ;  and  when  he  had 
waited  a  moment  in  vain  expectation  of  her  protest, 
a  cruel  look  crept  into  his  eyes.  "Madame,"  he  said 
slowly,  "do  you  never  reflect  that  you  may  push  the 
part  you  play  too  far?  That  the  patience,  even  of 
the  worst  of  men,  does  not  endure  for  ever  ?  " 

"  I  have  your  word !  "  she  answered. 

"  And  you  do  not  fear  ? " 

"I  have  your  word,"  she  repeated.  And  now  she 
looked  him  bravely  in  the  face,  her  eyes  full  of  the 
courage  of  her  race. 

The  lines  of  his  mouth  hardened  as  he  met  her  look. 
"And  what  have  I  of  yours?  "  he  said  in  a  low  voice. 
"  What  have  I  of  yours?  " 

Her  face  began  to  burn  at  that,  her  eyes  fell  and 
she  faltered.  "My  gratitude,"  she  murmured,  with 
an  upward  look  that  craved  for  pity.  "God  knows, 
monsieur,  you  have  that !  " 

"God  knows  I  do  not  want  it!"  he  answered. 
And  he  laughed  derisively.  "Your  gratitude!" 
And  he  mocked  her  tone  rudely  and  coarsely. 
"Your  gratitude?"  Then  for  a  minute — for  so  long 
a  time  that  she  began  to  wonder  and  to  quake — he 


PLAYING  WITH   FIEE.  243 

was  silent.  At  last,  "A  fig  for  your  gratitude," 
he  said.  "I  want  your  love!  I  suppose — cold  as 
you  are,  and  a  Huguenot — you  can  love  like  other 
women ! " 

It  was  the  first,  the  very  first  time  he  had  used  the 
word  to  her ;  and  though  it  fell  from  his  lips  like  a 
threat,  though  he  used  it  as  a  man  presents  a  pistol, 
she  flushed  anew  from  throat  to  brow.  But  she  did 
not  quail.  "It  is  not  mine  to  give,"  she  said. 

"It  is  his!" 

"  Yes,  monsieur, "  she  answered,  wondering  at  her 
courage,  at  her  audacity,  her  madness.  "It  is  his." 

"And  it  cannot  be  mine — at  any  time? " 

She  shook  her  head,  trembling. 

"Never?"  And,  suddenly  reaching  forward,  he 
gripped  her  wrist  in  an  iron  grasp.  There  was  pas- 
sion in  his  tone.  His  eyes  burned  her. 

Whether  it  was  that  set  her  on  another  track,  or 
pure  despair,  or  the  cry  in  her  ears  of  little  children 
and  of  helpless  women,  something  in  a  moment  in- 
spired her,  flashed  in  her  eyes  and  altered  her  voice. 
She  raised  her  head  and  looked  him  firmly  in  the 
face.  "What,"  she  said,  "do  you  mean  by  love? " 

"You!  "  he  answered  brutally. 

"Then — it  may  be,  monsieur,"  she  returned. 
"There  is  a  way  if  you  will." 

"Away!" 

"If  you  will!"  As  she  spoke  she  rose  slowly  to 
her  feet ;  for  in  his  surprise  he  had  released  her  wrist. 
He  rose  with  her,  and  they  stood  confronting  one  an- 
other on  the  strip  of  grass  between  the  river  and  the 
poplars. 

"If  I  will? "  His  form  seemed  to  dilate,  his  eyes 
devoured  her.  "  If  I  will  ? " 


244  COUNT   HANNIBAL. 

"Yes>"  she  replied.  "If  you  will  give  me  the  let- 
ters that  are  in  your  belt,  the  packet  which  I  saved 
to-day — that  I  may  destroy  them — I  will  be  yours 
freely  and  willingly." 

He  drew  a  deep  breath,  still  devouring  her  with  his 
eyes.  "  You  mean  it  1 "  he  said  at  last. 

"I  do."  She  looked  him  in  the  face  as  she  spoke, 
and  her  cheeks  were  white,  not  red.  "Only — the 
letters !  Give  me  the  letters. " 

"  And  for  them  you  will  give  me  your  love  ?  " 

Her  eyes  flickered,  and  involuntarily  she  shivered. 
A  faint  blush  rose  and  dyed  her  cheeks.  "Only  God 
can  give  love, "  she  said,  her  tone  lower. 

"And  yours  is  given?" 

"Yes." 

"To  another?" 

"I  have  said  it." 

"It  is  his.     And  yet  for  these  letters " 

"For  these  lives!"  she  cried  proudly. 

"You  will  give  yourself?" 

"I  swear  it,"  she  answered,  "if  you  will  give  them 
to  me !  If  you  will  give  them  to  me, "  she  repeated. 
And  she  held  out  her  hands ;  her  face,  full  of  passion, 
was  bright  with  a  strange  light.  A  close  observer 
might  have  thought  her  distraught ;  still  excited  by 
the  struggle  in  the  boat,  and  barely  mistress  of  herself. 

But  the  man  whom  she  tempted,  the  man  who  held 
her  price  at  his  belt,  after  one  searching  look  at  her 
turned  from  her ;  perhaps  because  he  could  not  trust 
himself  to  gaze  on  her.  Count  Hannibal  walked  a 
dozen  paces  from  her  and  returned,  and  again  a  dozen 
paces  and  returned;  and  again  a  third  time,  with 
something  fieree  and  passionate  in  his  gait.  At  last 
he  stopped  before  her. 


PLAYING  WITH  FIRE.  245 

"You  have  nothing  to  offer  for  them,"  he  said,  in  a 
cold,  hard  tone.  "  Nothing  that  is  not  mine  already, 
nothing  that  is  not  my  right,  nothing  that  I  cannot 
take  at  my  will.  My  word  ? "  he  continued,  seeing 
her  about  to  interrupt  him.  "True,  Madame,  you 
have  it,  you  had  it.  But  why  need  I  keep  my  word 
to  you,  who  tempt  me  to  break  my  word  to  the 
King?" 

She  made  a  weak  gesture  with  her  hands.  Her 
head  had  sunk  on  her  breast — she  seemed  dazed  by 
the  shock  of  his  contempt,  dazed  by  his  reception  of 
her  offer. 

"You  saved  the  letters?"  he  continued,  interpret- 
ing her  action.  "  True,  but  the  letters  are  mine,  and 
that  which  you  offer  for  them  is  mine  also.  You 
have  nothing  to  offer.  For  the  rest,  Madame,"  he 
went  on,  eyeing  her  cynically,  "you  surprise  me! 
You,  whose  modesty  and  virtue  are  so  great,  would 
corrupt  your  husband,  would  sell  yourself,  would 
dishonour  the  love  of  which  you  boast  so  loudly,  the 
love  that  only  God  gives ! "  He  laughed  derisively  as 
he  quoted  her  words.  "Ay,  and,  after  showing  at 
how  low  a  price  you  hold  yourself,  you  still  look,  I 
doubt  not,  to  me  to  respect  you,  and  to  keep  my 
word.  Madame ! "  in  a  terrible  voice,  "  do  not  play 
with  fire!  You  saved  my  letters,  it  is  true!  And 
for  that,  for  this  time,  you  shall  go  free,  if  God  will 
help  me  to  let  you  go !  But  tempt  me  not !  Tempt 
me  not !  "  he  repeated,  turning  from  her  and  turning 
back  again  with  a  gesture  of  despair,  as  if  he  mis- 
trusted the  strength  of  the  restraint  which  he  put 
upon  himself.  "I  am  no  more  than  other  men! 
Perhaps  I  am  less.  And  you — you  who  prate  of  love, 
and  know  not  what  love  is — could  love !  could  love ! " 


246  COUNT   HANNIBAL. 

He  stopped  on  that  word  as  if  the  word  choked  him 
— stopped,  struggling  with  his  passion.  At  last,  with 
a  half -stifled  oath,  he  flung  away  from  her,  halted 
and  hung  a  moment,  then,  with  a  swing  of  rage,  went 
off  again  violently.  His  feet  as  he  strode  along  the 
river-bank  trampled  the  flowers,  and  slew  the  pale 
water  forget-me-not,  which  grew  among  the  grasses. 


CHAPTEE  XXIII. 

A  MIND,  AND   NOT   A   MIND. 

LA  TRIBE  tore  through  the  thicket,  imagining  Car- 
lat  and  Count  Hannibal  hot  on  his  heels.  He  dared 
not  pause  even  to  listen.  The  underwood  tripped 
him,  the  lissom  branches  of  the  alders  whipped 
his  face  and  blinded  him;  once  he  fell  headlong 
over  a  moss-grown  stone,  and  picked  himself  up 
groaning.  But  the  hare  hard-pushed  takes  no  ac- 
count of  the  briars,  nor  does  the  fox  heed  the  mud 
through  which  it  draws  itself  into  covert.  And  for 
the  time  he  was  naught  but  a  hunted  beast.  With 
elbows  pinned  to  his  sides,  or  with  hands  extended  to 
ward  off  the  boughs,  with  bursting  lungs  and  crimson 
face,  he  plunged  through  the  tangle,  now  slipping 
downwards,  now  leaping  upwards,  now  all  but  pros- 
trate, now  breasting  a  mass  of  thorns.  On  and  on  he 
ran,  until  he  came  to  the  verge  of  the  wood,  saw  be- 
fore him  an  open  meadow  devoid  of  shelter  or  hiding- 
place,  and  with  a  groan  of  despair  cast  himself  flat. 
He  listened.  How  far  were  they  behind  him  ? 

He  heard  nothing.  Nothing,  save  the  common 
noises  of  the  wood,  the  angry  chatter  of  a  disturbed 
blackbird  as  it  flew  low  into  hiding,  or  the  harsh 
notes  of  a  flock  of  starlings  as  they  rose  from  the 
meadow.  The  hum  of  bees  filled  the  air,  and  the 
August  flies  buzzed  about  his  sweating  brow,  for  he 


248  COUNT   HANNIBAL. 

had  lost  his  cap.  But  behind  him — nothing.  Al- 
ready the  stillness  of  the  wood  had  closed  upon  his 
track. 

He  was  not  the  less  panic-stricken.  He  supposed 
that  Tavannes'  people  were  getting  to  horse,  and  cal- 
culated that  if  they  surrounded  and  beat  the  wood, 
he  must  be  taken.  At  the  thought,  though  he  had 
barely  got  his  breath,  he  rose,  and  keeping  within  the 
coppice  crawled  down  the  slope  towards  the  river. 
Gently,  when  he  reached  it,  he  slipped  into  the  wa- 
ter, and  stooping  below  the  level  of  the  bank,  his 
head  and  shoulders  hidden  by  the  bushes,  he  waded 
down  stream  until  he  had  put  another  hundred  and 
fifty  yards  between  himself  and  pursuit.  Then  he 
paused  and  listened.  Still  he  heard  nothing,  and  he 
waded  on  again,  until  the  water  grew  deep.  At  this 
point  he  marked  a  little  below  him  a  clump  of  trees 
on  the  farther  side ;  and  reflecting  that  that  side — if 
he  could  reach  it  unseen — would  be  less  suspect,  he 
swam  across,  aiming  for  a  thorn  bush  which  grew 
low  to  the  water.  Under  its  shelter  he  crawled  out, 
and,  worming  himself  like  a  snake  across  the  few 
yards  of  grass  which  intervened,  he  stood  at  length 
within  the  shadow  of  the  trees.  A  moment  he 
paused  to  shake  himself,  and  then,  remembering  that 
he  was  still  within  a  mile  of  the  camp,  he  set  off, 
now  walking,  and  now  running  in  the  direction  of 
the  hills  which  his  party  had  crossed  that  morning. 

For  a  time  he  hurried  on,  thinking  only  of  escape. 
But  when  he  had  covered  a  mile  or  two,  and  escape 
seemed  probable,  there  began  to  mingle  with  his 
thankfulness  a  bitter — a  something  which  grew  more 
bitter  with  each  moment.  Why  had  he  fled  and  left 
the  work  undone?  Why  had  he  given  way  to  un- 


A  MIND,  ATO  NOT  A  Mim).          249 

worthy  fear,  when  the  letters  were  within  his  grasp  f 
True,  if  he  had  lingered  a  few  seconds  longer,  he 
would  have  failed  to  make  good  his  escape ;  but  what 
of  that  if  in  those  seconds  he  had  destroyed  the  let- 
ters, he  had  saved  Angers,  he  had  saved  his  brethren? 
Alas !  he  had  played  the  coward.  The  terror  of  Ta- 
vannes'  voice  had  unmanned  him.  He  had  saved 
himself  and  left  the  flock  to  perish ;  he,  whom  God 
had  set  apart  by  many  and  great  signs  for  this  work! 

He  had  commonly  courage  enough.  He  could 
have  died  at  the  stake . for  his  convictions.  But  he 
had  not  the  presence  of  mind  which  is  proof  against  a 
shock,  nor  the  cool  judgment  which,  in  the  face  of 
death,  sees  to  the  end  of  two  roads.  He  was  no 
coward,  but  now  he  deemed  himself  one,  and  in  an 
agony  of  remorse  he  flung  himself  on  his  face  in  the 
long  grass.  He  had  known  trials  and  temptations, 
but  hitherto  he  had  held  himself  erect;  now,  like 
Peter,  he  had  betrayed  his  Lord. 

He  lay  an  hour  groaning  in  the  misery  of  his  heart, 
and  then  he  fell  on  the  text u  Thou  art  Peter,  and  on 

this  rock "  and  he  sat  up.  Peter  had  betrayed 

his  trust  through  cowardice — as  he  had.  But  Peter 
had  not  been  held  unworthy.  Might  it  not  be  so 
with  him1?  He  rose  to  his  feet,  a  new  light  in  his 
eyes.  He  would  return!  He  would  return,  and  at 
all  costs,  even  at  the  cost  of  surrendering  himself,  he 
would  obtain  access  to  the  letters.  And  then — not 
the  fear  of  Count  Hannibal,  not  the  fear  of  instant 
death,  should  turn  him  from  his  duty. 

He  had  east  himself  down  in  a  woodland  glade 
which  lay  near  the  path  along  which  he  had  ridden 
that  morning.  But  the  mental  conflict  from  which 
he  rose  had  shaken  him  so  violently  that  he  could  not 


250  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

recall  the  side  on  which  he  had  entered  the  clearing, 
and  he  turned  himself  about,  endeavouring  to  re- 
member. At  that  moment  the  light  jingle  of  a  bridle 
struck  his  ear ;  he  caught  through  the  green  bushes 
the  flash  and  sparkle  of  harness.  They  had  tracked 
him  then,  they  were  here!  So  had  he  clear  proof 
that  this  second  chance  was  to  be  his.  In  a  happy 
fervour  he  stood  forward  where  the  pursuers  could 
not  fail  to  see  him. 

Or  so  he  thought.  Yet  the  first  horseman,  riding 
carelessly  with  his  face  averted  and  his  feet  dangling, 
would  have  gone  by  and  seen  nothing  if  his  horse, 
more  watchful,  had  not  shied.  The  man  turned  then ; 
and  for  a  moment  the  two  stared  at  one  another  be- 
tween the  pricked  ears  of  the  horse.  At  last, 

"M.  de  Tignonville !  "  the  minister  ejaculated. 

"La  Tribe!" 

"It  is  truly  you?" 

"Well — I  think  so,"  the  young  man  answered. 

The  minister  lifted  up  his  eyes  and  seemed  to  call 
the  trees  and  the  clouds  and  the  birds  to  witness. 
"Now,"  he  cried,  "I  know  that  I  am  chosen!  And 
that  we  were  instruments  to  do  this  thing  from  the 
day  when  the  hen  saved  us  in  the  hay-cart  in  Paris ! 
Now  I  know  that  all  is  forgiven  and  all  is  ordained, 
and  that  the  faithful  of  Angers  shall  to-morrow  live 
and  not  die !  "  And  with  a  face  radiant,  yet  solemn, 
he  walked  to  the  young  man's  stirrup. 

An  instant  Tignonville  looked  sharply  before  him. 
"How  far  ahead  are  they?"  he  asked.  His  tone, 
hard  and  matter-of-fact,  was  little  in  harmony  with 
the  other's  enthusiasm. 

"They  are  resting  a  league  before  you,  at  the  ferry. 
You  are  in  pursuit  of  them  f  " 


A  MIND,  AND   NOT  A  MIND.  251 

"Yes." 

"Not  alone?" 

"No."  The  young  man's  look  as  he  spoke  was 
grim.  "I  have  five  behind  me — of  your  kidney, 
M.  La  Tribe.  They  are  from  the  Arsenal.  They 
have  lost  one  his  wife,  and  one  his  son.  The  three 
others " 

"Yes?" 

"Sweethearts,"  Tignonville  answered  drily.  And 
he  east  a  singular  look  at  the  minister. 

But  La  Tribe's  mind  was  so  full  of  one  matter,  he 
could  think  only  of  that.  "How  did  you  hear  of  the 
letters?"  he  asked. 

"The  letters?" 

"Yes." 

"I  do  not  know  what  you  mean." 

La  Tribe  stared.  "Then  why  are  you  following 
him  ?  "  he  asked. 

"Why?"  Tignouville  echoed,  a  look  of  hate  dark- 
ening his  face.  "Do  you  ask  why  we  follow " 

But  on  the  name  he  seemed  to  choke  and  was  si- 
lent. 

By  this  time  his  men  had  come  up,  and  one  an- 
swered for  him.  "Why  are  we  following  Hannibal 
de  Tavanues?  "  he  said  sternly.  "To  do  to  him  as  he 
has  done  to  us!  To  rob  him  as  he  has  robbed  us 
— of  more  than  gold !  To  kill  him  as  he  has  killed 
ours,  foully  and  by  surprise !  In  his  bed  if  we  can ! 
In  the  arms  of  his  wife  if  God  wills  it ! " 

The  speaker's  face  was  haggard  from  brooding  and 
lack  of  sleep,  but  his  eyes  glowed  and  burned,  as  his 
fellows  growled  assent. 

"'Tis  simple  why  we  follow,"  a  second  put  in. 
"Is  there  a  man  of  our  faith  who  will  not,  when  he 


252  COUNT   HANNIBAL. 

hears  the  tale,  rise  up  and  stab  the  nearest  of  this 
black  brood — though  it  be  his  brother?  If  so,  God's 
curse  on  him ! " 

"  Amen  t     Amen !  " 

"So,  and  so  only,"  cried  the  first,  "shall  there  be 
faith  in  our  land !  And  our  children,  our  little  maids, 
shall  lie  safe  in  their  beds !  " 

"  Amen !     Amen !  " 

The  speaker's  chin  sank  on  his  breast,  and  with  his 
last  word  the  light  died  out  of  his  eyes.  La  Tribe 
looked  at  him  curiously,  then  at  the  others.  Last  of 
all  at  Tignonville,  on  whose  face  he  fancied  that  he 
surprised  a  faint  smile.  Yet  Tiguonville's  tone  when 
he  spoke  was  grave  enough.  "You  have  heard/'  he 
said.  "Do  you  blame  us? " 

"I  cannot,"  the  minister  answered,  shivering.  "I 
can  not. "  He  had  been  for  a  while  beyond  the  range 
of  these  feelings ;  and  in  the  greenwood,  under  God's 
heaven,  with  the  sunshine  about  him,  they  jarred  on 
him.  Yet  he  could  not  blame  men  who  had  suffered 
as  these  had  suffered ;  who  were  maddened,  as  these 
were  maddened,  by  the  gravest  wrongs  which  it  is 
possible  for  one  man  to  inflict  on  another.  "I  dare 
not,"  he  continued  sorrowfully.  "But  in  God's  name 
I  offer  you  a  higher  and  a  nobler  errand. " 

"  We  need  none, "  Tignonville  muttered  impatiently. 

"Yet  may  others  need  you,"  La  Tribe  answered  in 
a  tone  of  rebuke.  "You  are  not  aware  that  the  man 
you  follow  bears  a  packet  from  the  King  for  the 
hands  of  the  magistrates  of  Angers  ?  " 

"Ha!     Does  he?" 

"Bidding  them  do  at  Angers  as  his  Majesty  has 
done  in  Paris'?" 

The  men  broke  into  cries  of  execration.     "But  he 


A  MIND,  AND  NOT  A  MIND.  253 

shall  not  see  Angers!  "  they  swore.  "The  blood  that 
he  has  shed  shall  choke  him  by  the  way !  And  as  he 
would  do  to  others  it  shall  be  done  to  him. " 

La  Tribe  shuddered  as  he  listened,  as  he  looked. 
Try  as  he  would,  the  thirst  of  these  men  for  ven- 
geance appalled  him.  "How1? "  he  said.  "He  has  a 
score  and  more  with  him :  and  you  are  only  six. " 

"Seven  now,"  Tignonville  answered  with  a  smile. 

"True,  but " 

"And  he  lies  to-night  at  La  Fleche?    That  is  so!  " 

•"It  was  his  intention  this  morning." 

"At  the  old  King's  Inn  at  the  meeting  of  the  great 
roads  ? " 

"  It  was  mentioned, "  La  Tribe  admitted,  with  a  re- 
luctance he  did  not  comprehend.  "But  if  the  night 
be  fair  he  is  as  like  as  not  to  lie  in  the  fields. " 

One  of  the  men  pointed  to  the  sky.  A  dark  bank 
of  cloud  fresh  risen  from  the  ocean,  and  big  with 
tempest,  hung  low  in  the  west.  "See!  God  will  de- 
liver him  into  our  hands !  "  he  cried. 

Tignonville  nodded.  "If  he  lie  there,"  he  said, 
"He  will."  And  then  to  one  of  his  followers,  as  he 
dismounted,  "Do  you  ride  on,"  he  said,  "and  stand 
guard  that  we  be  not  surprised.  And  do  you,  Perrot, 
tell  monsieur.  Perrot  here,  as  God  wills  it, "  he  added 
with  a  faint  smile  which  did  not  escape  the  minister's 
eye,  "married  his  wife  from  the  great  inn  at  La 
Fleche,  and  he  knows  the  place." 

"None  better,"  the  man  growled.  He  was  a  sullen, 
brooding  knave,  whose  eyes  when  he  looked  up  sur- 
prised by  their  savage  fire. 

La  Tribe  shook  his  head.  "I  know  it,  too,"  he 
said.  "  'Tis  strong  as  a  fortress,  with  a  walled  court, 
and  all  the  windows  look  inwards.  The  gates  are 


254  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

closed  an  hour  after  sunset,  no  matter  who  is  with- 
out. If  you  think,  M.  de  Tignonville,  to  take  him 
there " 

"Patience,  monsieur,  you  have  not  heard  me," 
Perrot  interposed.  "I  know  it  after  another  fashion. 
Do  you  remember  a  rill  of  water  which  runs  through 
the  great  yard  and  the  stabies? " 

La  Tribe  nodded. 

"  Grated  with  iron  at  either  end,  and  no  passage  for 
so  much  as  a  dog  I  You  do  I  Well,  monsieur,  I  have 
hunted  rats  there,  and  where  the  water  passes  under 
the  wall  is  a  culvert,  a  man's  height  in  length.  In  it 
is  a  stone,  one  of  those  which  frame  the  grating  at  the 
entrance,  which  a  strong  man  can  remove — and  the 
man  is  in !  " 

"Ay,  in!  But  where!"  La  Tribe  asked,  his  eye- 
brows drawn  together. 

"Well  said,  monsieur,  where?"  Perrot  rejoined  in 
a  tone  of  triumph.  "There  lies  the  point.  In  the 
stables,  where  will  be  sleeping  men,  and  a  snorer  on 
every  truss1?  No,  but  in  a  fairway  between  two 
stables  where  the  water  at  its  entrance  runs  clear  in 
a  stone  channel ;  a  channel  deepened  in  one  place 
that  they  may  draw  for  the  chambers  above  writh  a 
rope  and  a  bucket.  The  rooms  above  are  the  best  in 
the  house,  four  in  one  row,  opening  all  on  the  gallery ; 
which  was  uncovered,  in  the  common  fashion,  until 
Queen-Mother  Jezebel,  passing  that  way  to  Nantes, 
two  years  back,  found  the  chambers  draughty;  and 
that  end  of  the  gallery  was  closed  in  against  her  re- 
turn. Now,  monsieur,  he  and  his  madame  will  lie 
there ;  and  he  will  feel  safe,  for  there  is  but  one  way 
to  those  four  rooms—  -through  the  door  which  shuts  off 
the  covered  gallery  from  the  open  part.  But " 


A   MIND,  AND   NOT  A  MIND.  255 

he  glanced  up  an  instant  and  La  Tribe  caught  the 
smouldering  fire  in  his  eyes — "we  shall  not  go  in  by 
the  door." 

"The  bucket  rises  through  a  trap1?  " 

"In  the  gallery?  To  be  sure,  monsieur.  In  the 
corner  beyond  the  fourth  door.  There  shall  he  fall 
into  the  pit  which  he  dug  for  others,  and  the  evil  that 
he  planned  rebound  on  his  own  head !  " 

La  Tribe  was  silent.  "What  think  you  of  it?" 
Tignonville  asked. 

"That  it  is  cleverly  planned,"  the  minister  an- 
swered. 

"No  more  than  that!  " 

"No  more  until  I  have  eaten." 

"Get  him  something!"  Tignonville  replied  in  a 
surly  tone.  "And  we  may  as  well  eat,  ourselves. 
Lead  the  horses  into  the  wood.  And  do  you,  Perrot, 
call  Tuez-les-Moines,  who  is  forward.  Two  hours' 
riding  should  bring  us  to  La  Fleche.  We  need  not 
leave  here,  therefore,  until  the  sun  is  low.  To  din- 
ner! To  dinner!" 

Probably  he  did  not  feel  the  indifference  he  affected, 
for  his  face  as  he  ate  grew  darker,  and  from  time  to 
time  he  shot  a  glance,  barbed  with  suspicion,  at  the 
minister.  La  Tribe  on  his  side  remained  silent,  al- 
though the  men  ate  apart.  He  was  in  doubt,  indeed, 
as  to  his  own  feelings.  His  instinct  and  his  reason 
were  at  odds.  Through  all,  however,  a  single  pur- 
pose, the  rescue  of  Angers,  held  good,  and  gradually 
other  things  fell  into  their  places.  When  the  meal 
was  at  an  end,  and  Tignonville  challenged  him,  he 
was  ready. 

"Your  enthusiasm  seems  to  have  waned,"  the 
younger  man  said  with  a  sneer,  "since  we  met,  mon- 


266  COUNT   HANNIBAL. 

sieur !  May  I  ask  now  if  you  find  any  fault  with  the 
plan?" 

"With  the  plan,  none." 

"If  it  was  Providence  brought  us  together,  was  it 
not  Providence  furnished  me  with  Perrot  who  knows 
La  Fldche  ?  If  it  was  Providence  brought  the  danger 
of  the  faithful  in  Angers  to  your  knowledge,  was  it 
not  Providence  set  us  on  the  road — without  whom 
you  had  been  powerless?" 

"I  believe  it!" 

"Then,  in  His  name,  what  is  the  matter?  "  Tignon- 
ville  rejoined  with  a  passion  of  which  the  other's 
manner  seemed  an  inadequate  cause.  "What  will 
you?  What  is  it?" 

"I  would  take  your  place,"  La  Tribe  answered 
quietly. 

"My  place?" 

"Yes." 

"  What,  are  we  too  many  ?  " 

"  We  are  enough  without  you,  M.  Tignonville, "  the 
minister  answered.  "These  men,  who  have  wrongs 
to  avenge,  God  will  justify  them." 

Tignonville 's  eyes  sparkled  with  anger.  "And 
have  I  no  wrongs  to  avenge?  "  he  cried.  "  Is  it  noth- 
ing to  lose  my  mistress,  to  be  robbed  of  my  wife,  to 
see  the  woman  I  love  dragged  off  to  be  a  slave  and  a. 
toy  ?  Are  these  no  wrongs  I  " 

"He  spared  your  life,  if  he  did  not  save  it,"  the 
minister  said  solemnly.  "And  hers.  And  her  ser- 
vants. " 

"To  suit  himself." 

La  Tribe  spread  out  his  hands. 

"To  suit  himself  !  And  for  that  you  wish  him  to 
go  free?"  Tignonville  cried  in  a  voice  half -choked 


A  MIND,   AND   NOT  A  MIND.  257 

with  rage.  "Do  you  know  that  this  man,  and  this 
man  alone,  stood  forth  in  the  great  Hall  of  the 
Louvre,  and  when  even  the  King  flinched,  justified 
the  murder  of  our  people?  After  that  is  he  to  go 
free?" 

"At  your  hands,"  La  Tribe  answered  quietly. 
"You  alone  of  our  people  must  not  pursue  him." 
He  would  have  added  more,  but  Tignonville  would 
not  listen. 

Brooding  on  his  wrongs  behind  the  wall  of  the 
Arsenal,  he  had  let  hatred  eat  away  his  more  gener- 
ous instincts.  Vain  and  conceited,  he  fancied  that 
the  world  laughed  at  the  poor  figure  he  had  cut ;  and 
the  wound  in  his  vanity  festered  until  nothing  would 
serve  but  to  see  the  downfall  of  his  enemy.  Instant 
pursuit,  instant  vengeance — only  these,  he  fancied, 
could  restore  him  in  his  fellows'  eyes. 

In  his  heart  he  knew  what  would  become  him  bet- 
ter. But  vanity  is  a  potent  motive:  and  his  con- 
science, even  when  supported  by  La  Tribe,  struggled 
but  weakly.  From  neither  would  he  hear  more. 
"You  have  travelled  with  him,  until  you  side  with 
him!"  he  cried  violently.  "Have  a  care,  monsieur, 
have  a  care  lest  we  think  you  papist !  "  And  walking 
over  to  the  men  he  bade  them  saddle ;  adding  a  sour 
word  which  tulned  their  eyes,  in  no  friendly  gaze,  on 
the  minister. 

After  that  La  Tribe  said  no  more.  Of  what  use 
would  it  have  been  ? 

But  as  darkness  came  on  and  cloaked  the  little 
troop,  and  the  storm  which  the  men  had  foreseen  be- 
gan to  rumble  in  the  west,  his  distaste  for  the  busi- 
ness waxed.  The  summer  lightning  which  presently 
began  to  play  across  the  sky  revealed  not  only  the 
17 


258  COUNT   HANNIBAL. 

broad  gleaming  stream,  between  which  and  a  wooded 
hill  their  road  ran,  but  the  faces  of  his  companions ; 
and  these  in  their  turn  shed  a  grisly  light  on  the 
bloody  enterprise  towards  which  they  were  set.  Ner- 
vous and  ill  at  ease,  the  minister's  mind  dwelt  on 
the  stages  of  that  enterprise;  the  stealthy  entrance 
through  the  waterway,  the  ascent  through  the  trap, 
the  surprise,  the  slaughter  in  the  sleeping-chamber. 
And  either  because  he  had  lived  for  days  in  the  vic- 
tim's company,  or  was  swayed  by  the  arguments  he 
had  addressed  to  another,  the  prospect  shook  his  soul. 

In  vain  he  told  himself  that  this  was  the  oppressor ; 
he  saw  only  the  man,  fresh  roused  from  sleep,  with 
the  horror  of  impending  dissolution  in  his  eyes.  And 
when  the  rider,  behind  whom  he  sat,  pointed  to  a 
faint  spark  of  light,  at  no  great  distance  before  them, 
and  whispered  that  it  was  St.  Agnes 's  Chapel,  hard 
by  the  inn,  he  could  have  cried  with  the  best  Catholic 
of  them  all,  "  Inter  pontem  et  fontem,  Domine!" 
Nay,  some  such  words  did  pass  his  lips. 

For  the  man  before  him  turned  half-way  in  his 
saddle.  "  What  ?"  he  asked. 

But  the  Huguenot  did  not  explain. 


CHAPTEE  XXIV. 

AT  THE  KING'S  INN. 

THE  Countess  sat  up  in  the  darkness  of  the  chamber. 
She  had  writhed  since  noon  under  the  stings  of  re- 
morse; she  could  bear  them  no  longer.  The  slow 
declension  of  the  day,  the  evening  light,  the  signs  of 
coming  tempest  which  had  driven  her  company  to  the 
shelter  of  the  inn  at  the  cross-roads,  all  had  racked 
her,  by  reminding  her  that  the  hours  were  flying,  and 
that  soon  the  fault  she  had  committed  would  be  irrep- 
arable. One  impulsive  attempt  to  redeem  it  she  had 
made,  we  know;  but  it  had  failed,  and,  by  render- 
ing her  suspect,  had  made  reparation  more  difficult. 
Still,  by  daylight  it  had  seemed  possible  to  rest  con- 
tent with  the  trial  made ;  not  so  now,  when  night  had 
fallen,  and  the  cries  of  little  children  and  the  hag- 
gard eyes  of  mothers  peopled  the  darkness  of  her 
chamber.  She  sat  up,  and  listened  with  throbbing 
temples. 

To  shut  out  the  lightning  which  played  at  intervals 
across  the  heavens,  Madame  St.  Lo,  who  shared  the 
room,  had  covered  the  window  with  a  cloak;  and 
the  place  was  dark.  To  exclude  the  dull  roll  of  the 
thunder  was  less  easy,  for  the  night  was  oppressively 
hot,  and  behind  the  cloak  the  casement  was  open. 
Gradually,  too,  another  sound,  the  hissing  fall  of 
heavy  rain,  began  to  make  itself  heard,  and  to  min- 


260  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

gle  with  the  regular  breathing  which  proved  that 
Madame  St.  Lo  slept. 

Assured  of  this  fact,  the  Countess  presently  heaved 
a  sigh,  and  slipped  from  the  bed.  She  groped  in  the 
darkness  for  her  cloak,  found  it,  and  donned  it  over 
her  night-gear.  Then,  taking  her  bearings  by  her 
bed,  which  stood  with  its  head  to  the  window  and 
its  foot  to  the  entrance,  she  felt  her  way  across  the 
floor  to  the  door,  and  after  passing  her  hands  a  dozen 
times  over  every  part  of  it,  she  found  the  latch,  and 
raised  it.  The  door  creaked,  as  she  pulled  it  open, 
and  she  stood  arrested;  but  the  sound  went  no  far- 
ther, for  the  roofed  gallery  outside,  which  looked  by 
two  windows  on  the  courtyard,  was  full  of  outdoor 
noises,  the  rushing  of  rain  and  the  running  of  spouts 
and  eaves.  One  of  the  windows  stood  wide,  admit- 
ting the  rain  and  wind,  and  as  she  paused,  holding 
the  door  open,  the  draught  blew  the  cloak  from  her. 
She  stepped  out  quickly  and  shut  the  door  behind 
her.  On  her  left  was  the  blind  end  of  the  passage ; 
she  turned  to  the  right.  She  took  one  step  into  the 
darkness  and  stood  motionless.  Beside  her,  within 
a  few  feet  of  her,  some  one  had  moved,  with  a  dull 
sound  as  of  a  boot  on  wood ;  a  sound  so  near  her  that 
she  held  her  breath,  and  pressed  herself  against  the 
wall. 

She  listened.  Perhaps  some  of  the  servants — it 
was  a  common  usage — had  made  their  beds  on  the 
floor.  Perhaps  one  of  the  women  had  stirred  in  the 
room  against  the  wall  of  which  she  crouched.  Per- 
haps— but,  even  while  she  reassured  herself,  the 
sound  rose  anew  at  her  feet. 

Fortunately  at  the  same  instant  the  glare  of  the 
lightning  flooded  all,  and  showed  the  passage,  and 


AT  THE  KING'S  INN.  261 

showed  it  empty.  It  lit  up  the  row  of  doors  on  her 
right  and  the  small  windows  on  her  left ;  and  discov- 
ered facing  her,  the  door  which  shut  off  the  rest  of 
the  house.  She  could  have  thanked — nay,  she  did 
thank  God  for  that  light.  If  the  sound  she  had 
heard  recurred  she  did  not  hear  it;  for,  as  the 
thunder  which  followed  hard  on  the  flash,  crashed 
overhead  and  rolled  heavily  eastwards,  she  felt  her 
way  boldly  along  the  passage,  touching  first  one  door, 
and  then  a  second,  and  then  a  third. 

She  groped  for  the  latch  of  the  last,  and  found  it, 
but,  with  her  hand  on  it,  paused.  In  order  to  summon 
up  her  courage,  she  strove  to  hear  again  the  cries  of 
misery  and  to  see  again  the  haggard  eyes  which  had 
driven  her  hither.  And  if  she  did  not  wholly  suc- 
ceed, other  reflections  came  to  her  aid.  This  storm, 
which  covered  all  smaller  noises,  and  opened,  now 
and  again,  God's  lantern  for  her  use,  did  it  not  prove 
that  He  was  on  her  side,  and  that  she  might  count  on 
His  protection?  The  thought  at  least  was  timely, 
and  with  a  better  heart  she  gathered  her  wits.  Wait- 
ing until  the  thunder  burst  over  her  head,  she  opened 
the  door,  slid  within  it,  and  closed  it.  She  would 
fain  have  left  it  ajar,  that  in  case  of  need  she  might 
escape  the  more  easily.  But  the  wind,  which  beat  into 
the  passage  through  the  open  window,  rendered  the 
precaution  too  perilous. 

She  went  forward  two  paces  into  the  room,  and  as 
the  roll  of  the  thunder  died  away  she  stooped  for- 
ward and  listened  with  painful  intensity  for  the  sound 
of  Count  Hannibal's  breathing.  But  the  window  was 
open,  and  the  hiss  of  the  rain  persisted;  she  could 
hear  nothing  through  it,  and  fearfully  she  took  an- 
other step  forward.  The  window  should  be  before 


262  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

her ;  the  bed  in  the  corner  to  the  left.  But  nothing  of 
either  could  she  make  out.  She  must  wait  for  the 
lightning. 

It  came,  and  for  a  second  or  more  the  room  shone. 
The  window,  the  low  truckle-bed,  the  sleeper,  she 
saw  all  with  dazzling  clearness,  and  before  the  flash 
had  well  passed  she  was  crouching  low,  with  the  hood 
of  her  cloak  dragged  about  her  face.  For  the  glare 
had  revealed  Count  Hannibal;  but  not  asleep!  He 
lay  on  his  side,  his  face  towards  her ;  lay  with  open 
eyes,  staring  at  her. 

Or  had  the  light  tricked  her  ?  The  light  must  have 
tricked  her,  for  in  the  interval  between  the  flash  and 
the  thunder,  while  she  crouched  quaking,  he  did  not 
move  or  call.  The  light  must  have  deceived  her. 
She  felt  so  certain  of  it  that  she  found  courage  to  re- 
main where  she  was  until  another  flash  came  and 
showed  him  sleeping  with  closed  eyes. 

She  drew  a  breath  of  relief  at  that,  and  rose  slowly  to 
her  feet.  But  she  dared  not  go  forward  until  a  third 
flash  had  confirmed  the  second.  Then,  while  the 
thunder  burst  overhead  and  rolled  away,  she  crept  on 
until  she  stood  beside  the  pillow,  and  stooping,  could 
hear  the  sleeper's  breathing. 

Alas !  the  worst  remained  to  be  done.  The  packet, 
she  was  sure  of  it,  lay  under  his  pillow.  How  was 
she  to  find  it,  how  remove  it  without  rousing  him? 
A  touch  might  awaken  him.  And  yet,  if  she  would 
not  return  empty-handed,  if  she  would  not  go  back  to 
the  harrowing  thoughts  which  had  tortured  her 
through  the  long  hours  of  the  day,  it  must  be  done, 
and  done  now. 

Slie  knew  this,  yet  she  hung  irresolute  a  while, 
blenching  before  the  manual  act,  listening  to  the 


AT  THE  KING'S   INN.  263 

persistent  rush  and  downpour  of  the  rain.  Then  a 
second  time  she  drew  courage  from  the  storm.  How 
timely  had  it  broken!  How  signally  had  it  aided 
her!  How  slight  had  been  her  chance  without  it! 
And  so  at  last,  resolutely  but  with  a  deft  touch,  she 
slid  her  fingers  between  the  pillow  and  the  bed, 
slightly  pressing  down  the  latter  with  her  other  hand. 
For  an  instant  she  fancied  that  the  sleeper's  breathing 
stopped,  and  her  heart  gave  a  great  bound.  But  the 
breathing  went  on  the  next  instant — if  it  had  stopped 
— and  dreading  the  return  of  the  lightning,  shrinking 
from  being  revealed  so  near  him,  and  in  that  act — 
for  which  the  darkness  seemed  more  fitting  —  she 
groped  farther,  and  touched  something.  And  then, 
as  her  fingers  closed  upon  it  and  grasped  it,  and  his 
breath  rose  hot  to  her  burning  cheek,  she  knew  that 
the  real  danger  lay  in  the  withdrawal. 

At  the  first  attempt  he  uttered  a  kind  of  grunt  and 
moved,  throwing  out  his  hand.  She  thought  that  he 
was  going  to  awake,  and  had  hard  work  to  keep  her- 
self where  she  was ;  but  he  did  not  move,  and  she 
began  again  with  so  infinite  a  precaution  that  the 
perspiration  ran  down  her  face  and  her  hair  within 
the  hood  hung  dank  on  her  neck.  Slowly,  oh  so 
slowly,  she  drew  back  the  hand,  and  with  it  the 
packet ;  so  slowly,  and  yet  so  resolutely,  being  put  to 
it,  that  when  the  dreaded  flash  surprised  her,  and  she 
saw  his  harsh  swarthy  face,  steeped  in  the  mysterious 
aloofness  of  sleep,  within  a  hand's  breadth  of  hers, 
not  a  muscle  of  her  arm  moved,  nor  did  her  hand 
quiver. 

It  was  done — at  last !  With  a  burst  of  gratitude, 
of  triumph,  of  exultation,  she  stood  erect.  She 
realised  that  it  was  done,  and  that  here  in  her  hand 


264  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

she  held  the  packet.  A  deep  gasp  of  relief,  of  joy, 
of  thankfulness,  and  she  glided  towards  the  door. 

She  groped  for  the  lateh,  and  in  the  act  fancied 
his  breathing  was  changed.  She  paused  and  bent 
her  head  to  listen.  But  the  patter  of  the  rain, 
drowning  all  sounds  save  those  of  the  nearest  origin, 
persuaded  her  that  she  was  mistaken,  and,  finding  the 
latch,  she  raised  it,  slipped  like  a  shadow  into  the 
passage,  and  closed  the  door  behind  her. 

That  done  she  stood  arrested,  all  the  blood  in 
her  body  running  to  her  heart.  She  must  be  dream- 
ing! The  passage  in  which  she  stood — the  passage 
which  she  had  left  in  black  darkness — was  alight; 
was  so  far  lighted,  at  least,  that  to  eyes  fresh  from 
the  night,  the  figures  of  three  men,  grouped  at  the 
farther  end,  stood  out  against  the  glow  of  the  lantern 
which  they  appeared  to  be  trimming — for  the  two 
nearest  were  stooping  over  it.  These  two  had  their 
backs  to  her,  the  third  his  face ;  and  it  was  the  sight 
of  this  third  man  which  had  driven  the  blood  to  her 
heart.  He  ended  at  the  waist !  It  was  only  after  a 
few  seconds,  it  was  only  when  she  had  gazed  at  him 
awhile  in  speechless  horror,  that  he  rose  another  foot 
from  the  floor,  and  she  saw  that  he  had  paused  in 
the  act  of  ascending  through  a  trapdoor.  What  the 
scene  meant,  who  these  men  were,  or  what  their  en- 
trance portended,  with  these  questions  her  brain  re- 
fused at  the  moment  to  grapple.  It  was  much  that — 
still  remembering  who  might  hear  her,  and  what  she 
held-  -she  did  not  shriek  aloud. 

Instead,  she  stood  in  the  gloom  at  her  end  of  the 
passage,  gazing  with  all  her  eyes  until  she  had  seen 
the  third  man  step  clear  of  the  trap.  She  could  see 
Mm;  but  the  light  intervened  and  blurred  his  view 


AT  THE  KING'S   INN.  265 

of  her.  He  stooped,  almost  as  soon  as  lie  had  cleared 
himself,  to  help  up  a  fourth  man,  who  rose  with  a 
naked  knife  between  his  teeth.  She  saw  then  that  all 
were  armed,  and  something  stealthy  in  their  bearing, 
something  cruel  in  their  eyes  as  the  light  of  the  lan- 
tern fell  now  on  one  dark  face  and  now  on  another, 
went  to  her  heart  and  chilled  it.  Who  were  they, 
and  why  were  they  here  1  What  was  their  purpose  I 
As  her  reason  awoke,  as  she  asked  herself  these  ques- 
tions, the  fourth  man  stooped  in  his  turn,  and  gave 
his  hand  to  a  fifth.  And  on  that  she  lost  her  self- 
control  and  cried  out.  For  the  last  man  to  ascend 
was  La  Tribe !  La  Tribe,  from  whom  she  had  parted 
that  morning ! 

The  sound  she  uttered  was  low,  but  it  reached  the 
men's  ears,  and  the  two  whose  backs  were  towards  her 
turned  as  if  they  had  been  pricked.  He  who  held  the 
lantern  raised  it,  and  the  five  glared  at  her  and  she  at 
them.  Then  a  second  cry,  louder  and  more  full  of 
surprise,  burst  from  her  lips.  The  nearest  man,  he 
who  held  the  lantern  high  that  he  might  view  her,  was 
Tignonville,  was  her  lover  1 

" Mon  Dieu .'"  she  whispered.  "What  is  it?  What 
is  it?  " 

Then,  not  till  then,  did  he  know  her.  Until  then 
the  light  of  the  lantern  had  revealed  only  a  cloaked 
and  cowled  figure,  a  gloomy  phantom  which  shook 
the  heart  of  more  than  one  with  superstitious  terror. 
But  they  knew  her  now — two  of  them ;  and  slowly, 
as  in  a  dream,  Tignonville  came  forward. 

The  mind  has  its  moments  of  crisis,  in  which  it 
acts  upon  instinct  rather  than  upon  reason.  The  girl 
never  knew  why  she  acted  as  she  did;  why  she 
asked  no  questions,  why  she  uttered  no  exclama- 


266  COUNT   HANNIBAL. 

tions,  no  remonstrances.  Why,  with  a  finger  on 
her  lips  and  her  eyes  on  his,  she  put  the  packet  into 
his  hands. 

He  took  it  from  her,  too,  as  mechanically  as  she 
gave  it — with  the  hand  which  held  his  bare  blade. 
That  done,  silent  as  she,  with  his  eyes  set  hard,  he 
would  have  gone  by  her.  The  sight  of  her  there, 
guarding  the  door  of  him  who  had  stolen  her  from 
him,  exasperated  his  worst  passions. 

But  she  moved  to  hinder  him,  and  barred  the  way. 
With  her  hand  raised  she  pointed  to  the  trapdoor. 
"  Go  now ! "  she  whispered,  her  tone  stern  and  low, 
"  you  have  what  you  want !  Go !  " 

"No !  "     And  he  tried  to  pass  her. 

"Go!  "  she  repeated  in  the  same  tone.  "You  have 
what  you  need."  And  still  she  held  her  hand  ex- 
tended ;  still  without  faltering  she  faced  the  five  men, 
while  the  thunder,  growing  more  distant,  rolled  sul- 
lenly eastward,  and  the  midnight  rain,  pouring  from 
every  spout  and  dripping  eave  about  the  house, 
wrapped  the  passage  in  its  sibilant  hush.  Gradually 
her  eyes  dominated  his,  gradually  her  nobler  nature 
and  nobler  aim  subdued  his  weaker  parts.  For  she 
understood  now ;  and  he  saw  that  she  did,  and  had  he 
been  alone  he  would  have  slunk  away,  and  said  no 
word  in  his  defence. 

But  one  of  the  men,  savage  and  out  of  patience, 
thrust  himself  between  them.  "Where  is  he?"  he 
muttered.  "What  is  the  use  of  this?  Where  is  he? " 
And  his  bloodshot  eyes  —  it  was  Tuez-les-Moines — 
questioned  the  doors,  while  his  hand,  trembling 
and  shaking  on  the  haft  of  his  knife,  bespoke  hiS 
eagerness.  "Where  is  he?  Where  is  he,  woman? 
Quick,  or " 


AT  THE  KING'S   INK  267 

"I  shall  not  tell  you,"  she  answered. 

"You  lie,"  he  cried,  grinning  like  a  dog.  "You 
will  tell  us!  Or  we  will  kill  you,  too!  Where  is  he? 
Where  is  he?" 

"I  shall  not  tell  you,"  she  repeated,  standing  before 
him  in  the  fearlessness  of  scorn.  "Another  step  and 
I  rouse  the  house!  M.  de  Tignonville,  to  you  who 
know  me,  I  swear  that  if  this  man  does  not  retire-  -  " 

"He  is  in  one  of  these  rooms?"  was  Tignonville  's 
answer.  "In  which?  In  which?" 

"Search  them!"  she  answered,  her  voice  low,  but 
biting  in  its  contempt.  "'Try  them.  Eouse  my 
women,  alarm  the  house  !  And  when  you  have  his 
people  at  your  throats  —  five  as  they  will  be  to  one  of 
you  —  thank  your  own  mad  folly  !  " 

Tuez-les-Moines'  eyes  glittered.  "You  will  not  tell 
us  ?  "  he  cried. 

"No!" 

"Then  --  » 

But  as  the  fanatic  sprang  on  her,  La  Tribe  flung  his 
arms  round  him  and  dragged  him  back.  "  It  would 
be  madness,"  he  cried.  "Are  you  mad,  fool?  Have 
done  !  "  he  panted,  struggling  with  him.  "If  niada:ne 
gives  the  alarm  —  and  he  may  be  in  any  one  of  these 
four  rooms,  you  cannot  be  sure  which  —  we  are  un- 
done." He  looked  for  support  to  Tignonville,  whose 
movement  to  protect  the  girl  he  had  anticipated,  and 
who  had  since  listened  sullenly.  "  We  have  obtained 
what  we  need.  Will  you  requite  niadame,  who  has 
gained  it  for  us  at  her  own  risk  -  " 


is  monsieur  I  would  requite,"  Tignonville  mut- 
tered grimly. 

"By  using  violence  to  her?"  the  minister  retorted 
passionately.     He  and  Tuez  were  still  gripping  one 


268  COUNT  HAKNTBAL. 

another.  "I  tell  you,  to  go  on  is  to  risk  what  we  have 
got !  And  I  for  one " 

"Am  chicken-hearted!"  the  young  man  sneered. 
"Madame — "  he  seemed  to  choke  on  the  word.  "  Will 
yon  swear  that  he  is  not  here  ?  " 

"I  swear  that  if  yon  do  not  go  I  will  raise  the 
alarm ! "  she  hissed — all  their  words  were  sunk  to  that 
stealthy  note.  "Go!  if  you  have  not  stayed  too  long 
already.  Go !  Or  see ! "  And  she  pointed  to  the 
trapdoor,  from  which  the  face  and  arms  of  a  sixth 
man  had  that  moment  risen — the  face  dark  with  per- 
turbation, so  that  her  woman's  wit  told  her  at  once 
that  something  was  amiss.  "See  what  has  come  of 
your  delay  already !  " 

"The  water  is  rising,"  the  man  muttered  ear- 
nestly. 4"Iii  God's  name  come,  whether  you  have 
done  it  or  not,  or  we  cannot  pass  out  again.  It  is 
within  a  foot  of  the  crown  of  the  culvert  now,  and  it 
is  rising." 

"Curse  on  the  water  T"  Tuez-les-Moines  answered 
in  a  frenzied  whisper.  "And  on  this  Jezebel.  Let 
us  kill  her  and  him!  What  matter  afterwards?" 
And  he  tried  to  shake  off  La  Tribe's  grasp. 

But  the  minister  held  him  desperately.  "Are  you 
mad  ?  Are  you  mad  ? "  he  answered.  "  What  can  we 
do  against  thirty  ?  Let  us  be  gone  while  we  can.  Let 
ws  be  gone !  Come. " 

"Ay,  come,"  Perrot  cried,  assenting  reluctantly. 
He  had  taken  no  side  hitherto.  "The  luck  is  against 
us!  'Tis  no  use  to-night,  man!"  And  he  turned 
with  an  air  of  sullen  resignation.  Letting  his  legs 
drop  through  the  trap  he  followed  the  bearer  of  the 
tidings  out  of  sight.  Another  made  up  his  mind  to 
go,  and  went.  Then  only  Tignonville  holding  the 


AT  THE  KING'S  INN.  269 

lantern,  and  La  Tribe,  who  feared  to  release  Tuez- 
les-Moines,  remained  with  the  fanatic. 

The  Countess's  eyes  met  her  old  lover's,  and 
whether  old  memories  overcame  her,  or,  now  that  the 
danger  was  nearly  past,  she  began  to  give  way,  she 
swayed  a  little  on  her  feet.  But  he  did  not  notice  it. 
He  was  sunk  in  black  rage:  rage  against  her,  rage 
against  himself.  "Take  the  light,"  she  muttered 
unsteadily.  "And — and  he  must  follow!  " 

"And  you?" 

But  she  could  bear  it  no  longer.  "Oh,  go,"  she 
wailed.  "Go!  Will  you  never  go  I  If  you  love  me, 
if  you  ever  loved  me,  I  implore  you  to  go. " 

He  had  betrayed  little  of  a  lover's  feeling.  But 
he  could  not  resist  that  appeal,  and  he  turned  si- 
lently. Seizing  Tuez-les-Moines  by  the  other  arm,  he 
drew  him  by  force  to  the  trap.  "Quiet,  fool,"  he 
muttered  savagely  when  the  man  would  have  resisted, 
"and  go  down!  If  we  stay  to  kill  him,  we  shall  have 
no  way  of  escape,  and  his  life  will  be  dearly  bought. 
Down,  man,  downl  "  And  between  them,  in  a  strug- 
gling silence,  with  now  and  then  an  audible  rap,  or  a 
ring  of  metal,  the  two  forced  the  desperado  to  de- 
scend. 

La  Tribe  followed  hastily.  Tignonville  was  the  last 
to  go.  In  the  act  of  disappearing  he  raised  his  lantern 
for  a  last  glimpse  of  the  Countess.  To  his  astonish- 
ment the  passage  was  empty ;  she  was  gone.  Hard  by 
him  a  door  stood  an  inch  or  two  ajar,  and  he  guessed 
that  it  was  hers,  and  swore  under  his  breath,  hating 
her  at  that  moment.  But  he  did  not  guess  how  nicely 
she  had  calculated  her  strength ;  how  nearly  exhaus- 
tion had  overcome  her ;  or  that  even  while  he  paused— 
a  fatal  pause  had  he  known  it — eyeing  the  dark  open- 


270  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

ing  of  the  door,  she  lay  as  one  dead,  on  the  bed  within. 
She  had  fallen  in  a  swoon,  from  which  she  did  not 
recover  until  the  sun  had  risen,  and  marched  across 
one  quarter  of  the  heavens. 

Nor  did  he  see  another  thing,  or  he  might  have 
hastened  his  steps.  Before  the  yellow  light  of  his 
lantern  faded  from  the  ceiling  of  the  passage,  the  door 
of  the  room  farthest  from  the  trap  slid  open.  A 
man,  whose  eyes,  until  darkness  swallowed  him,  shone 
strangely  in  a  face  extraordinarily  softened,  came  out 
on  tip-toe.  This  man  stood  awhile,  listening.  At 
length,  hearing  those  below  utter  a  cry  of  dismay, 
he  awoke  to  sudden  activity.  He  opened  with  a 
turn  of  the  key  the  door  which  stood  at  his  elbow, 
the  door  which  led  to  the  other  part  of  the  house. 
He  vanished  through  it.  A  second  later  a  sharp 
whistle  pierced  the  darkness  of  the  courtyard  and 
brought  a  dozen  sleepers  to  their  senses  and  their 
feet.  A  moment,  and  the  courtyard  hummed  with 
voices,  above  which  one  voice  rang  clear  and  insis- 
tent. With  a  startled  cry  the  inn  awoke. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

THE  COMPANY  OF  THE  BLEEDING  HEART. 

"BUT  why,"  Madame.  St.  Lo  asked,  sticking  her 
arms  akimbo,  "  why  stay  in  this  forsaken  place  a  day 
and  a  night,  when  six  hours  in  the  saddle  would  set 
us  in  Angers  ?  " 

"Because,"  Tavannes  replied  coldly — he  and  his 
cousin  were  walking  before  the  gateway  of  the  inn — 
"the  Countess  is  not  well,  and  will  be  the  better,  I 
think,  for  staying  a  day." 

"She  slept  soundly  enough !     I'll  answer  for  that! " 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"She  never  raised  her  head  this  morning,  though 
my  women  were  shrieking  '  Murder ! '  next  door,  and 

Name  of  Heaven ! "  rnadame  resumed,  after 

breaking  off  abruptly,  and  shading  her  eyes  with  her 
hand,  "what  comes  here?  Is  it  a  funeral?  Or  a  pil- 
grimage? If  all  the  priests  about  here  are  as  black, 
no  wonder  M.  Eabelais  fell  out  with  them !  " 

The  inn  stood  without  the  walls  for  the  conven- 
ience of  those  who  wished  to  take  the  road  early :  a 
little  also,  perhaps,  because  food  and  forage  were 
cheaper,  and  the  wine  paid  no  town-dues.  Four  great 
roads  met  before  the  house,  along  the  most  easterly  of 
which  the  sombre  company  which  had  caught  Madame 
St.  Lo's  attention  could  be  seen  approaching.  At 
first  Count  Hannibal  supposed  with  his  companion  that 
the  travellers  were  conveying  to  the  grave  the  corpse 


272  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

of  some  person  of  distinction ;  for  the  cortege  consisted 
mainly  of  priests  and  the  like  mounted  on  mules,  and 
clothed  for  the  most  part  in  black.  Black  also  was 
the  small  banner  which  waved  above  them,  and  bore 
in  place  of  arms  the  emblem  of  the  Bleeding  Heart. 
But  a  second  glance  failed  to  discover  either  litter 
or  bier;  and  a  nearer  approach  showed  that  the 
travellers,  whether  they  wore  the  tonsure  or  not,  bore 
weapons  of  one  kind  or  another  about  them. 

Suddenly  Madame  St.  Lo  clapped  her  hands,  and 
proclaimed  in  great  astonishment  that  she  knew  them. 
"  Why,  there  is  Father  Boucher,  the  Cur6  of  St.  Be- 
noist !  "  she  said,  "  and  Father  Pezelay  of  St.  Magloire. 
And  there  is  another  I  know,  though  I  cannot  remem- 
ber his  name !  They  are  preachers  from  Paris !  That 
is  who  they  are !  But  what  can  they  be  doing  here  ? 
Is  it  a  pilgrimage,  think  you  ?  " 

"  Ay,  a  pilgrimage  of  Blood ! "  Count  Hannibal  an- 
swered between  his  teeth.  And,  turning  to  him  to 
learn  what  moved  him,  she  saw  the  look  in  his  eyes 
which  portended  a  storm.  Before  she  could  ask  a 
question,  however,  the  gloomy  company,  which  had 
first  appeared  in  the  distance,  moving,  an  inky  blot, 
through  the  hot  sunshine  of  the  summer  morning,  had 
drawn  near  and  was  almost  abreast  of  them.  Stepping 
from  her  side,  he  raised  his  hand  and  arrested  the 
march. 

"Who  is  master  here? "  he  asked  haughtily. 

"I  am  the  leader,"  answered  a  stout  pompous 
Churchman,  whose  small  malevolent  eyes  belied  the 
sallow  fatuity  of  his  face.  "I,  M.  de  Tavanues,  by 
your  leave. " 

"And  you,  by  your  leave,"  Tavannes  sneered, 
"are » 


COMPANY  OF  THE  BLEEDING  HEAET.     273 

"Archdeacon  and  Vicar  of  the  Bishop  of  Angers 
and  Prior  of  the  Lesser  Brethren  of  St.  Germain, 
M.  le  Comte.  Visitor  also  of  the  Diocese  of  Augers, " 
the  dignitary  continued,  puffing  out  his  cheeks,  "and 
Chaplain  to  the  Lieutenant -Governor  of  Saumur, 
whose  unworthy  brother  I  am." 

"A  handsome  glove,  and  well  embroidered!"  Ta- 
vannes  retorted  in  a  tone  of  disdain.  "The  hand  I 
see  yonder ! "  He  pointed  to  the  lean  parchment 
mask  of  Father  Pezelay,  who  coloured  ever  so  faintly, 
but  held  his  peace  under  the  sneer.  "  You  are  bound 
for  Angers!  "  Count  Hannibal  continued.  "For  what 
purpose,  Sir  Prior!" 

"His  Grace  the  Bishop  is  absent,  and  in  his  ab- 
sence  " 

"You  go  to  fill  his  city  with  strife!  I  know 
you!  Not  you!"  he  continued,  contemptuously  turn- 
ing from  the  Prior,  and  regarding  the  third  of  the 
principal  figures  of  the  party.  "But  you!  You  were 
the  Cure  who  got  the  mob  together  last  All  Souls'." 

"  I  speak  the  words  of  Him  Who  sent  me ! "  an- 
swered the  third  Churchman,  whose  brooding  face 
and  dull  curtained  eyes  gave  no  promise  of  the  fits  of 
frenzied  eloquence  which  had  made  his  pulpit  famous 
in  Paris. 

"  Then  Kill  and  Burn  are  His  alphabet !  "  Tavannes 
retorted,  and  heedless  of  the  start  of  horror  which  a 
saying  so  near  blasphemy  excited  among  the  Church- 
men, he  turned  to  Father  Pezelay.  "And  you! 
You,  too,  I  know!"  he  continued.  "And  you  know 
me!  And  take  this  from  me.  Turn,  father!  Turn! 
Or  worse  than  a  broken  head — you  bear  the  scar  I  see 
— will  befall  you.  These  good  persons,  whom  you 
have  moved,  unless  I  am  in  error,  to  take  this  jour- 
18 


274  COUNT   HANNIBAL. 

uey,  may  not  know  me;  but  you  do,  and  can  tell 
them.  If  they  will  to  Angers,  they  must  to  Angers. 
But  if  I  find  trouble  in  Angers  when  I  come,  I  will 
hang  some  one  high.  Don't  scowl  at  me,  man!  " — in 
truth,  the  look  of  hate  in  Father  Pezelay's  eyes  was 
enough  to  provoke  the  exclamation.  "Some  one,  and 
it  shall  not  be  a  bare  patch  on  the  crown  will  save  his 
windpipe  from  squeezing !  " 

A  murmur  of  indignation  broke  from  the  preach- 
ers' attendants ;  one  or  two  made  a  show  of  drawing 
their  weapons.  But  Count  Hannibal  paid  no  heed  to 
them,  and  had  already  turned  on  his  heel  when 
Father  Pezelay  spurred  his  mule  a  pace  or  two  for- 
ward. Snatching  a  heavy  brass  cross  from  one  of  the 
acolytes,  he  raised  it  aloft,  and  in  the  voice  which 
had  often  thrilled  the  heated  congregation  of  St. 
Magloire,  he  called  on  Tavannes  to  pause. 

"Stand,  my  lord!"  he  cried.  "And  take  warning! 
Stand,  reckless  and  profane,  whose  face  is  set  hard  as 
a  stone,  and  his  heart  as  a  flint,  against  High  Heaven 
and  Holy  Church!  Stand  and  hear!  Behold  the 
word  of  the  Lord  is  gone  out  against  this  city,  even 
against  Augers,  for  the  unbelief  thereof!  Her  place 
shall  be  left  unto  her  desolate,  and  her  children  shall 
be  dashed  against  the  stones !  Woe  unto  you,  there- 
fore, if  you  gainsay  it,  or  fall  short  of  that  which  is 
commanded !  You  shall  perish  as  Achan,  the  sou  of 
Charmi,  and  as  Saul !  The  curse  that  has  gone  out 
against  you  shall  not  tarry,  nor  your  days  continue ! 
For  the  Canaanitish  woman  that  is  in  your  house,  and 
for  the  thought  that  is  in  your  heart,  the  place  that 
was  yours  is  given  to  another!  Yea,  the  sword  is 
even  now  drawn  that  shall  pierce  your  side !  " 

"You  are  more  like  to  split    my  ears!"    Count 


COMPANY  OF  THE  BLEEDING  HEART.     275 

Hannibal  answered  sternly.  "And  now  mark  me! 
Preach  as  you  please  here.  But  a  word  in  Augers, 
and  though  you  be  shaven  twice  over,  I  will  have  you 
silenced  after  a  fashion  which  will  not  please  you! 

If  you  value  your  tongue  therefore,  father oh, 

you  shake  off  the  dust,  do  you?  Well,  pass  on!  'Tis 
wise,  perhaps." 

And  undismayed  by  the  scowling  brows,  and  the 
cross  ostentatiously  lifted  to -heaven,  he  gazed  after 
the  procession  as  it  moved  on  under  its  swaying  ban- 
ner, now  one  and  now  another  of  the  acolytes  looking 
back  and  raising  his  hands  to  invoke  the  bolt  of 
Heaven  on  the  blasphemer.  As  the  cortege  passed 
the  huge  watering-troughs,  and  the  open  gateway  of 
the  inn,  the  knot  of  persons  congregated  there  fell  on 
their  knees.  In  answer  the  Churchmen  raised  their 
banner  higher,  and  began  to  sing  the  Eripe  me, 
Domine !  and  to  its  strains,  now  vengeful,  now  de- 
spairing, now  rising  on  a  wave  of  menace,  they  passed 
slowly  into  the  distance,  slowly  towards  Angers  and 
the  Loire. 

Suddenly  Madame  St.  Lo  twitched  his  sleeve. 
"Enough  for  me!  "  she  cried  passionately.  "I  go  no 
farther  with  you !  " 

"Ah?" 

"No  farther!"  she  repeated.  She  was  pale,  she 
shivered.  "Many  thanks,  my  cousin,  but  we  part 
company  here.  I  do  not  go  to  Angers.  I  have  seen 
horrors  enough.  I  will  take  my  people,  and  go  to  my 
aunt  by  Tours  and  the  east  road.  For  you,  I  foresee 
what  will  happen.  You  will  perish  between  the  ham- 
mer and  the  anvil." 

"Ah?" 

"You  play  too  fine  a  game,"  she  continued,  her 


276  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

face  quivering.  "  Give  over  the  girl  to  her  lover,  and 
send  away  lier  people  with  her.  And  wash  your 
hands  of  her  and  hers.  Or  you  will  see  her  fall,  and 
fall  beside  her !  Give  her  to  him,  I  say — give  her  to 
him!" 

"My  wife?" 

"Wife?"  she  echoed,  for,  fickle,  and  at  all  times 
swept  away  by  the  emotions  of  the  moment,  she  was 
in  earnest  now.  "Is  there  a  tie,"  and  she  pointed 
after  the  vanishing  procession,  "that  they  cannot  un- 
loose? That  they  will  not  unloose?  Is  there  a  life 
which  escapes  if  they  doom  it?  Did  the  Admiral 
escape?  Or  Rochefoucauld  I  Or  Madame  de  Luns  in 
old  days?  I  tell  you  they  go  to  rouse  Angers  against 
you,  and  I  see  beforehand  what  will  happen.  She 
will  perish,  and  you  with  her.  Wife?  A  pretty 
wife,  at  whose  door  you  took  her  lover  last  night. " 

"And  at  your  door!"  he  answered  quietly,  un- 
moved by  the  gibe. 

But  she  did  not  heed.  "I  warned  you  of  that!" 
she  cried.  "And  you  would  not  believe  me.  I  told 
you  he  was  following.  And  I  warn  you  of  this. 
You  are  between  the  hammer  and  the  anvil,  M.  le 
Comte !  If  Tignonville  does  not  murder  you  in  your 
bed " 

"  'Tis  not  likely  while  I  hold  him  in  my  power." 

"Then  Holy  Church  will  fall  on  you  and  crush  you. 
For  me,  I  have  seen  enough  and  more  than  enough. 
I  go  to  Tours  by  the  east  road. " 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "As  you  please, "he 
said. 

She  flung  away  in  disgust  with  him.  She  could  not 
understand  a  man  who  played  fast  and  loose  at  such 
a  time.  The  game  was  too  fine  for  her,  its  danger  too 


COMPANY  OF  THE  BLEEDING  HEAET.     277 

apparent,  the  gain  too  small.  She  had,  too,  a  wo- 
man's dread  of  the  Church,  a  woman's  belief  in  the 
power  of  the  dead  hand  to  punish.  And  in  half  an 
hour  her  orders  were  given.  In  two  hours  her  peo- 
ple were  gathered,  and  she  departed  by  the  eastward 
road,  three  of  Tavannes'  riders  reinforcing  her  ser- 
vants for  a  part  of  the  way.  Count  Hannibal  stood 
to  watch  them  start,  and  noticed  Bigot  riding  by  the 
side  of  Suzanne's  mule.  He  smiled ;  and  presently, 
as  he  turned  away,  he  did  a  thing  rare  with  him — he 
laughed  outright. 

A  laugh  which  reflected  a  mood  rare  as  itself. 
Few  had  seen  Count  Hannibal's  eye  sparkle  as  it 
sparkled  now ;  few  had  seen  him  laugh  as  he  laughed, 
walking  to  and  fro  in  the  sunshine  before  the  inn. 
His  men  watched  him,  and  wondered,  and  liked  it  lit- 
tle, for  one  or  two  who  had  overheard  his  altercation 
with  the  Churchmen  had  reported  it,  and  there  was 
shaking  of  heads  over  it.  The  man  who  had  singed 
the  Pope's  beard  and  chucked  Cardinals  under  the 
chin  was  growing  old,  and  the  most  daring  of  the 
others  had  no  mind  to  fight  with  foes  whose  weapons 
were  not  of  this  world. 

Count  Hannibal's  gaiety,  however,  was  well 
grounded,  had  they  known  it.  He  was  gay,  not  be- 
cause he  foresaw  peril,  and  it  was  his  nature  to  love 
peril;  nor — in  the  main,  though  a  little,  perhaps — 
because  he  knew  that  the  woman  whose  heart  he  de- 
sired to  win  had  that  night  stood  between  him  and 
death;  nor,  though  again  a  little,  perhaps,  because 
she  had  confirmed  his  choice  by  conduct  which  a 
small  man  might  have  deprecated,  but  which  a  great 
man  loved;  but  chiefly,  because  the  events  of  the 
night  had  placed  in  his  grasp  two  weapons  by  the  aid 


278  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

of  which  he  looked  to  recover  all  the  ground  he  had 
lost — lost  by  his  impulsive  departure  from  the  path  of 
conduct  on  which  he  had  started. 

Those  weapons  were  Tignonville,  taken  like  a  rat 
in  a  trap  by  the  rising  of  the  water;  and  the  knowl- 
edge that  the  Countess  had  stolen  the  precious  packet 
from  his  pillow.  The  knowledge — for  he  had  lain 
and  felt  her  breath  upon  his  cheek,  he  had  lain  and 
felt  her  hand  beneath  his  pillow,  he  had  lain  while 
the  impulse  to  fling  his  arms  about  her  had  been  al- 
most more  than  he  could  tame!  He  had  lain  and 
suffered  her  to  go,  to  pass  out  safely  as  she  had 
passed  in.  And  then  he  had  received  his  reward  in 
the  knowledge  that,  if  she  robbed  him,  she  robbed 
him  not  for  herself ;  and  that  where  it  was  a  question 
of  his  life  she  did  not  fear  to  risk  her  own. 

When  he  came,  indeed,  to  that  point,  he  trembled. 
How  narrowly  had  he  been  saved  from  misjudging 
her !  Had  he  not  lain  and  waited,  had  he  not  pos- 
sessed himself  in  patience,  he  might  have  been  led  to 
think  her  in  collusion  with  the  old  lover  whom  he 
found  at  her  door,  and  with  those  who  came  to  slay 
him.  Either  he  might  have  perished  unwarned ;  or 
escaping  that  danger,  he  might  have  detected  her 
with  Tignouville  and  lost  for  all  time  the  ideal  of  a 
noble  woman. 

He  had  escaped  that  peril.  More,  he  had  gained 
the  weapons  we  have  indicated;  and  the  sense  of 
power,  in  regard  to  her,  almost  intoxicated  him. 
Surely  if  he  wielded  those  weapons  to  the  best  advan- 
tage, if  he  strained  generosity  to  the  uttermost,  the 
citadel  of  her  heart  must  yield  at  last. 

He  had  the  defect  of  his  courage  and  his  nature, 
a  tendency  to  do  things  after  a  flamboyant  fashion. 


COMPANY  OF  THE  BLEEDING  HEAET.     279 

He  knew  that  her  act  would  plunge  him  in  perils 
which  he  had  not  foreseen.  If  the  preachers  roused 
the  Papists  of  Angers,  if  he  arrived  to  find  men's 
swords  whetted  for  the  massacre  and  the  men  them- 
selves awaiting  the  signal,  then  if  he  did  not  give  that 
signal  there  would  be  trouble.  There  would  be  trou- 
ble of  the  kind  in  which  the  soul  of  Hannibal  de  Ta- 
vaunes  revelled,  trouble  about  the  ancient  cathedral 
and  under  the  black  walls  of  the  Angevin  castle, 
trouble  amid  which  the  hearts  of  common  men  would 
be  as  water. 

Then,  when  things  seemed  at  their  worst,  he  would 
reveal  his  knowledge.  Then,  when  forgiveness  must 
seem  impossible,  he  would  forgive.  With  the  flood 
of  peril  which  she  had  unloosed  rising  round  them, 
he  would  say,  "Go!  "  to  the  man  who  had  aimed  at 
his  life ;  he  would  say  to  her,  "  I  know,  and  I  for- 
give !  "  That,  that  only,  would  fitly  crown  the  policy 
on  which  he  had  decided  from  the  first,  though  he 
had  not  hoped  to  conduct  it  on  lines  so  splendid  as 
those  which  now  dazzled  hiiii. 


CHAPTEE  XXVI. 

TEMPER. 

IT  was  his  gaiety,  that  strauge  unusual  gaiety,  still 
continuing,  which  on  the  following  day  began  by  per- 
plexing and  ended  by  terrifying  the  Countess.  She 
could  not  doubt  that  he  had  missed  the  packet  on 
which  so  much  hung  and  of  which  he  had  indicated 
the  importance.  But  if  he  had  missed  it,  why,  she 
asked  herself,  did  he  not  speak?  Why  did  he  not 
cry  the  alarm,  search  and  question  and  pursue? 
Why  did  he  not  give  her  the  opening  to  tell  the  truth, 
without  which  even  her  courage  failed,  her  resolution 
died  within  her? 

Above  all,  what  was  tfee  secret  of  his  strange  mer- 
riment? Of  the  snatches  of  song  which  broke  from 
him,  only  to  be  hushed  by  her  look  of  astonishment? 
Of  the  parades  which  his  horse,  catching  the  infec- 
tion, made  under  him,  as  he  tossed  his  riding-cane 
high  in  the  air  and  caught  it? 

Ay,  what  ?  Why,  when  he  had  suffered  so  great  a 
loss,  when  he  had  been  robbed  of  that  of  which  he 
must  give  account — why  did  he  cast  off  his  melancholy 
and  ride  like  the  youngest?  She  wondered  what 
the  men  thought,  and  looking,  saw  them  stare,  saw 
that  they  watched  him  stealthily,  saw  that  they  laid 
their  heads  together.  What  were  they  thinking  of 
it?  She  could  not  tell;  and  slowly  a  terror,  more  in- 


TEMPEE.  281 

sistent  than  any  to  which  the  extremity  of  violence 
would  have  reduced  her,  began  to  grip  her  heart. 

Twenty  hours  of  rest  had  lifted  her  from  the  state 
of  collapse  into  which  the  events  of  the  night  had 
cast  her ;  still  her  linibs  at  starting  had  shaken  under 
her.  But  the  cool  freshness  of  the  early  summer 
morning,  and  the  sight  of  the  green  landscape  and 
the  winding  Loir,  beside  which  their  road  ran,  had 
not  failed  to  revive  her  spirits ;  and  if  he  had  shown 
himself  merely  gloomy,  merely  sunk  in  revengeful 
thoughts,  or  darting  hither  and  thither  the  glance  of 
suspicion,  she  felt  that  she  could  have  faced  him,  and 
on  the  first  opportunity  could  have  told  him  the 
truth. 

But  this  strange  mood  veiled  she  knew  not  what. 
It  seemed,  if  she  comprehended  it  at  all,  the  herald 
of  some  bizarre,  some  dreadful  vengeance,  in  har- 
mony with  his  fierce  and  mocking  spirit.  Before  it 
her  heart  became  as  water.  Even  her  colour  little 
by  little  left  her  cheeks.  She  knew  that  he  had  only 
to  look  at  her  now  to  read  the  truth ;  that  it  was  writ- 
ten in  her  face,  in  her  shrinking  figure,  in  the  eyes 
which  now  guiltily  sought  and  now  avoided  his. 
And  feeling  sure  that  he  did  read  it  and  know  it,  she 
fancied  that  he  licked  his  lips,  as  the  cat  which  plays 
with  the  mouse;  she  fancied  that  he  gloated  on  her 
terror  and  her  perplexity. 

This,  though  the  day  and  the  road  were  warrants 
for  all  cheerful  thoughts.  On  one  side  vineyards 
clothed  the  warm  red  slopes,  and  rose  in  steps  from 
the  river  to  the  white  buildings  of  a  convent.  On  the 
other  the  stream  wound  through  green  flats  where 
the  black  cattle  stood  knee-deep  in  grass,  watched  by 
wild-eyed  and  half-Baked  youths.  Again  the  travel- 


282  COUNT  HANNIBAL, 

lers  lost  sight  of  the  Loir,  and  crossing  a  shoulder, 
rode  through  the  dim  aisles  of  a  beech-forest,  through 
deep  rustling  drifts  of  last  year's  leaves.  And  out 
again  and  down  again  they  passed,  and  turning  aside 
from  the  gateway,  trailed  along  beneath  the  brown 
machicolated  wall  of  an  old  town,  from  the  crumbling 
battlements  of  which  faces  half -sleepy,  half -suspi- 
cious, watched  them  as  they  moved  below  through 
the  glare  and  heat.  Down  to  the  river-level  again, 
where  a  squalid  anchorite,  seated  at  the  mouth  of  a 
cave  dug  in  the  bank,  begged  of  them,  and  the  bell  of 
a  monastery  on  the  farther  bank  tolled  slumberously 
the  hour  of  Nones. 

And  still  he  said  nothing,  and  she,  cowed  by  his 
mysterious  gaiety,  yet  spurning  herself  for  her  cow- 
ardice, was  silent  also.  He  hoped  to  arrive  at  Augers 
before  nightfall.  What,  she  wondered,  shivering, 
would  happen  there?  What  was  he  planning  to  do 
to  her?  How  would  he  punish  her?  Brave  as  she 
was,  she  was  a  woman,  with  a  woman's  nerves ;  and 
fear  and  anticipation  got  upon  them ;  and  his  silence 
— his  silence  which  must  mean  a  thing  worse  than 
words ! 

And  then  on  a  sudden,  piercing  all,  a  new  thought. 
Was  it  possible  that  he  had  other  letters?  If  his 
bearing  were  consistent  with  anything,  it  was  consis- 
tent with  that.  Had  he  other  genuine  letters,  or  had 
he  duplicate  letters,  so  that  he  had  lost  nothing,  but 
instead  had  gained  the  right  to  rack  and  torture  her, 
to  taunt  and  despise  her? 

That  thought  stung  her  into  sudden  self-betrayal. 
They  were  riding  along  a  broad  dusty  track  which 
bordered  a  stone  causey  raised  above  the  level  of  win- 
ter floods;  impulsively  she  turned  to  him.  "You 


TEMPER.  283 

have  other  letters! "  she  cried.  "You  have  other  let- 
ters ! "  And  freed  for  the  moment  from  her  terror, 
she  fixed  her  eyes  on  his  and  strove  to  read  his  face. 

He  looked  at  her,  his  mouth  grown  hard.  "What 
do  you  mean,  inadame  ?  "  he  asked. 

"You  have  other  letters?" 

"For  whom?" 

"From  the  King,  for  Augers! " 

He  saw  that  she  was  going  to  confess,  that  she  was 
going  to  derange  his  cherished  plan ;  and  unreasona- 
ble anger  awoke  in  the  man  who  had  been  more 
than  willing  to  forgive  a  real  injury.  "Will  you 
explain  1 "  he  said  between  his  teeth.  And  his  eyes 
glittered  unpleasantly.  "What  do  you  mean?  " 

"You  have  other  letters,"  she  persisted,  "besides 
those  which  I  stole." 

"Which  you  stole?  "  He  repeated  the  words  with- 
out passion.  Enraged  by  this  unexpected  turn,  he 
hardly  knew  how  to  take  it. 

"Yes,  I! "  she  cried.  "I!  I  took  them  from  under 
your  pillow ! " 

He  was  silent  a  minute.  Then  he  laughed  and 
shook  his  head.  "It  will  not  do,  madame,"  he  said, 
his  lip  curling.  "You  are  clever,  but  you  do  not  de- 
ceive me. " 

"Deceive  you?" 

"Yes." 

"You  do  not  believe  that  I  took  the  letters? "  she 
cried  in  great  amazement. 

"No,"  he  answered;  "and  for  a  good  reason."  He 
had  hardened  his  heart  now.  He  had  chosen  his 
line,  and  he  would  not  spare  her. 

"Why,  then ?  "  she  cried.     "  Why ?  " 

"For  the  best  of  all  reasons,"  he  answered.     "Be- 


284  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

cause  the  person  who  stole  the  letters  was  seized  in 
the  act  of  making  his  escape,  and  is  now  in  my 
power." 

"The  person — who  stole  the  letters? "  she  faltered. 

"Yes,  madame." 

"Do  you  mean  M.  de  Tignonville ? " 

"  You  have  said  it. " 

She  turned  white  to  the  lips,  and  trembling  could 
with  difficulty  sit  her  horse.  With  an  effort  she 
pulled  it  up,  and  he  stopped  also.  Their  attendants 
were  some  way  ahead.  "And  you  have  the  letters'?  " 
she  whispered,  her  eyes  meeting  his.  "You  have  the 
letters?" 

"No,  but  I  have  the  thief!"  Count  Hannibal  an- 
swered with  sinister  meaning.  "As  I  think  you 
knew,  madame,"  he  continued  ironically,  "a  while 
back  before  you  spoke." 

"I?  Oh,  no,  no!"  and  she  swayed  in  her  saddle. 
"What — what  are  you — going  to  do  ?"  she  muttered 
after  a  moment's  stricken  silence. 

"To  him  I" 

"Yes." 

"The  magistrates  will  decide,  at  Angers." 

"But  he  did  not  do  it!     I  swear  he  did  not." 

Count  Hannibal  shook  his  head  coldly. 

"I  swear,  monsieur,  I  took  the  letters!"  she  re- 
peated piteously.  "Punish  me!"  Her  figure,  bowed 
like  an  old  woman's  over  the  neck  of  her  horse, 
seemed  to  crave  his  mercy. 

Count  Hannibal  smiled. 

"  You  do  not  believe  me  ?  " 

"No,"  he  said.  And  then,  in  a  tone  which  chilled 
her,  "If  I  did  believe  you,"  he  continued,  "I  should 
still  punish  him ! "  She  was  broken ;  but  he  would 


TEMPBE.  285 

see  if  he  could  not  break  her  farther.  He  would  try 
if  there  were  no  weak  spot  in  her  armour.  He  would 
rack  her  now,  since  in  the  end  she  must  go  free. 
"Understand,  madame,"  he  continued  in  his  harshest 
tone,  "I  have  had  enough  of  your  lover.  He  has 
crossed  my  path  too  often.  You  are  my  wife,  I  am 
your  husband.  In  a  day  or  two  there  shall  be  an  end 
of  this  farce  and  of  him." 

"  He  did  not  take  them ! "  she  wailed,  her  face  sink- 
ing lower  on  her  breast.  "He  did  not  take  them! 
Have  mercy ! " 

"Any  way,  madame,  they  are  gone!"  Tavannes 
answered.  "You  have  taken  them  between  you;  and 
as  I  do  not  choose  that  you  should  pay,  he  will  pay 
the  price." 

If  the  discovery  that  Tignonville  had  fallen  into 
her  husband's  hands  had  not  sufficed  to  crush  her, 
Count  Hannibal's  tone  must  have  done  so.  The 
shoot  of  new  life  which  had  raised  its  head  after 
those  dreadful  days  in  Paris,  and — for  she  was  young 
— had  supported  her  under  the  weight  which  the 
peril  of  Angers  had  cast  on  her  shoulders,  died, 
bruised  under  the  heel  of  his  brutality.  The  pride 
which  had  supported  her,  which  had  won  Tavannes' 
admiration  and  exacted  his  respect,  sank,  as  she  sank 
herself,  bowed  to  her  horse's  neck,  weeping  bitter 
tears  before  him.  She  abandoned  herself  to  her  mis- 
ery, as  she  had  once  abandoned  herself  in  the  upper 
room  in  Paris. 

And  he  looked  at  her.  He  had  willed  to  crush 
her ;  he  had  his  will,  and  he  was  not  satisfied.  He 
had  bowed  her  so  low  that  his  magnanimity  would 
now  have  its  full  effect,  would  shine  as  the  sun  into 
a  dark  world ;  and  yet  he  was  not  happy.  He  could 


286  COUNT   HANNIBAL. 

look  forward  to  the  morrow,  and  say,  "She  will  un- 
derstand me,  she  will  know  me !  "  and  lo,  the  thought 
that  she  wept  for  her  lover  stabbed  him,  and  stabbed 
him  anew ;  and  he  thought,  "  Bather  would  she  death 
from  him,  than  life  from  me!  Though  I  give  her 
creation,  it  will  not  alter  her!  Though  I  strike  the 
stars  with  my  head,  it  is  he  who  fills  her  world. " 

The  thought  spurred  him  to  farther  cruelty,  im- 
pelled him  to  try  if,  prostrate  as  she  was,  he  could 
not  draw  a  prayer  from  her?  "You  don't  ask  after 
him?"  he  scoffed.  "He  may  be  before  or  behind? 
Or  wounded  or  well?  Would  you  not  know,  ma- 
dame  ?  And  what  message  he  sent  you  ?  And  what 
he  fears,  and  what  hope  he  has?  And  his  last 
wishes?  And — for  while  there  is  life  there  is  hope — 
would  you  not  learn  where  the  key  of  his  prison 
lies  to-night?  How  much  for  the  key  to-night, 
madame  ?  " 

Each  question  fell  on  her  like  the  lash  of  a  whip ; 
but  as  one  who  has  been  flogged  into  insensibility, 
she  did  not  wince.  That  drove  him  on:  he  felt  a 
mad  desire  to  hear  her  prayers,  to  force  her  lower,  to 
bring  her  to  her  knees.  And  he  sought  about  for 
a  keener  taunt.  Their  attendants  were  almost  out 
of  sight  before  them ;  the  sun,  declining  apace,  was  in 
their  eyes.  "In  two  hours  we  shall  be  in  Angers," 
he  said.  "Mon  Dieu,  madame,  it  was  a  pity,  when 
you  two  were  taking  letters,  you  did  not  go  a  step 
farther.  You  were  surprised,  or  I  doubt  if  I  should 
be  alive  to-day !  " 

Then  she  did  look  up.  She  raised  her  head  and 
met  his  gaze  with  such  wonder  in  her  eyes,  such  re- 
proach in  her  tear-stained  face,  that  his  voice  sank  on 
the  last  word.  "You  mean — that  I  would  have  mur- 


TEMPER  287 

dered  you?"  she  said.  "I  would  have  cut  off  my 
hand  first.  What  I  did  " — and  now  her  voice  was  as 
firm  as  it  was  low — "  what  I  did,  I  did  to  save  my 
people.  And  if  it  were  to  be  done  again,  I  would  do 
it  again ! " 

"You  dare  to  teil  me  that  to  my  face?"  he  cried, 
hiding  feelings  which  almost  choked  him.  "You 
would  do  it  again,  would  you?  Mon  Dieu,  madame, 
you  need  to  be  taught  a  lesson ! " 

And  by  chance,  meaning  only  to  make  the  horses 
move  on  again,  he  raised  his  whip.  She  thought 
that  he  was  going  to  strike  her,  and  she  flinched  at 
last.  The  whip  fell  smartly  on  her  horse's  quarters, 
and  it  sprang  forward.  Count  Hannibal  swore  be- 
tween his  teeth. 

He  had  turned  pale,  she  red  as  fire.  "Get  on! 
Get  on!"  he  cried  harshly.  "We  are  falling  be- 
hind ! "  And  riding  at  her  heels,  flipping  her  horse 
now  and  then,  he  forced  her  to  trot  on  until  they 
overtook  the  servants. 


CHAPTER  XXYTL 

THE  BLACK   TOWN. 

IT  was  late  evening  when,  riding  wearily  on  jaded 
horses,  they  came  to  the  outskirts  of  Angers,  and  saw 
before  them  the  term  of  their  journey.  The  glow  of 
sunset  had  faded,  but  the  sky  was  still  warm  with  the 
last  hues  of  day ;  and  against  its  opal  light  the  huge 
mass  of  the  Angevin  castle,  which  even  in  sunshine 
rises  dark  aud  forbidding  above  the  Mayenne,  stood 
up  black  and  sharply  defined.  Below  it,  on  both 
banks  of  the  river,  the  towers  and  spires  of  the  city 
soared  up  from  a  sombre  huddle  of  ridge-roofs, 
broken  here  by  a  round-headed  gateway,  crumbling 
and  pigeon-haunted,  that  dated  from  St.  Louis,  and 
there  by  the  gaunt  arms  of  a  windmill. 

The  city  lay  dark  under  a  light  sky,  keeping  well 
its  secrets.  Thousands  were  out  of  doors  enjoying 
the  evening  coolness  in  alley  and  court,  yet  it  be- 
trayed the  life  which  pulsed  in  its  arteries  only  by 
the  low  murmur  which  rose  from  it.  Nevertheless, 
the  Countess  at  sight  of  its  roofs  tasted  the  first  mo- 
ment of  happiness  which  had  been  hers  that  day. 
She  might  suffer,  but  she  had  saved.  Those  roofs 
would  thank  her!  In  that  murmur  were  the  voices 
of  women  and  children  she  had  redeemed!  At  the 
sight  and  at  the  thought  a  wave  of  love  and  tender- 
ness swept  all  bitterness  from  her  breast.  A  pro- 
found humility,  a  boundless  thankfulness  took  pos- 


THE  BLACK  TOWtf.  289 

session   of  her.      Her  head   sank    lower  above  her 
horse's  inane ;  but  it  sank  in  reverence,  not;  in  shame. 

Could  she  have  known  what  was  passing  beneath 
those  roofs  which  night  was  blending  in  a  common 
gloom — could  she  have  read  the  thoughts  which  at 
that  moment  paled  the  cheeks  of  many  a  stout  burgh- 
er, whose  gabled  house  looked  on  the  great  square, 
she  had  been  still  more  thankful.  For  in  attics  and 
back  rooms  women  were  on  their  knees  at  that  hour, 
praying  with  feverish  eyes ;  and  in  the  streets  men — 
on  whom  their  fellows,  seeing  the  winding-sheet  al- 
ready at  the  chin,  gazed  askance — smiled,  and  showed 
brave  looks  abroad,  while  their  hearts  were  sick  with 
fear. 

For  darkly,  no  man  knew  how,  the  news  had  come 
to  Angers.  It  had  been  known,  more  or  less,  for 
three  days.  Men  had  read  it  in  other  men's  eyes. 
The  tongue  of  a  scold,  the  sneer  of  an  injured  woman 
had  spread  it,  the  birds  of  the  air  had  carried  it. 
From  garret  window  to  garret  window  across  the 
narrow  lanes  of  the  old  town  it  had  been  whispered 
at  dead  of  night ;  at  convent  grilles,  and  in  the  tim- 
ber-yards beside  the  river.  Ten  thousand,  fifty  thou- 
sand, a  hundred  thousand,  it  was  rumoured,  had  per- 
ished in  Paris.  In  Orleans,  all.  In  Tours  this  man's 
sister;  at  Saumurthat  man's  son.  Through  France 
the  word  had  gone  forth  that  the  Huguenots  must 
die;  and  in  the  busy  town  the  same  roof -tree  shel- 
tered fear  and  hate,  rage  and  cupidity.  On  one  side 
of  the  party- wall  murder  lurked  fierce-eyed;  on  the 
other,  the  victim  lay  watching  the  latch,  and  shaking 
at  a  step.  Strong  men  tasted  the  bitterness  of  death, 
and  women  clasping  their  babes  to  their  breasts 
smiled  sickly  into  children's  eyes. 
19 


290  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

The  signal  only  was  lacking.  It  would  come,  said 
some,  from  Saumur,  where  Montsoreau,  the  Duke  of 
Aujou's  Lieutenant- Governor  and  a  Papist,  had  his 
quarters.  From  Paris,  said  others,  directly  from  the 
King.  It  might  come  at  any  hour  now,  in  the  day  or 
in  the  night ;  the  magistrates,  it  was  whispered,  were 
in  continuous  session,  awaiting  its  coming.  No  won- 
der that  from,  lofty  gable  windows,  and  from  dormers 
set  high  above  the  tiles,  haggard  faces  looked  north- 
ward and  eastward,  and  ears  sharpened  by  fear  imag- 
ined above  the  noises  of  the  city  the  ring  of  the  iron 
shoes  that  carried  doom. 

Doubtless  the  majority  desired — as  the  majority  in 
France  have  always  desired  —  peace.  But  in  the 
purlieus  about  the  cathedral  and  in  the  lanes  where 
the  sacristans  lived,  in  convent  parlours  and  college 
courts,  among  all  whose  livelihood  the  new  faith 
threatened,  was  a  stir  as  of  a  hive  deranged.  Here 
was  grumbling  against  the  magistrates — why  wait? 
There,  stealthy  plauuings  and  arrangements;  every- 
where a  grinding  of  weapons  and  casting  of  slugs. 
Old  grudges,  new  rivalries,  a  scholar's  venom,  a 
priest's  dislike,  here  was  final  vent  for  all.  None 
need  leave  this  feast  unsated ! 

It  was  a  man  of  this  class,  sent  out  for  the  pur- 
pose, who  first  espied  Count  Hannibal's  company 
approaching.  He  bore  the  news  into  the  town,  and 
by  the  time  the  travellers  reached  the  city  gate,  the 
dusky  street  within,  on  which  lights  were  beginning 
to  twinkle  from  booths  and  casements,  was  alive  with 
figures  running  to  meet  them  and  crying  the  news 
as  they  ran.  The  travellers,  weary  and  road-stained, 
had  no  sooner  passed  under  the  arch  than  they  found 
themselves  the  core  of  a  great  crowd  which  moved 


THE  BLACK  TOWN.  291 

with  them  and  pressed  about  them ;  now  unbonnet- 
ing,  and  now  calling  out  questions,  and  now  shouting 
"Vive  le  Eoi!  ViveleBoi!"  Above  the  press,  win- 
dows burst  into  light ;  and  over  all,  the  quaint  lean- 
ing gables  of  the  old  timbered  houses  looked  down  on 
the  hurry  and  tumult. 

They  passed  along  a  narrow  street  in  which  the 
rabble,  hurrying  at  Count  Hannibal's  bridle,  and 
often  looking  back  to  read  his  facer  had  much  ado  to 
escape  harm ;  along  this  street  and  before  the  yawn  - 
ing  doors  of  a  great  church,  whence  a  hot  breath 
heavy  with  incense  and  burning  wax  issued  to  meet 
them.  A  portion  of  the  congregation  had  heard  the 
tumult  and  struggled  out,  and  now  stood  close-packed 
on  the  steps  under  the  double  vault  of  the  portal. 
Among  them  the  Countess's  eyes,  as  she  rode  by,  a 
sturdy  man-at-arms  on  either  hand,  caught  and  held 
one  face.  It  was  the  face  of  a  tall,  lean  man  in 
dusty  black ;  and  though  she  did  not  know  him  she 
seemed  to  have  an  equal  attraction  for  him ;  for  as 
their  eyes  met  he  seized  the  shoulder  of  the  man  next 
him  and  pointed  her  out.  And  something  in  the 
energy  of  the  gesture,  or  in  the  thin  lips  and  malevo- 
lent eyes  of  the  man  who  pointed,  chilled  the  Coun- 
tess's blood  and  shook  her,  she  knew  not  why. 

Until  then,  she  had  known  no  fear  save  of  her 
husband.  But  at  that  a  sense  of  the  force  and 
pressure  of  the  crowd — as  well  as  of  the  fierce  pas- 
sions, straining  about  her,  which  a  word  might  nn- 
loose — broke  upon  her ;  and  looking  to  the  stern  men 
on  either  side  she  fancied  that  she  read  anxiety  in 
their  faces. 

She  glanced  behind.  Bridle  to  bridle  the  Count's 
men  came  on,  pressing  round  her  women  and  shield- 


292  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

ing  them  from  the  exuberance  of  the  throng.  In 
their  faces  too  she  thought  that  she  traced  uneasi- 
ness. 

What  wonder  if  the  scenes  through  which  she  had 
passed  in  Paris  began  to  recur  to  her  mind,  and  shook 
nerves  already  overwrought? 

She  began  to  tremble.  "Is  there — danger?"  she 
muttered,  speaking  in  a  low  voice  to  Bigot,  who  rode 
on  her  right  hand.  "Will  they  do  anything? " 

The  Norman  snorted.  "Not  while  he  is  in  the  sad- 
dle, "he  said,  nodding  towards  his  master,  who  rode 
a  pace  in  front  of  them,  his  reins  loose.  "There  be 
some  here  know  him ! "  Bigot  continued,  in  his 
drawling  tone.  "And  more  will  know  him  if  they 
break  line.  Have  no  fear,  niadame,  he  will  bring 
you  safe  to  the  inn.  Down  with  the  Huguenots  ?  "  he 
continued,  turning  from  her  and  addressing  a  rogue 
who,  holding  his  stirrup,  was  shouting  the  cry  till  he 
was  crimson.  "Then  why  not  away,  and " 

"The  King!  The  King's  word  and  leave!"  the 
man  answered. 

"Ay,  tell  us!"  shrieked  another,  looking  upward, 
while  he  waved  his  cap;  "have  we  the  King's 
leave  ?  " 

"You'll  bide  his  leave!"  the  Norman  retorted,  in- 
dicating the  Count  with  his  thumb.  "Or  'twill  be 
up  with  you — ou  the  three-legged  horse !  " 

"But  he  comes  from  the  King!  "  the  man  panted. 

"  To  be  sure.     To  be  sure ! " 

"Then " 

"You'll  bide  his  time!  That's  all!"  Bigot  an- 
swered, rather  it  seemed  for  his  own  satisfaction  than 
the  other's  enlightenment.  "You'll  all  bide  it,  you 
dogs ! "  he  continued  in  his  beard,  as  he  cast  his  eye 


THE   BLACK  TOWN.  293 

over  the  weltering  crowd.  "Ha!  so  we  are  here,  are 
we  ?  And  not  too  sooii,  either. " 

He  fell  silent  as  they  entered  an  open  space,  over- 
looked on  one  side  by  the  dark  facade  of  the  cathe- 
dral, on  the  other  three  sides  by  houses  more  or  less 
illumined.  The  rabble  swept  into  this  open  space 
with  them  and  before  them,  filled  much  of  it  in  an 
instant,  and  for  a  while  eddied  and  swirled  this  way 
and  that,  thrust  onward  by  the  worshippers  who  had 
issued  from  the  church  and  backwards  by  those  who 
had  been  first  in  the  square,  and  had  no  mind  to  be 
hustled  out  of  hearing.  A  stranger,  confused  by  the 
sea  of  excited  faces,  and  deafened  by  the  clamour  of 
"Vive  le  Roi!"  "Vive  Anjou!"  mingled  with  cries 
against  the  Huguenots,  might  have  fancied  that  the 
whole  city  was  arrayed  before  him.  But  he  would 
have  been  wide  of  the  mark.  The  scum,  indeed — 
and  a  dangerous  scum — frothed  and  foamed  and  spat 
under  Tavannes'  bridle-hand;  and  here  and  there 
among  them,  but  not  of  them,  the  dark-robed  figure 
of  a  priest  moved  to  and  fro ;  or  a  Benedictine,  or 
some  smooth-faced  acolyte  egged  on  to  the  work  he 
dared  not  do.  But  the  decent  burghers  were  not 
there.  They  lay  bolted  in  their  houses;  while  the 
magistrates,  with  little  heart  to  do  aught  except  bow 
to  the  mob — or  other  their  masters  for  the  time  being 
— shook  in  their  council  chamber. 

There  is  not  a  city  of  France  which  has  not  seen  it ; 
which  has  not  known  the  moment  when  the  mass  im- 
pended, and  it  lay  with  one  man  to  start  it  or  stay  its 
course.  Angers  within  its  houses  heard  the  clamour, 
and  from  the  child,  clinging  to  its  mother's  skirt,  and 
wondering  why  she  wept,  to  the  Provost,  trembled, 
believing  that  the  hour  had  come.  The  Countess 


294  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

heard  it  too,  and  understood  it.  She  caught  the  sav- 
age note  in  the  voice  of  the  mob — that  note  which 
means  danger — and  her  heart  beating  wildly  she 
looked  to  her  husband.  Then,  fortunately  for  her, 
fortunately  for  Angers,  it  was  given  to  all  to  see  that 
in  Count  Hannibal's  saddle  sat  a  man. 

He  raised  his  hand  for  silence,  and  in  a  minute  or 
two — not  at  once,  for  the  square  was  dusky — it  was 
obtained.  He  rose  in  his  stirrups,  and  bared  his 
head. 

"  I  am  from  the  King ! "  he  cried,  throwing  his 
voice  to  all  parts  of  the  crowd.  "And  this  is  his 
Majesty's  pleasure  and  good  will !  That  every  man 
hold  his  hand  until  to-morrow  on  pain  of  death,  or 
worse!  And  at  noon  his  further  pleasure  will  be 
known !  Vive  le  Roi !  " 

And  he  covered  his  head  again. 

"Vive  le  Boi!"  cried  a  number  of  the  foremost. 
But  their  shouts  were  feeble  and  half-hearted,  and 
were  quickly  drowned  in  a  rising  murmur  of  discon- 
tent and  ill-humour,  which,  mingled  with  cries  of  "Is 
that  all  ?  Is  there  no  more  ?  Down  with  the  Hugue- 
nots !  "  rose  from  all  parts.  Presently  these  cries  be- 
came merged  in  a  persistent  call,  which  had  its  ori- 
gin, as  far  as  could  be  discovered,  in  the  darkest 
corner  of  the  square.  A  call  for  "Montsoreau! 
Montsoreau !  Give  us  Moutsoreau ! " 

With  another  man,  or  had  Tavannes  turned  or 
withdrawn,  or  betrayed  the  least  anxiety,  words  had 
become  actions,  disorder  a  riot;  and  that  in  the 
twinkling  of  an  eye.  But  Count  Hannibal,  sitting 
his  horse,  with  his  handful  of  riders  behind  him, 
watched  the  crowd,  as  little  moved  by  it  as  the 
Armed  Knight  of  Notre  Dame.  Only  once  did  he 


THE  BLACK  TOWN.  295 

say  a  word.  Then,  raising  his  hand  as  before  to  gain 
a  hearing,  "You  ask  for  Montsoreau?"  he  thun- 
dered. "You  will  have  Montfaucon  if  you  do  not 
quickly  go  to  your  homes ! " 

At  which,  and  at  the  glare  of  his  eye,  the  more 
timid  took  fright.  Feeling  his  gaze  upon  them,  see- 
tug  that  he  had  no  intention  of  withdrawing,  they 
began  to  sneak  away  by  ones  and  twos.  Soon  others 
missed  them  and  took  the  alarm,  and  followed.  A 
moment  and  scores  were  streaming  away  through 
lanes  and  alleys  and  along  the  main  street.  At  last 
the  bolder  and  more  turbulent  found  themselves  a 
remnant.  They  glanced  uneasily  at  one  another  and 
at  Tavannes,  took  fright  in  their  turn,  and  plunging 
into  the  current  hastened  away,  raising  now  and  then 
as  they  passed  through  the  streets  a  cry  of  "Vive 
Montsoreau !  Montsoreau !  "-  —which  was  not  without 
its  menace  for  the  morrow. 

Count  Hannibal  waited  motionless  until  no  more 
than  half  a  dozen  groups  remained  in  the  open.  Then 
he  gave  the  word  to  dismount ;  so  far,  even  the  Coun- 
tess and  her  women  had  kept  their  saddles,  lest  the 
movement  which  their  retreat  into  the  inn  must  have 
caused  should  be  misread  by  the  mob.  Last  of  all  he 
dismounted  himself,  and  with  lights  going  before  htm 
and  behind,  and  preceded  by  Bigot,  bearing  his  cloak 
and  pistols,  he  escorted  the  Countess  into  the  house. 
Not  many  minutes  had  elapsed  since  he  called  for 
silence;  but  long  before  he  reached  the  chamber 
looking  over  the  square  from  the  first  floor,  in  which 
supper  was  being  set  for  them,  the  news  had  flown 
through  the  length  and  breadth  of  Angers  that  for 
this  night  the  danger  was  past.  The  hawk  had  come 
•  to  Angers,  and  lo !  it  was  a  dove. 


296  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

Count  Hannibal  strode  to  one  of  the  open  windows 
and  looked  out.  In  the  room,  which  was  well  lighted, 
were  people  of  the  house,  going  to  and  fro,  set- 
ting out  the  table;  to  Madame,  standing  beside  the 
hearth — which  held  its  summer  dressing  of  green 
boughs — while  her  woman  held  water  for  her  to  wash, 
the  scene  recalled  with  painful  vividness  the  meal  at 
which  she  had  been  present  ou  the  morning  of  the  St. 
Bartholomew — the  meal  which  had  ushered  in  her 
troubles.  Naturally  her  eyes  went  to  her  husband, 
her  mind  to  the  horror  in  which  she  had  held  him 
then ;  and  with  a  kind  of  shock,  perhaps  because  the 
last  few  minutes  had  shown  him  in  a  new  light,  she 
compared  her  old  opinion  of  him  with  that  which, 
much  as  she  feared  him,  she  now  entertained. 

This  afternoon,  if  ever,  within  the  last  few  hours, 
if  at  all,  he  had  acted  in  a  way  to  justify  that  horror 
and  that  opinion.  He  had  treated  her — brutally ;  he 
had  insulted  and  threatened  her,  had  almost  struck 
her.  And  yet — and  yet  Madame  felt  that  she  had 
moved  so  far  from  the  point  which  she  had  once  oc- 
cupied that  the  old  attitude  was  hard  to  understand. 
Hardly  could  she  believe  that  it  was  on  this  man, 
much  as  she  still  dreaded  him,  that  she  had  looked 
with  those  feelings  of  repulsion. 

She  was  still  gazing  at  him  with  eyes  which  strove 
to  see  two  men  in  one,  when  he  turned  from  the  win- 
dow. Absorbed  in  thought  she  had  forgotten  her 
occupation,  and  stood,  the  towel  suspended  in  her 
half-dried  hands.  Before  she  knew  what  he  was  do- 
ing he  was  at  her  side ;  he  bade  the  woman  hold  the 
bowl,  and  he  rinsed  his  hands.  Then  he  turned,  and 
without  looking  at  the  Countess,  he  dried  his  hands  on 
the  farther  end  of  the  towel  which  she  was  still  using.  , 


THE  BLACK  TOWN.  297 

She  blushed  faintly.  A  something  in  the  act,  more 
intimate  and  more  familiar  than  had  ever  marked 
their  intercourse,  set  her  blood  running  strangely. 
When  he  turned  away  and  bade  Bigot  unbuckle  his 
spur-leathers,  she  stepped  forward. 

"I  will  do  it!"  she  murmured,  acting  on  a  sudden 
and  unaccountable  impulse.  And  as  she  knelt,  she 
shook  her  hair  about  her  face  to  hide  its  colour. 

"  Nay,  madame,  but  you  will  soil  your  fingers !  "  he 
said  coldly. 

"Permit  me,"  she  muttered  half  coherently.  And 
though  her  fingers  shook,  she  pursued  and  performed 
her  task. 

When  she  rose  he  thanked  her ;  and  then  the  devil 
in  the  man,  or  the  Nemesis  he  had  provoked  when  he 
took  her  by  force  from  another — the  Nemesis  of  jeal- 
ousy, drove  him  to  spoil  all.  "And  for  whose  sake, 
madame?"  he  added  with  a  jeer — "mine  or  M.  de 
Tignouville's?  "  And  with  a  glance  between  jest  and 
earnest,  he  tried  to  read  her  thoughts. 

She  winced  as  if  he  had  indeed  struck  her,  and 
the  hot  colour  fled  her  cheeks.  "For  his  sake!  "  she 
said,  with  a  shiver  of  pain.  "That  his  life  may  be 
spared !  "  And  she  stood  back  humbly,  like  a  beaten 
dog.  Though,  indeed,  it  was  for  the  sake  of  Angers, 
in  thankfulness  for  the  past  rather  than  in  any  des- 
perate hope  of  propitiating  her  husband,  that  she  had 
done  it! 

Perhaps  he  would  have  withdrawn  his  words.  But 
before  he  could  answer,  the  host,  bowing  to  the  floor, 
came  to  announce  that  all  was  ready,  and  that  the 
Provost  of  the  City,  for  whom  M.  le  Comte  had  sent, 
was  in  waiting  below.  "Let  him  come  up!"  Ta- 
vanues  answered,  grave  and  frowning.  "  And  see  you, 


298  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

close  the  room,  sirrah!  My  people  will  wait  on  us. 
Ah !  "  as  the  Provost,  a  burly  mau  with  a  face  framed 
for  jollity,  but  now  pale  and  long,  entered  and  ap- 
proached him  with  many  salutations.  "How  comes 
it,  M.  le  Prevot — you  are  the  Prevot,  are  you  not?  " 

"Yes,  M.  le  Comte." 

"How  comes  it  that  so  great  a  crowd  is  permitted 
to  meet  in  the  streets'?  And  that  at  my  entrance, 
though  I  come  unannounced,  I  find  half  of  the  city 
gathered  together  ?  " 

The  Provost  stared.  "Kespect,  M.  le  Comte,"  he 
said,  "for  His  Majesty's  letters,  of  which  you  are  the 
bearer,  no  doubt  induced  some  to  come  together " 

"  Who  said  I  brought  letters? " 

"Who " 

"Who  said  I  brought  letters?"  Count  Hannibal 
repeated  in  a  strenuous  voice.  And  he  ground  his 
chair  half  about  and  faced  the  astonished  magistrate. 
"Who  said  I  brought  letters'?  " 

"Why,  my  lord,"  the  Provost  stammered,  "it  was 
everywhere  yesterday " 

"Yesterday?" 

"Last  night,  at  latest— that  letters  were  coming 
from  the  King." 

"By  my  hand?" 

"By  your  lordship's  hand — whose  name  is  so  well 
known  here,"  the  magistrate  added,  in  the  hope  of 
clearing  the  great  man's  brow. 

Count  Hannibal  laughed  darkly.  "My  hand  will 
be  better  known  by-and-by,"  he  said.  "See  you, 
sirrah,  there  is  some  practice  here.  What  is  this  cry 
of  Montsoreau  that  I  hear?  " 

"Your  lordship  knows  that  he  is  His  Grace's  Lieu- 
tenant-Go vernor  in  Saumur." 


THE  BLACK  TOWN.  299 

"I  know  that,  man.     But  is  he  here?  " 

"He  was  at  Saumur  yesterday,  and  'twas  rumoured 
three  days  back  that  he  was  coming  here  to  extirpate 
the  Huguenots.  Then  word  came  of  your  lordship 
and  of  His  Majesty's  letters,  and  'twas  thought  that 
M.  de  Montsoreau  would  not  come,  his  authority  be- 
ing superseded." 

"I  see.  And  now  your  rabble  think  that  they 
would  prefer  M.  Montsoreau.  That  is  it,  is  it?  " 

The  magistrate  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  opened 
his  hands.  "Pigs!"  he  said.  And  having  spat  on 
the  floor  he  looked  apologetically  at  the  lady.  "True 
pigs ! " 

"What  connections  has  he  here?  "  Tavannes  asked. 

"He  is  a  brother  of  my  lord  the  Bishop's  Vicar, 
who  arrived  yesterday." 

"With  a  rout  of  shaven  heads  who  have  been 
preaching  and  stirring  up  the  town !  "  Count  Hanni- 
bal cried,  his  face  growing  red.  "Speak,  man,  is  it 
so1?  But  I'll  be  sworn  it  is! " 

"There  has  been  preaching,"  the  Provost  answered 
reluctantly. 

"  Montsoreau  may  count  his  brother,  then,  for  one. 
He  is  a  fool,  but  with  a  knave  behind  him,  and  a 
knave  who  has  no  cause  to  love  us!  And  the  Castle? 
'Tis  held  by  one  of  M.  de  Montsoreau's  creatures,  I 
take  it?" 

"Yes,  my  lord." 

"With  what  force?" 

The  magistrate  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  looked 
doubtfully  at  Badelon,  who  was  keeping  the  door. 

Tavannes  followed  the  glance  with  his  usual  impa- 
tience. "Mon  Dieu,  you  need  not  look  at  him!"  he 
cried.  "He  has  sacked  St.  Peter's  and  singed  the 


300  COUNT   HANNIBAL. 

Pope's  beard  with  a  holy  caudle!  He  has  been 
served  on  the  knee  by  Cardinals;  and  is  Turk  or 
Jew,  or  monk  or  Huguenot  as  I  please.  And  ma- 
dauie  " — for  the  Provost's  astonished  eyes,  after  rest- 
ing awhile  on  the  old  soldier's  iron  visage,  had  passed 
to  her — "is  Huguenot,  so  you  need  have  no  fear  of 
her!  There,  speak,  man,"  with  impatience,  "and 
cease  to  think  of  your  own  skin ! " 

The  Provost  drew  a  deep  breath,  and  fixed  his 
small  eyes  on  Count  Hannibal. 

"If  I  knew,  my  lord,  what  you — why,  my  own  sis- 
ter's sou" — he  paused,  his  face  began  to  work,  his 
voice  shook — "is  a  Huguenot!  Ay,  my  lord,  a  Hu- 
guenot !  And  they  know  it ! "  he  continued,  a  flush 
of  rage  augmenting  the  emotion  which  his  counte- 
nance betrayed.  "Ay,  they  know  it!  And  they 
push  me  on  at  the  Council,  and  grin  behind  my  back ; 
Lescot,  who  was  Provost  two  years  back  and  would 
match  his  son  with  my  daughter ;  and  Thuriot  who 
prints  for  the  University !  They  nudge  one  another, 
and  egg  me  on,  till  half  the  city  thinks  it  is  I  who 
would  kill  the  Huguenots !  I ! "  Again  his  voice 
broke.  "And  my  own  sister's  son  a  Huguenot! 
And  my  girl  at  home  white- faced  for — for  his  sake." 

Tavannes  scanned  the  man  shrewdly.  "Perhaps 
she  is  of  the  same  way  of  thinking  ?  "  he  said. 

The  Provost  started,  and  lost  one-half  of  his  colour. 
"God  forbid'  "  he  cried,  "saving  madame's  presence! 
Who  says  so,  my  lord,  lies !  " 

"Ay,  lies  not  far  from  the  truth." 

"My  lord!" 

"Pish,  man,  Lescot  has  said  it  and  will  act  on  it. 
And  Thuriot,  who  prints  for  the  University !  Would 
you  'scape  them  ?  You  would  ?  Then  listen  to  me. 


THE   BLACK  TOWK  301 

I  want  but  two  things.  First,  how  many  men  has 
Moiitsoreau's  fellow  in  the  Castle?  Few,  I  know,  for 
he  is  a  niggard,  and  if  he  spends,  he  spends  the 
Duke's  pay." 

"Twelve.     But  five  can  hold  it. " 

"Ay,  but  twelve  dare  not  leave  it!  Let  them  stew 
in  their  own  broth !  And  now  for  the  other  matter. 
See,  man,  that  before  daybreak  three  gibbets,  with  a 
ladder  and  two  ropes  apiece,  are  set  up  in  the  square. 
And  let  one  be  before  this  door.  You  understand  ? 
Then  let  it  be  done!  The  rest,"  he  added  with  a 
ferocious  smile,  "you  may  leave  to  me." 

The  magistrate  nodded  rather  feebly.  "Doubt- 
less," he  said,  his  eye  wandering  here  and  there, 
"there  are  rogues  in  Angers.  And  for  rogues  the 
gibbet!  But  saving  your  presence,  my  lord,  it  is  a 
question  whether " 

But  M.  de  Tavannes'  patience  was  exhausted. 
"Will  you  do  it1? "  he  roared.  "That  is  the  question. 
And  the  only  question." 

The  Provost  jumped,  he  was  so  startled.  "Cer- 
tainly, my  lord,  certainly !  "  he  muttered  humbly. 
"  Certainly,  I  will ! "  And  bowing  frequently,  but 
saying  no  more,  he  backed  himself  out  of  the  room. 

Count  Hannibal  laughed  grimly  after  his  fashion, 
and  doubtless  thought  that  he  had  seen  the  last  of 
the  magistrate  for  that  night.  Great  was  his  wrath 
therefore,  when,  less  than  a  minute  later — and  before 
Bigot  had  carved  for  him — the  door  opened  and  the 
Provost  appeared  again.  He  slid  in,  and  without 
giving  the  courage  he  had  gained  on  the  stairs  time  to 
cool,  plunged  into  his  trouble. 

"It  stands  this  way,  M.  le  Comte,"  he  bleated.  "If 
I  put  up  the  gibbets  and  a  man  is  hanged,  and  you 


302  COUNT   HANNIBAL. 

have  letters  from  the  King,  'tis  a  rogue  the  less  and 
no  harm  done.  But  if  you  have  no  letters  from  His 
Majesty,  then  it  is  on  my  shoulders  they  will  put  it, 
ind  'twill  be  odd  if  they  do  not  find  a  way  to  hang 
me  to  right  him. " 

Count  Hannibal  smiled  grimly.  "And  your  sis- 
ter's sou?"  he  sneered.  "And  your  girl  who  is 
white-faced  for  his  sake,  and  may  burn  on  the  same 
bonfire  with  him?  And " 

"Mercy!  Mercy!"  the  wretched  Provost  cried. 
And  he  wrung  his  hands.  "Lescot  a*id  Thuriot n 

"Perhaps  we  may  hang  Lescot  and  Thuriot " 

"But  I  see  no  way  out,"  the  Provost  babbled.  "No 
way !  No  way !  " 

"I  am  going  to  show  you  one,"  Tavannes  retorted. 
"If  the  gibbets  are  not  in  place  by  sunrise,  I  shall 
hang  you  from  this  window.  That  is  one  way  out ; 
and  you'll  be  wise  to  take  the  other!  For  the  rest 
and  for  your  comfort,  if  I  have  no  letters,  it  is  not 
always  to  paper  that  the  King  commits  his  inmost 
heart." 

The  magistrate  bowed.  He  quaked,  he  doubted, 
but  he  had  no  choice.  "My  lord,"  he  said,  "I  put 
myself  in  your  hands.  It  shall  be  done,  certainly  it 

shall  be  done.  But,  but "  and  shaking  his  head 

in  foreboding  he  turned  to  the  door. 

At  the  last  moment,  when  he  was  within  a  pace  of 
it,  the  Countess  rose  impulsively  to  her  feet.  She 
called  to  him.  "M.  le  Prevot,  a  minute,  if  you 
please, "  she  said.  "There  may  be  trouble  to  morrow ; 
your  daughter  may  be  in  some  peril.  You  will  do  well 
to  send  her  to  me.  My  lord  " — and  on  the  word  her 
voice,  timid  before,  grew  full  and  steady — "will  see 
that  I  am  safe.  And  she  will  be  safe  with  me." 


THE   BLACK  TOWK  303 

The  Provost  saw  before  him  only  a  gracious  lady, 
moved  by  a  thoughtfulness  unusual  in  persons  of  her 
rank.  He  was  at  no  pains  to  explain  the  flame  in 
her  cheek,  or  the  soft  light  which  glowed  in  her 
eyes,  as  she  looked  at  him,  across  her  formidable  hus- 
band. He  was  only  profoundly  grateful  —  moved 
even  to  tears.  Humbly  thanking  her  he  accepted  her 
offer  for  his  child,  and  withdrew  wiping  his  eyes. 

When  he  was  gone,  and  the  door  had  closed  behind 
him,  Tavaunes  turned  to  the  Countess,  who  still  kept 
her  feet.  "You  are  very  confident  this  evening,"  he 
sneered.  "Gibbets  dr  not  frighten  you,  it  seems, 
madame.  Perhaps  if  you  knew  for  whom  the  one  be- 
fore the  door  is  intended  *?  " 

She  met  his  look  with  a  searching  gaze,  and  spoke 
with  a  ring  of  defiance  in  her  tone.  "I  do  not  be- 
lieve it !  "  she  said.  "I  do  not  believe  it !  You  who 
save  Angers  will  not  destroy  him ! "  And  then  her 
woman's  mood  changing,  with  courage  and  colour 
ebbing  together,  "Oh,  no,  you  will  not!  You  will 
not ! "  she  wailed.  And  she  dropped  on  her  knees 
before  him,  and  holding  up  her  clasped  hands,  "God 
will  put  it  in  your  heart  to  spare  him — and  me !  " 

He  rose  with  a  stifled  oath,  took  two  steps  from 
her,  and  in  a  tone  hoarse  and  constrained,  "Go!7'  he 
said.  "Go,  or  sit!  Do  you  hear,  madame ?  You  try 
my  patience  too  far ! " 

But  when  she  had  gone  his  face  was  radiant.  He 
had  brought  her,  he  had  brought  all,  to  the  point  at 
which  he  aimed.  To-morrow  his  triumph  awaited 
him.  To-morrow  he  who  had  cast  her  down  would 
raise  her  up. 

He  did  not  foresee  what  a  day  would  bring  forth. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

IN   THE   LITTLE   CHAPTEE-HOTJSuJ. 

THE  sun  was  an  hour  high,  and  in  Angers  the  shops 
and  booths,  after  the  early  fashion  of  the  day,  were 
open  or  opening.  Through  all  the  gates  country  folk 
were  pressing  into  the  gloomy  streets  of  the  Black 
Town  with  milk  and  fruit ;  and  at  doors  and  windows 
housewives  cheapened  fish,  or  chaffered  over  the  fowl 
for  the  pot.  For  men  must  eat,  though  there  be  gib- 
bets in  the  Place  Ste.-Croix:  gaunt  gibbets,  high  and 
black  and  twofold,  each,  with  its  dangling  ropes,  like 
a  double  note  of  interrogation. 

But  gibbets  must  eat  also ;  and  between  ground  and 
noose  was  so  small  a  space  in  those  days  that  a  man 
dangled  almost  before  he  knew  it.  The  sooner,  then, 
the  paniers  were  empty,  and  the  clown,  who  pays 
for  all,  was  beyond  the  gates,  the  better  he,  for  one, 
would  be  pleased.  In  the  market,  therefore,  was 
hurrying.  Men  cried  their  wares  in  lowered  voices, 
and  tarried  but  a  1  ittle  for  the  oldest  customer.  The 
bargain  struck,  the  more  timid  among  the  buyers  hast- 
ened to  shut  themselves  into  their  houses  again ;  the 
bolder,  who  ventured  to  the  Place  to  confirm  the  ru- 
mour with  their  eyes,  talked  in  corners  and  in  lanes, 
avoided  the  open,  and  eyed  the  sinister  preparations 
from  afar.  The  shadow  of  the  things  which  stood 
before  the  cathedral  affronting  the  sunlight  with  their 
gaunt  black  shapes  lay  across  the  length  and  breadth 


IN  THE  LITTLE   CHAPTER-HOUSE.      305 

of  Augers.  Even  in  the  corners  where  men  whis- 
pered, even  in  the  cloisters  where  men  bit  their 
nails  in  impotent  auger,  the  stillness  of  fear  ruled 
all.  Whatever  Count  Hannibal  had  it  in  his  mind 
to  tell  the  city,  it  seemed  unlikely — and  hour  by 
hour  it  seemed  less  likely — that  any  would  contra- 
dict him. 

He  knew  this  as  he  walked  in  the  sunlight  before 
the  inn,  his  spurs  ringing  on  the  stones  as  he  made- 
each  turn,  his  movements  watched  by  a  hundred  peer- 
ing eyes.  After  all,  it  was  not  hard  to  rule,  nor  to 
have  one's  way  in  this  world.  But  then,  he  went  on 
to  remember,  not  everyone  had  his  self-control,  or 
that  contempt  for  the  weak  and  unsuccessful  which 
lightly  took  the  form  of  mercy.  He  held  Augers 
safe,  curbed  by  his  gibbets.  With  M.  de  Montsoreau 
he  might  have  trouble;  but  the  trouble  would  be 
slight,  for  he  knew  Montsorean,  and  what  it  was  the 
Lientenant-Governor  valued  above  profitless  blood- 
shed. 

He  might  have  felt  less  confident  had  he  known 
what  was  passing  at  that  moment  in  a  room  off  the 
small  cloister  of  the  Abbey  of  St.  Aubin,  a  room 
known  at  Angers  as  the  Little  Chapter-House.  It 
was  a  long  chamber  with  a  groined  roof  and  stone 
walls,  panelled  as  high  as  a  tall  man  might  reach  with 
dark  chestnut  wood.  Gloomily  lighted  by  three 
grated  windows,  which  looked  on  a  small  inner  green, 
the  last  resting-place  of  the  Benedictines,  the  room 
itself  seemed  at  first  sight  no  more  than  the  last  rest- 
ing-place of  worn-out  odds  and  ends.  Piles  of  thin 
sheepskin  folios,  dog's-eared  and  dirty,  the  rejected 
of  the  choir,  stood  against  the  walls ;  here  and  there 
among  them  lay  a  large  brass-bound  tome  on  which 
20 


306  COUNT   HANNIBAL. 

the  chains  that  had  fettered  it  to  desk  or  lectern  still 
rusted.  A  broken  altar  cumbered  one  corner:  a 
stand  bearing  a  curious  —  and  rotting  —  map  filled 
another.  In  the  other  two  corners  a  medley  of  faded 
scutcheons  and  banners,  which  had  seen  their  last 
Toussaint  procession,  mouldered  slowly  into  dust — 
into  much  dust.  The  air  of  the  room  was  full  of  it. 

In  spite  of  which  the  long  oak  table  that  filled 
the  middle  of  the  chamber  shone  with  use :  so  did  the 
great  metal  standish  which  it  bore.  And  though  the 
seven  men  who  sat  about  the  table  seemed,  at  a  first 
glance  and  in  that  gloomy  light,  as  rusty  and  faded 
as  the  rubbish  behind  them,  it  needed  but  a  second 
look  at  their  lean  jaws  and  hungry  eyes  to  be  sure  of 
their  vitality. 

He  who  sat  in  the  great  chair  at  the  end  of  the 
table  was  indeed  rather  plump  than  thin.  His  white 
hands,  gay  with  rings,  were  well  cared  for ;  his  peev- 
ish chin  rested  on  a  falling-collar  of  lace  worthy 
of  a  Cardinal.  But  though  the  Bishop's  Vicar  was 
heard  with  deference,  it  was  noticeable  that  when  he 
had  ceased  to  speak  his  hearers  looked  to  the  priest 
on  his  left,  to  Father  Pezelay,  and  waited  to  hear  his 
opinion  before  they  gave  their  own.  The  Father's 
energy,  indeed,  had  dominated  the  Angevins,  clerks 
and  townsfolk  alike,  as  it  had  dominated  the  Parisian 
devotes  who  knew  him  well.  The  vigour  which  hate 
inspires  passes  often  for  solid  strength ;  and  he  who 
had  seen  with  his  own  eyes  the  things  done  in  Paris 
spoke  with  an  authority  to  which  the  more  timid 
quickly  and  easily  succumbed. 

Yet  gibbets  are  ugly  things ;  and  Thuriot,  the  print- 
er, whose  pride  had  been  tickled  by  a  summons  to 
the  conclave,  began  to  wonder  if  he  had  done  wisely 


IN  THE  LITTLE   CHAPTEB-HOUSE.      307 

in  coming.  Lescot,  too,  who  presently  ventured  a 
word.  "  But  if  M.  de  Tavannes'  order  be  to  do  noth- 
ing," he  began  doubtfully,  "you  would  not,  reverend 
Father,  have  us  resist  His  Majesty's  will?  " 

"God  forbid,  my  friend!"  Father  Pezelay  an- 
swered with  unction.  "But  His  Majesty's  will  is  to 
do — to  do  for  the  glory  of  God  and  the  saints  and  His 
Holy  Church!  How?  Is  that  which  was  lawful  at 
Saumur  unlawful  here  ?  Is  that  which  was  lawful  at 
Tours  unlawful  here  1  Is  that  which  the  King  did  in 
Paris — to  the  utter  extermination  of  the  unbelieving 
and  the  purging  of  that  Sacred  City — against  his  will 
here?  Nay,  his  will  is  to  do — to  do  as  they  have 
done  in  Paris  and  in  Tours  and  in  Saumur !  But  his 
Minister  is  unfaithful!  The  woman  whom  he  has 
taken  to  his  bosom  has  bewildered  him  with  her 
charms  and  her  sorceries,  and  put  it  in  his  mind  to 
deny  the  mission  he  bears." 

"You  are  sure,  beyond  chance  of  error,  that  he 
bears  letters  to  that  effect,  good  Father?  "  the  printer 
ventured. 

"Ask  my  lord's  Vicar!  He  knows  the  letters  and 
the  import  of  them !  " 

"They  are  to  that  effect,"  the  Archdeacon  an- 
swered, drumming  on  the  table  with  his  fingers  and 
speaking  somewhat  sullenly.  "I  was  in  the  Chancel- 
lery and  I  saw  them.  They  are  duplicates  of  those 
sent  to  Bordeaux." 

"Then  the  preparations  he  has  made  must  be 
against  the  Huguenots,"  Lescot,  the  ex-Provost,  said 
with  a  sigh  of  relief.  And  Thuriot's  face  lightened 
also.  "He  must  intend  to  hang  one  or  two  of  the 
ringleaders,  before  he  deals  with  the  herd." 

"Think  it  not!"  Father  Pezelay  cried  in  his  high 


308  COUNT   HANNIBAL. 

shrill  voice.  "I  tell  you  the  woman  has  bewitched 
him,  and  he  will  deny  his  letters !  " 

For  a  moment  there  was  silence.  Then,  "But  dare 
he  do  that,  reverend  Father?"  Lescot  asked  slowly 
and  incredulously.  "What?  Suppress  the  King's 
letters?" 

"There  is  nothing  he  will  not  dare!  There  is  noth- 
ing he  has  not  dared ! "  the  priest  answered  vehe- 
mently; the  recollection  of  the  scene  in  the  great 
guard-room  of  the  Louvre,  when  Tavannes  had  so 
skilfully  turned  the  tables  on  him,  instilling  venom 
into  his  tone.  "She  who  lives  with  him  is  the  devil's. 
She  has  bewitched  him  with  her  spells  and  her  Sab- 
baths !  She  bears  the  mark  of  the  Beast  on  her  bo- 
som, and  for  her  the  fire  is  even  now  kindling ! " 

The  laymen  who  were  present  shuddered.  The  two 
canons  who  faced  them  crossed  themselves,  muttering 
"Avaunt,  Satan!" 

"It  is  for  you  to  decide,"  the  priest  continued,  gaz- 
ing on  them  passionately,  "whether  you  will  side 
with  him  or  with  the  Angel  of  God !  For  I  tell  you 
it  was  none  other  executed  the  divine  judgments  at 
Paris!  It  was  none  other  but  the  Angel  of  God  held 
the  sword  at  Tours!  It  is  none  other  holds  the  sword 
here!  Are  you  for  him  or  against  him?  Are  you 
for  him,  or  for  the  woman  with  the  mark  of  the 
Beast?  Are  you  for  God  or  against  God?  For  the 
hour  draws  near !  The  time  is  at  hand !  You  must 
choose !  You  must  choose !  "  And,  striking  the  table 
with  his  hand,  he  leaned  forward,  and  with  glittering 
eyes  fixed  each  of  them  in  turn,  as  he  cried,  "You 
must  choose !  You  must  choose !  "  He  came  to  the 
Archdeacon  last. 

The  Bishop's  Vicar  fidgeted  in  his  chair,  his  face  a 


IN  THE   LITTLE   CHAPTER  HOUSE.      309 

shade  more  sallow,  his  cheeks  hanging  a  trifle  more 
loosely,  than  ordinary.  "If  my  brother  were  here!" 
he  muttered.  "If  M.  de  Moutsoreau  had  arrived!  " 

But  Father  Pezelay  knew  whose  will  would  prevail 
if  Montsoreau  met  Tavannes  at  his  leisure.  To  force 
Montsoreau's  hand,  to  surround  him  on  his  first  en- 
trance with  a  howling  mob  already  committed  to  vio- 
lence, to  set  him  at  their  head  and  pledge  him  before 
he  knew  with  whom  he  had  to  do — this  had  been,  this 
still  was,  the  priest's  design. 

But  how  was  he  to  pursue  it  while  those  gibbets 
stood  ?  While  their  shadows  lay  even  on  the  chapter 
table,  and  darkened  the  faces  of  his  most  forward 
associates  ?  That  for  a  moment  staggered  the  priest ; 
and  had  not  private  hatred,  ever  renewed  by  the 
touch  of  the  scar  on  his  brow,  fed  the  fire  of  bigotry 
he  had  yielded,  as  the  rabble  of  Augers  were  yield- 
ing, reluctant  and  scowling,  to  the  hand  which  held 
the  city  in  its  grip.  But  to  have  come  so  far  on  the 
wings  of  hate,  and  to  do  nothing!  To  have  come 
avowedly  to  preach  a  crusade,  and  to  sneak  away 
cowed!  To  have  dragged  the  Bishop's  Vicar  hither, 
and  fawned  and  cajoled  and  threatened  by  turns — 
and  for  nothing !  These  things  were  passing  bitter — 
passing  bitter,  when  the  morsel  of  vengeance  he  had 
foreseen  smacked  so  sweet  on  the  tongue. 

For  it  was  no  common  vengeance,  no  layman's  ven- 
geance, coarse  and  clumsy,  which  the  priest  had 
imagined  in  the  dark  hours  of  the  night,  when  his 
feverish  brain  kept  him  wakeful.  To  see  Count 
Hannibal  roll  in  the  dust  had  gone  but  a  little  way 
towards  satisfying  him.  No !  But  to  drag  from  his 
arms  the  woman  for  whom  he  had  sinned,  to  subject 
her  to  shame  and  torture  in  the  depths  of  some  con- 


310  COUNT   HANNIBAL. 

vent,  and  finally  to  burn  her  as  a  witch — it  was  that 
which  had  seemed  to  the  priest  in  the  night  hours  a 
vengeance  sweet  in  the  mouth. 

But  the  thing  seemed  unattainable  in  the  circum- 
stances. The  city  was  cowed ;  the  priest  knew  that 
no  dependence  was  to  be  placed  on  Montsoreau, 
whose  vice  was  avarice  and  whose  object  was  plunder. 
To  the  Archdeacon's  feeble  words,  therefore,  "We 
must  look,"  the  priest  retorted  sternly,  "not  to  M. 
de  Montsoreau,  reverend  Father,  but  to  the  pious  of 
Augers !  We  must  cry  in  the  streets,  '  They  do  vio- 
lence to  God !  They  wound  God  and  His  Mother !  > 
And  so,  and  so  only,  shall  the  unholy  thing  be  rooted 
out!" 

"  Amen !  "  the  Cure  of  St.  -Benoist  muttered,  lifting 
his  head;  and  his  dull  eyes  glowed  awhile.  "Amen! 
Amen !  "  Then  his  chin  sank  again  upon  his  breast. 

But  the  canons  of  Angers  looked  doubtfully  at 
one  another,  and  timidly  at  the  speakers;  the  meat 
was  too  strong  for  them.  And  Lescot  and  Thuriot 
shuffled  in  their  seats.  At  length,  "I  do  not  know," 
Lescot  muttered  timidly. 

"You  do  not  know?" 

"  What  can  be  done !  " 

"The  people  will  know!"  Father  Pezelay  retorted. 
"Trust  them!" 

"But  the  people  will  not  rise  without  a  leader." 

"Then  will  I  lead  them!  " 

"Even  so,  reverend  Father — I  doubt,"  Lescot  fal- 
tered. And  Thuriot  nodded  assent.  Gibbets  were 
erected  in  those  days  rather  for  laymen  than  for  the 
Church. 

"You  doubt!"  the  priest  cried.  "You  doubt!" 
His  baleful  eyes  passed  from  one  to  the  other ;  from 


IN  THE  LITTLE  CHAPTER -HOUSE.      311 

them  to  the  rest  of  the  company.  He  saw  that  with 
the  exception  of  the  Cure  of  St.  -Benoist  all  were  of  a 
mind.  "You  doubt!  Nay,  but  I  see  what  it  is!  It 
is  this,"  he  continued  slowly  and  in  a  different  tone, 
"the  King's  will  goes  for  nothing  in  Angers!  His 
writ  runs  not  here.  And  Holy  Church  cries  in  vain 
for  help  against  the  oppressor.  I  tell  you,  the  sorcer- 
ess who  has  bewitched  him  has  bewitched  you  also. 
Beware!  beware,  therefore,  lest  it  be  with  you  as 
with  him!  And  the  fire  that  shall  consume  her, 
spare  not  your  houses ! " 

The  two  citizens  crossed  themselves,  grew  pale  and 
shuddered.  The  fear  of  witchcraft  was  great  in  An- 
gers, the  peril,  if  accused  of  it,  enormous.  Even  the 
canons  looked  startled.  "If — if  my  brother  were 
here,"  the  Archdeacon  repeated  feebly,  "something 
might  be  done !  " 

"Vain  is  the  help  of  man!"  the  priest  retorted 
sternly,  and  with  a  gesture  of  sublime  dismissal.  "I 
turn  from  you  to  a  mightier  than  you ! "  And,  lean- 
ing his  head  on  his  hands,  he  covered  his  face. 

The  Archdeacon  and  the  churchmen  looked  at  him, 
and  from  him  their  scared  eyes  passed  to  one  another. 
Their  one  desire  now  was  to  be  quit  of  the  matter,  to 
have  done  with  it,  to  escape;  and  one  by  one  with 
the  air  of  whipped  curs  they  rose  to  their  feet,  and  in 
a  hurry  to  be  gone  muttered  a  word  of  excuse  shame- 
facedly and  got  themselves  out  of  the  room.  Lescot 
and  the  printer  were  not  slow  to  follow,  and  in  less 
than  a  minute  the  two  strange  preachers,  the  men 
from  Paris,  remained  the  only  occupants  of  the 
chamber;  save,  to  be  precise,  a  lean  official  in  rusty 
black,  who  throughout  the  conference  had  sat  by  the 
door. 


312  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

Until  the  last  shuffling  footstep  had  ceased  to 
sound  in  the  still  cloister  no  one  spoke.  Then  Father 
Pezelay  looked  up,  and  the  eyes  of  the  two  priests 
met  iu  a  long  gaze.  "What  think  you1?"  Pezelay 
muttered  at  last. 

"Wet  hay,"  the  other  answered  dreamily,  "is  slow 
to  kindle,  yet  burns  if  the  fire  be  big  enough.  At 
what  hour  does  he  state  his  will  ?  " 

"At  noon." 

"In  the  Council  Chamber!  " 

"It  is  so  given  out." 

"It  is  three  hundred  yards  from  the  Place  Ste.- 
Croix  and  he  must  go  guarded,"  the  Cure  of  St. - 
Benoist  continued  in  the  same  dull  fashion.  "He 
cannot  leave  many  in  the  house  with  the  woman.  If 
it  were  attacked  in  his  absence " 

"He  would  return,  and "  Father  Pezelay  shook 

his  head,  his  cheek  turned  a  shade  paler.  Clearly, 
he  saw  with  his  mind's  eye  more  than  he  expressed. 

"Hoc  est  corpus,"  the  other  muttered,  his  dreamy 
gaze  on  the  table.  "If  he  met  us  then,  011  his  way  to 
the  house,  and  we  had  bell,  book,  and  candle,  would 
he  stop  ? " 

"He  would  not  stop! "  Father  Pezelay  rejoined. 

"He  would  not?" 

"  I  know  the  man !  " 

"Then "  but  the  rest  St.-Beuoist  whispered,  his 

head  drooping  forward ;  whispered  so  low  that  even 
the  lean  man  behind  him,  listening  with  greedy  ears, 
failed  to  follow  the  meaning  of  his  superior's  words. 
But  that  he  spoke  plainly  enough  for  his  hearer 
Father  Pezelay 's  face  was  witness.  Astonishment, 
fear,  hope,  triumph,  the  lean  pale  face  reflected  all  in 
turn;  and,  underlying  all,  a  subtle  malignant  mis- 


IN  THE   LITTLE   CHAPTER- HOUSE.      313 

chief,  as  if  a  devil's  eyes  peeped  through  the  holes 
in  an  opera  mask. 

When  the  other  was  at  last  silent  Pezelay  drew  a 
deep  breath.  "'Tis  bold!  Bold!  Bold!"  he  mut- 
tered. "But  have  you  thought?  He  who  bears 
the " 

"Brunt1?"  the  other  whispered  with  a  chuckle. 
"He  may  suffer?  Yes,  but  it  will  not  be  you  or  I! 
No,  he  who  was  last  here  shall  be  first  there !  The 
Archdeacon- Vicar — if  we  can  persuade  him — who 
knows  but  that  even  for  him  the  crown  of  martyrdom 
is  reserved  ?  "  The  dull  eyes  flickered  with  unholy 
amusement. 

"And  the  alarm  that  brings  him  from  the  Council 
Chamber?" 

"Need  not  of  necessity  be  real.  The  pinch  will  be 
to  make  use  of  it.  Make  use  of  it — and  the  hay  will 
burn ! " 

"You  think  it  will?" 

"What  can  one  man  do  against  a  thousand?  His 
own  people  dare  not  support  him." 

Father  Pezelay  turned  to  the  lean  man  who  kept 
the  door,  and,  beckoning  to  him,  conferred  a  while 
with  him  in  a  low  voice. 

"A  score  or  so  I  might  get,"  the  man  answered 
presently  after  some  debate.  "And  well  posted, 
something  might  be  done.  But  we  are  not  in  Paris, 
good  father,  where  the  Quarter  of  the  Butchers  is  to 
be  counted  on,  and  men  know  that  to  kill  Huguenots 
is  to  do  God  service !  Here  " — he  shrugged  his  shoul- 
ders contemptuously — "  they  are  sheep. " 

"It  is  the  King's  will,"  the  priest  answered,  frown- 
ing on  him  darkly. 

"Ay,  but  it  is  not  Tavannes',"  the  man  in  black 


314  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

answered  with  a  grimace.  "And  he  rules  here  to- 
day." 

"Fool!"  Pezelay  retorted.  "He  has  not  twenty 
with  him.  Do  you  do  as  I  say,  and  leave  the  rest  to 
heaven ! " 

"And  to  you,  good  master?"  the  other  answered. 
"For  it  is  not  all  you  are  going  to  do,"  he  continued 
with  a  grin,  "that  you  have  told  me.  Well,  so  be  it! 
I'll  do  my  part,  but  I  wish  we  were  in  Paris.  Ste. 
Genevieve  is  ever  kind  to  her  servants." 


CHAPTEE  XXIX. 

THE   ESCAPE. 

IN  a  small  back  room  on  the  second  floor  of  the  inn  at 
Angers,  a  mean,  dingy  room  which  looked  into  a  nar- 
row lane,  and  commanded  no  prospect  more  informing 
than  a  blind  wall,  two  men  sat,  fretting ;  or,  rather, 
one  man  sat,  his  chin  resting  on  his  hand,  while  his 
companion,  less  patient  or  more  sanguine,  strode 
ceaselessly  to  and  fro.  In  the  first  despair  of  capture 
— for  they  were  prisoners — they  had  made  up  their 
minds  to  the  worst,  and  the  slow  hours  of  two  days 
had  passed  over  their  heads  without  kindling  more 
than  a  faint  spark  of  hope  in  their  breasts.  But 
when  they  had  been  taken  out  and  forced  to  mount 
and  ride — at  first  with  feet  tied  to  the  horses'  girths 
— they  had  let  the  change,  the  movement,  and  the 
open  air  fan  the  flame.  They  had  muttered  a  word 
to  one  another,  they  had  wondered,  they  had  rea- 
soned. And  though  the  silence  of  their  guards — 
from  whose  sour  vigilance  the  keenest  question  drew 
no  response — seemed  of  ill-omen,  and,  taken  with 
their  knowledge  of  the  man  into  whose  hands  they 
had  fallen,  should  have  quenched  the  spark,  these 
two,  having  special  reasons,  the  one  the  buoyancy  of 
youth,  the  other  the  faith  of  an  enthusiast,  cherished 
the  flame.  In  the  breast  of  one  indeed  it  had  blazed 
into  a  confidence  so  arrogant  that  he  now  took  all  for 
granted,  and  was  not  content. 


316  COUNT   HANNIBAL. 

"It  is  easy  for  you  to  say,  '  Patience! ' "  he  cried, 
as  he  walked  the  floor  iii  a  fever.  "You  stand  to  lose 
no  more  than  your  life,  and  if  you  escape  go  free  at 
all  points !  But  he  has  robbed  me  of  more  than  life ! 
Of  my  love,  and  my  self-respect,  curse  him !  He  has 
worsted  me  not  once,  but  twice  and  thrice !  And  if 
he  lets  me  go  now,  dismissing  me  with  my  life,  I  shall 
—I  shall  kill  him !  "  he  concluded,  through  his  teeth. 

"  You  are  hard  to  please !  " 

"I  shall  kill  him!" 

"That  were  to  fall  still  lower!"  the  minister  an- 
swered, gravely  regarding  him.  "I  would,  M.  de 
Tiguonville,  you  remembered  that  you  are  not  yet  out 
of  jeopardy.  Such  a  frame  of  mind  as  yours  is  no 
good  preparation  for  death,  let  me  tell  you !  " 

"  He  will  not  kill  us !  "  Tignonville  cried.  "  He 
knows  better  than  most  men  how  to  avenge  himself !  " 

"Then  he  is  above  most!  "  La  Tribe  retorted.  "For 
my  part  I  wish  I  were  sure  of  the  fact,  and  I  should 
sit  here  more  at  ease." 

"If  we  could  escape,  now,  of  ourselves!"  Tignon- 
ville cried.  "Then  we  should  save  not  only  life,  but 
honour !  Man,  think  of  it !  If  we  could  escape,  not 
by  his  leave  but  against  it !  Are  you  sure  that  this  is 
Angers  !  " 

"As  sure  as  a  man  can  be  who  has  only  seen  the 
Black  Town  once  or  twice ! "  La  Tribe  answered, 
moving  to  the  casement — which  was  not  glazed — and 
peering  through  the  rough  wooden  lattice.  "But  if 
we  could  escape  we  are  strangers  here.  We  know  not 
which  way  to  go,  nor  where  to  find  shelter.  And  for 
the  matter  of  that,"  he  continued,  turning  from  the 
window  with  a  shrug  of  resignation,  "  'tis  no  use 
to  talk  of  it  while  yonder  foot  goes  up  and  down 


THE  ESCAPE.  317 

the  passage,  and  its  owner  bears  the  key  in  his 
pocket." 

"  If  we  could  get  out  of  his  power  as  we  came  into 
it ! "  Tiguonville  cried. 

"  Ay,  if !     But  it  is  not  every  floor  has  a  trap !  " 

"We  could  take  up  a  board." 

The  minister  raised  his  eyebrows. 

"  We  could  take  up  a  board ! "  the  younger  man 
repeated ;  and  he  stepped  the  mean  chamber  from  end 
to  end,  his  eyes  on  the  floor.  "  Or — yes,  mon  Dieu  !  " 
with  a  change  of  attitude,  "we  might  break  through 
the  roof !  "  And,  throwing  back  his  head,  he  scanned 
the  cobwebbed  surface  of  laths  which  rested  on  the 
unceiled  joists. 

"Umph!" 

"Well,  why  not,  monsieur?  Why  not  break 
through  the  ceiling?"  Tignonville  repeated,  and  in 
a  fit  of  energy  he  seized  his  companion's  shoulder 
and  shook  him.  "Stand  on  the  bed,  and  you  can 
reach  it." 

"  And  the  floor  which  rests  on  it !  " 

"  Par  Dieu,  there  is  no  floor !  'Tis  a  cockloft  above 
us !  See  there !  And  there ! "  And  the  young  man 
sprang  on  the  bed,  and  thrust  the  rowel  of  a  spur 
through  the  laths. 

La  Tribe's  expression  changed.  He  rose  slowly  to 
his  feet.  "Try  again!  "  he  said. 

Tiguonville,  his  face  red,  drove  the  spur  again  be- 
tween the  laths,  and  worked  it  to  and  fro  until  he 
could  pass  his  fingers  into  the  hole  he  had  made. 
Then  he  gripped  and  bent  down  a  length  of  one  of 
the  laths,  and,  passing  his  arm  as  far  as  the  elbow 
through  the  hole,  moved  it  this  way  and  that.  His 
eyes,  as  he  looked  down  at  his  companion  through  the 


318  COUNT   HANNIBAL. 

lolling  rubbish,  gleamed  with  triumph.  "Where  is 
your  flooi  now  1 "  he  asked. 

"You  can  touch  nothing?" 

"Nothing.  It's  6pen.  A  little  more  and  I  might 
touch  the  tiles. "  And  he  strove  to  reach  higher. 

For  answer  La  Tribe  gripped  him.  "Down! 
Down,  monsieur,"  he  muttered.  "They  are  bringing 
our  dinner. " 

Tignonville  thrust  back  the  lath  as  well  as  he  could, 
and  slipped  to  the  floor ;  and  hastily  the  two  swept 
the  rubbish  from  the  bed.  When  Badelon,  attended 
by  two  men,  came  in  with  the  meal  he  found  La  Tribe 
at  the  window  blocking  much  of  the  light,  and  Tig- 
nonville laid  sullenly  on  the  bed.  Even  a  suspicious 
eye  must  have  failed  to  detect  what  had  been  done ; 
the  three  who  looked  in  suspected  nothing  and  saw 
nothing.  They  went  out,  the  key  was  turned  again 
on  the  prisoners,  and  the  footsteps  of  two  of  the  men 
were  heard  descending  the  stairs. 

"We  have  an  hour,  now!"  Tignouville  cried;  and 
leaping,  with  flaming  eyes,  on  the  bed,  he  fell  to 
hacking  and  jabbing  and  tearing  at  the  laths  amid  a 
rain  of  dust  and  rubbish.  Fortunately  the  stuif,  fall- 
ing on  the  bed,  made  little  noise ;  and  in  five  minutes, 
working  half -choked  and  in  a  frenzy  of  impatience, 
he  had  made  a  hole  through  which  he  could  thrust  his 
arms,  a  hole  which  extended  almost  from  one  joist  to 
its  neighbour.  By  this  time  the  air  was  thick  with 
floating  lime ;  the  two  could  scarcely  breathe,  yet  they 
dared  not  pause.  Mounting  on  La  Tribe's  shoulders 
— who  took  his  stand  on  the  bed — the  young  man 
thrust  his  head  and  arms  through  the  hole,  and,  rest- 
ing his  elbows  on  the  joists,  dragged  himself  up,  and 
with  a  final  effort  of  strength  landed  nose  and  knees 


THE  ESCAPE.  319 

on  the  timbers,  which  formed  his  supports.  A  mo- 
ment to  take  breath,  and  press  his  torn  and  bleeding 
fingers  to  his  lips;  then,  reaching  down,  he  gave  a 
hand  to  his  companion  and  dragged  him  to  the  same 
place  of  vantage. 

They  found  themselves  in  a  long  narrow  cockloft, 
not  more  than  six  feet  high  at  the  highest,  and  insuf- 
ferably hot.  Between  the  tiles,  which  sloped  steeply 
on  either  hand,  a  faint  light  filtered  in,  disclosing  the 
giant  rooftree  running  the  length  of  the  house,  and  at 
the  farther  end  of  the  loft  the  main  tie-beam,  from 
which  a  network  of  knees  and  struts  rose  to  the  roof- 
tree. 

Tignonville,  who  seemed  possessed  by  unnatural 
energy,  stayed  only  to  put  off  his  boots.  Then 
"Courage!"  he  panted,  "all  goes  well!"  and,  carry- 
ing his  boots  in  his  hands,  he  led  the  way,  stepping 
gingerly  from  joist  to  joist  until  he  reached  the  tie- 
beam.  He  climbed  on  it,  and,  squeezing  himself 
between  the  struts,  entered  a  second  loft  similar 
to  the  first.  At  the  farther  end  of  this  a  rough 
wall  of  bricks  in  a  timber-frame  lowered  his  hopes ; 
but  as  he  approached  it,  joy!  Low  down  in  the 
corner  where  the  roof  descended,  a  small  door, 
square,  and  not  more  than  two  feet  high,  disclosed 
itself. 

The  two  crept  to  it  on  hands  and  knees  and  listened. 
"It  will  lead  to  the  leads,  I  doubt?"  La  Tribe  whis- 
pered. They  dared  not  raise  their  voices. 

"As  well  that  way  as  another!"  Tignonville  an- 
swered recklessly.  He  was  the  more  eager,  for  there 
is  a  fear  which  transcends  the  fear  of  death.  His 
eyes  shone  through  the  mask  of  dust,  the  sweat  ran 
down  to  his  chin,  his  breath  came  and  went  noisily. 


320  COUNT   HANNIBAL. 

"Naught  matters  if  we  can  escape  him!"  he  panted. 
And  he  pushed  the  door  recklessly.  It  flew  open,  the 
two  drew  back  their  faces  with  a  cry  of  alarm. 

They  were  looking,  not  into  the  sunlight,  but  into 
a  grey  dingy  garret  open  to  the  roof,  and  occupying 
the  upper  part  of  a  gable-end  somewhat  higher  than 
the  wing  in  which  they  had  been  confined.  Filthy 
truckle-beds  and  ragged  pallets  covered  the  floor, 
and,  eked  out  by  old  saddles  and  threadbare  horse- 
rugs,  marked  the  sleeping  quarters  either  of  the  ser- 
vants or  of  travellers  of  the  meaner  sort.  But  the 
dingiuess  was  naught  to  the  two  who  knelt  looking 
into  it,  afraid  to  move.  Was  the  place  empty  ?  That 
was  the  point ;  the  question  which  had  first  stayed, 
and  then  set  their  pulses  at  the  gallop. 

Painfully  their  eyes  searched  each  huddle  of  cloth- 
ing, scanned  each  dubious  shape.  And  slowly,  as  the 
silence  persisted,  their  heads  came  forward  until  the 
whole  floor  lay  within  the  field  of  sight.  And  still 
no  sound !  At  last  Tignouville  stirred,  crept  through 
the  doorway,  and  rose  up,  peering  round  him.  He 
nodded,  and,  satisfied  that  all  was  safe,  the  minister 
followed  him. 

They  found  themselves  a  pace  or  so  from  the  head 
of  a  narrow  staircase,  leading  downwards.  Without 
moving  they  could  see  the  door  which  closed  it  below. 
Tignonville  signed  to  La  Tribe  to  wait,  and  himself 
crept  down  the  stairs.  He  reached  the  door,  and, 
stooping,  set  his  eye  to  the  hole  through  which  the 
string  of  the  latch  passed.  A  moment  he  looked,  and 
then,  turning  on  tiptoe,  he  stole  up  again,  his  face 
fallen. 

"  You  may  throw  the  handle  after  the  hatchet !  "  he 
muttered.  "The  man  on  guard  is  within  four  yards 


THE   ESCAPE.  321 

of  the  door."     And  iu  the  rage  of  disappointment  he 
struck  the  air  with  his  hand. 

"Is  he  looking  this  way ? " 

"No.  He  is  looking  down  the  passage  towards  our 
room.  But  it  is  impossible  to  pass  him." 

La  Tribe  nodded,  and  moved  softly  to  one  of  the 
lattices  which  lighted  the  room.  It  might  be  possi- 
ble to  escape  that  way,  by  the  parapet  and  the  tiles. 
But  he  found  that  the  casement  was  set  high  in  the 
roof,  which  sloped  steeply  from  its  sill  to  the  eaves. 
He  passed  to  the  other  window,  in  which  a  little  wick- 
et in  the  lattice  stood  open.  He  looked  through  it. 
In  the  giddy  void  white  pigeons  were  wheeling  in  the 
dazzling  sunshine,  and  gazing  down  he  saw  far  below 
him,  in  the  hot  square,  a  row  of  booths,  and  troops  of 
people  moving  to  and  fro  like  pigmies ;  and — and  a 
strange  thing,  in  the  middle  of  all!  Involuntarily, 
as  if  the  persons  below  could  have  seen  his  face  at 
the  tiny  dormer,  lie  drew  back. 

He  beckoned  to  M.  Tignonville  to  come  to  him; 
and  when  the  young  man  complied,  he  bade  him  in  a 
whisper  look  down.  "See! "  he  muttered.  " There ! " 

The  younger  man  saw  and  drew  in  his  breath. 
Even  under  the  coating  of  dust  his  face  turned  a 
shade  greyer. 

"  You  had  no  need  to  fear  that  he  would  let  us  go ! " 
the  minister  muttered,  with  half-conscious  irony. 

"No." 

"Nor  I!  There  are  two  ropes."  And  La  Tribe 
breathed  a  few  words  of  prayer.  The  object  which 
had  fixed  his  gaze  was  a  gibbet :  the  only  one  of  the 
three  which  could  be  seen  from  their  eyrie. 

Tignonville,    on  the   other  hand,    turned   sharply 
away,  and  with  haggard  eyes  stared  about  the  room. 
21 


322  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

"We  might  defend  the  staircase,"  he  muttered. 
"Two  men  might  hold  it  for  a  time." 

"We  have  no  food." 

"No."  And  then  he  gripped  La  Tribe's  arm.  "I 
have  it !  "  he  cried.  "  And  it  may  do !  It  must  do !  " 
he  continued,  his  face  working.  "See!  "  And  lifting 
from  the  floor  one  of  the  ragged  pallets,  from  which 
the  straw  protruded  in  a  dozen  places,  he  set  it  flat 
on  his  head.  It  drooped  at  each  corner — it  had  seen 
much  wear — and  while  it  almost  hid  his  face,  it  re- 
vealed his  grimy  chin  and  mortar-stained  shoulders. 
He  turned  to  his  companion. 

La  Tribe's  face  glowed  as  he  looked.  "  It  may  do ! " 
he  cried.  "It's  a  chance!  But  you  are  right!  It- 
may  do ! " 

Tignonville  dropped  the  ragged  mattress,  and  tore 
off  his  coat ;  then  he  rent  his  breeches  at  the  knee,  so 
that  they  hung  loose  about  his  calves.  "  Do  you  the 
same!"  he  cried.  "And  quick,  man,  quick!  Leave 
your  boots !  Once  outside  we  must  pass  through  the 
streets  under  these " — he  took  up  his  burden  again 
and  set  it  on  his  head — "until  we  reach  a  quiet  part, 
and  there  we " 

"  Can  hide !  Or  swim  the  river !  "  the  minister  said. 
He  had  followed  his  companion's  example,  and  now 
stood  under  a  similar  burden.  With  breeches  rent 
and  whitened,  and  his  upper  garments  in  no  better 
case,  he  looked  a  sorry  figure. 

Tignonville  eyed  him  with  satisfaction,  and  turned 
to  the  staircase.  "Come,  "he  cried,  "there  is  not  a 
moment  to  be  lost.  At  any  minute  they  may  enter 
our  room  and  find  it  empty !  You  are  ready  ?  Then, 
not  too  softly,  or  it  may  rouse  suspicion !  And  mum- 
ble something  at  the  door." 


THE   ESCAPE.  32S 

He  began  himself  to  scold,  and,  muttering  incohe- 
rently, stumbled  down  the  staircase,  the  pallet  on  his. 
head  rustling  against  the  wall  on  each  side.  Arrived 
at  the  door  he  fumbled  clumsily  with  the  latch,  and, 
when  the  door  gave  way,  plumped  out  with  an  oath 
— as  if  the  awkward  burden  he  bore  were  the  only 
thing  on  his  mind.  Badelou — he  was  on  duty — 
stared  at  the  apparition;  but  the  next  moment  he 
sniffed  the  pallet,  which  was  none  of  the  freshest, 
and,  turning  up  his  nose,  he  retreated  a  pace.  He 
had  no  suspicion ;  the  men  did  not  come  from  the 
part  of  the  house  where  the  prisoners  lay,  and  he 
stood  aside  to  let  them  pass.  In  a  moment,  stagger- 
ing, and  going  a  little  unsteadily,  as  if  they  scarcely 
saw  their  way,  they  had  passed  by  him,  and  were  de- 
scending the  staircase. 

So  far  well!  Unfortunately,  when  they  reached 
the  foot  of  that  flight  they  came  on  the  main  passage 
of  the  first-floor.  It  ran  right  and  left,  and  Tignon- 
ville  did  not  know  which  way  he  must  turn  to  reach 
the  lower  staircase.  Yet  he  dared  not  hesitate;  in 
the  passage,  waiting  about  the  doors,  were  four  or 
five  servants,  and  in  the  distance  he  caught  sight  of 
three  men  belonging  to  Tavannes'  company.  At  any 
moment,  too,  an  upper  servant  might  meet  them,  ask 
what  they  were  doing,  and  detect  the  fraud.  He 
turned  at  random,  therefore — to  the  left  as  it  chanced 
— and  marched  along  bravely,  until  the  very  thing 
happened  which  he  had  feared.  A  man  came  from 
a  room  plump  upon  them,  saw  them,  and  held  up  his 
hands  in  horror. 

"What  are  you  doing!"  he  cried  in  a  rage  and 
with  an  oath.  "Who  set  you  an  this?  " 

Tignonville's.    tongue    clave   to  the    roof  of  his 


324  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

mouth.  La  Tribe  from  behind  muttered  something 
about  the  stable. 

"And  time  too!"  the  man  said.  "Faugh!  But 
how  come  you  this  way  !  Are  you  drunk  ?  Here !  " 
He  opened  the  door  of  a  musty  closet  beside  him, 
"Pitch  them  in  here,  do  you  hear!  And  take  them 
down  when  it  is  dark !  Faugh !  I  wonder  you  did 
not  carry  the  things  through  her  ladyship's  room  at 
once !  If  my  lord  had  been  in  and  met  you !  Now 
then,  do  as  I  tell  you !  Are  you  drunk  !  " 

With  a  sullen  air  Tignouville  threw  in  his  mattress. 
La  Tribe  did  the  same.  Fortunately  the  passage  was 
ill -lighted,  and  there  were  many  helpers  and  strange 
servants  in  the  inn.  The  butler  only  thought  them 
ill-looking  fellows  who  knew  no  better.  "Now  be 
off!"  he  continued  irascibly,  "This  is  no  place  for 
your  sort.  Be  off!"  And,  as  they  moved,  "Com- 
ing! Cominjj!"  he  cried  in  answer  to  a  distant  sum- 
mons; and  he  hurried  away  on  the  errand  which 
their  appearance  had  interrupted. 

Tignonville  would  have  gone  to  work  to  recover  the 
pallets,  for  the  man  had  left  the  key  in  the  door. 
But  as  he  went  to  do  so  the  butler  looked  back,  and 
the  two  were  obliged  to  make  a  pretence  of  following 
him.  A  moment,  however,  and  he  was  gone;  and 
Tignonville  turned  anew  to  regain  them.  A  second 
time  fortune  was  adverse ;  a  door  within  a  pace  of 
him  opened,  a  woman  came  out.  She  recoiled  from 
the  strange  figure ;  her  eyes  met  his.  Unluckily  the 
light  from  the  room  behind  her  fell  on  his  face,  and 
with  a  shrill  cry  she  named  him. 

One  second  and  all  had  been  lost,  for  the  crowd  of 
idlers  at  the  other  end  of  the  passage  had  caught  her 
cry,  and  were  looking  that  way.  With  presence  of 


THE   ESCAPE.  325 

rnind  Tignonville  clapped  his  hand  on  her  inouth, 
and,  huddling  her  by  force  into  the  room,  followed 
her,  with  La  Tribe  at  his  heels. 

It  was  a  large  room,  in  which  seven  or  eight  peo- 
ple, who  had  been  at  prayers  when  the  cry  startled 
them,  were  rising  from  their  knees.  The  first  thing 
they  saw  was  Javette  on  the  threshold,  struggling  in 
the  grasp  of  a  wild  man,  ragged  and  begrimed ;  they 
deemed  the  city  risen  and  the  massacre  upon  them. 
Carlat  threw  himself  before  his  mistress,  the  Countess 
in  her  turn  sheltered  a  young  girl,  who  stood  beside 
her  and  from  whose  face  the  last  trace  of  colour 
had  fled.  Madame  Carlat  and  a  waiting-woman  ran 
shrieking  to  the  window;  another  instant  and  the 
alarm  would  have  gone  abroad. 

Tignonville's  voice  stopped  it.  "Don't  you  know 
me?"  he  cried.  "Madame!  you  at  least!  Carlat! 
Are  you  all  mad  ?  " 

The  words  stayed  them  where  they  stood  in  an 
astonishment  scarce  less  than  their  alarm.  The  Coun- 
tess tried  twice  to  speak ;  the  third  time,  "  Have  you 
escaped  I "  she  muttered. 

Tignonville  nodded,  his  eyes  bright  with  triumph. 
"So  far,"  he  said.  "But  they  may  be  on  our  heels  at 
any  moment !  Where  can  we  hide  t  " 

The  Countess,  her  hand  pressed  to  her  side,  looked 
at  Javette.  "The  door,  girl!"  she  whispered. 
"Lock  it!" 

"Ay,  lock  it!  And  they  can  go  by  the  back- 
stairs," Madame  Carlat  answered,  awaking  suddenly 
to  the  situation.  "  Through  my  closet !  Once  in  the 
yard  they  may  pass  out  through  the  stables." 

"Which  way?"  Tignonville  asked  impatiently. 
"Don't  stand  looking  at  me,  but " 


326  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

"Through  this  door!"  Madame  Carlat  answered, 
hurrying  to  it. 

He  was  following  when  the  Countess  stepped 
forward  and  interposed  between  him  and  the  door. 
"Stay!"  she  cried;  and  there  was  not  one  who  did 
not  notice  a  new  decision  in  her  voice,  a  new  dignity 
in  her  bearing.  "Stay,  monsieur,  we  may  be  going 
too  fast.  To  go  out  now  and  in  that  guise — may  it 
not  be  to  incur  greater  peril  than  you  incur  here  ?  I 
feel  sure  that  you  are  in  no  danger  of  your  life  at 
present.  Therefore,  why  run  the  risk " 

"In  no  danger,  madame!"  he  cried,  interrupting 
her  in  astonishment.  "  Have  you  seen  the  gibbet  in 
the  Square  ?  Do  you  call  that  no  danger  ?  " 

"It  is  not  erected  for  you." 

"No?" 

"No,  monsieur,"  she  answered  firmly,  "I  swear  it 
is  not.  And  I  know  of  reasons,  urgent  reasons,  why 
you  should  not  go.  M.  de  Tavanues" — she  named 
her  husband  nervously,  as  conscious  of  the  weak  spot 
— "before  he  rode  abroad  laid  strict  orders  on  all  to 
keep  within,  since  the  smallest  matter  might  kindle 
the  city.  Therefore,  M.  de  Tignonville,  I  request, 
nay  I  entreat, "  she  continued  with  greater  urgency, 
as  she  saw  his  gesture  of  denial,  "you  to  stay  here 
until  he  returns." 

"And  you,  madame,  will  answer  for  my  life!  " 

She  faltered.  For  a  moment,  a  moment  only,  her 
colour  ebbed.  What  if  she  deceived  herself  !  What 
if  she  surrendered  her  old  lover  to  death  ?  What  if 
— but  the  doubt  was  of  a  moment  only.  Her  duty 
was  plain.  "  I  will  answer  for  it, "  she  said,  with  pale 
lips,  "if  you  remain  here.  And  I  beg,  I  implore  you 
— by  the  love  you  once  had  for  me,  M.  Tiguouville, " 


THE  ESCAPE.  327 

she  added  desperately,  seeing  that  he  was  about  to 
refuse,  "to  remain  here." 

"Once!"  he  retorted,  lashing  himself  into  ignoble 
rage.  "By  the  love  I  once  had!  Say,  rather,  the 
love  I  have,  madaine — for  I  ani  no  woman -weather- 
cock to  wed  the  winner,  and  hold  or  not  hold,  stay  or 
go,  as  he  commands !  You,  it  seems, "  he  continued 
with  a  sneer,  "have  learned  the  wife's  lesson  well! 
You  would  practise  on  me  now,  as  you  practised  on 
ine  the  other  night  when  you  stood  between  him  and 
me !  I  yielded  then,  I  spared  him.  And  what  did  I 
get  by  it?  Bonds  and  a  prison!  And  what  shall  I 
get  now!  The  same!  No,  inadame,"  he  continued 
bitterly,  addressing  himself  as  much  to  the  Carlate 
and  the  others  as  to  his  old  mistress.  "I  do  not 
change!  I  loved!  I  love!  I  was  going  and  I  go! 
If  death  lay  beyond  that  door  " — and  he  pointed  to  it 
— "and  life  at  his  will  were  certain  here,  I  would  pass 
the  threshold  rather  than  take  my  life  of  him!" 
And,  dragging  La  Tribe  with  him,  with  a  passionate 
gesture  he  rushed  by  her,  opened  the  door,  and  dis- 
appeared in  the  next  room. 

The  Countess  took  one  pace  forward,  as  if  she 
would  have  followed  him,  as  if  she  would  have  tried 
farther  persuasion.  But  as  she  moved  a  cry  rooted 
her  to  the  spot.  A  rush  of  feet  and  the  babel  of 
many  voices  filled  the  passage  with  a  tide  of  sound, 
which  drew  rapidly  nearer.  The  escape  was  known ! 
"Would  the  fugitives  have  time  to  slip  out  below? 

Someone  knocked  at  the  door,  tried  it,  pushed  and 
beat  on  it.  But  the  Countess  and  all  in  the  room  had 
run  to  the  windows  and  were  looking  out. 

If  the  two  had  not  yet  made  their  escape  they  must 
be  taken.  Yet  no ;  as  the  Countess  leaned  from  the 


328  COUNT   HANNIBAL. 

window,  first  one  dusty  figure  and  then  a  second 
dartwl  from  a  door  below,  and  made  for  the  nearest 
turning  out  of  the  Place  Ste.-Croix.  Before  they 
gained  it,  four  men,  of  whom  Badelou,  his  grey  locks 
flying,  was  first,  dashed  out  in  pursuit,  and  the  street 
rang  with  cries  of  "Stop  him!  Seize  him!  Seize 
him !  "  Someone — one  of  the  pursuers  or  another — 
to  add  to  the  alarm  let  off  a  musket,  and  in  a  mo- 
ment, as  if  the  report  had  been  a  signal,  the  Place 
was  in  a  hubbub,  people  flocked  into  it  with  mys- 
terious quickness,  and  from  a  neighbouring  roof — 
whence,  precisely,  it  was  impossible  to  say — the 
crackling  fire  of  a  dozen  arquebuses  alarmed  the  city 
far  and  wide. 

Unfortunately,  the  fugitives  had  been  baulked  at 
the  first  turning.  Making  for  a  second,  they  found  it 
choked,  and,  swerving,  darted  across  the  Place  to- 
wards St. -Maurice,  seeking  to  lose  themselves  in  the 
gathering  crowd.  But  the  pursuers  clung  desperately 
to  their  skirts,  overturning  here  a  man  and  there  a 
child ;  and  then  in  a  twinkling,  Tignonville,  as  he  ran 
round  a  booth,  tripped  over  a  peg  and  fell,  and  La 
Tribe  stumbled  over  him  and  fell  also.  The  four 
riders  flung  themselves  fiercely  on  their  prey,  secured 
them,  and  began  to  drag  them  with  oaths  and  curses 
towards  the  door  of  the  inn. 

The  Countess  had  seen  all  from  her  window ;  had 
held  her  breath  while  they  ran,  had  drawn  it  sharply 
when  they  fell.  Now  "They  have  them!"  she  mut- 
tered, a  sob  choking  her,  "  They  have  them !"  And 
she  clasped  her  hands.  If  he  had  followed  her  ad- 
vice! If  he  had  only  followed  her  advice! 

But  the  issue  proved  less  certain  than  she  deemed 
it.  The  crowd,  which  grew  each  moment,  knew 


THE    ESCAPE.  329 

nothing  of  pursuers  or  pursued.  On  the  contrary,  a 
cry  went  up  that  the  riders  were  Huguenots,  and 
that  the  Huguenots  were  rising  and  slaying  the  Cath- 
olics ;  and  as  no  story  was  too  improbable  for  those 
days,  and  this  was  one  constantly  set  about,  first  one 
stone  flew,  and  then  another,  and  another.  A  man 
with  a  staff  darted  forward  and  struck  Badelon  on 
the  shoulder,  two  or  three  others  pressed  in  and  jos- 
tled the  riders;  and  if  three  of  Tavannes'  following 
had  not  run  out  on  the  instant  and  faced  the  mob 
with  their  pikes,  and  for  a  moment  forced  them  to 
give  back,  the  prisoners  would  have  been  rescued 
at  the  very  door  of  the  inn.  As  it  was  they  were 
dragged  in,  and  the  gates  were  flung  to  and  barred  in 
the  nick  of  time.  Another  moment,  almost  another 
second,  and  the  mob  had  seized  them.  As  it  was,  a 
hail  of  stones  poured  on  the  front  of  the  inn,  and 
amid  the  rising  yells  of  the  rabble  there  presently 
floated  heavy  and  slow  over  the  city  the  tolling  of  the 
great  bell  of  St.  Maurice. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

SACRILEGE ! 

M.  DE  MONTSOREAU,  Lieutenant-Governor  of  Sau- 
mur,  almost  rose  from  his  seat  in  his  astonishment. 
"  What!  No  letters?  "  he  cried,  a  hand  on  either  arm 
of  his  chair. 

The  Magistrates  stared,  one  and  all.  "No  letters?  " 
they  muttered. 

And  "No  letters?"  the  Provost  chimed  in  more 
faintly. 

Count  Hannibal  looked  smiling  round  the  Council 
table.  He  alone  was  unmoved.  "  No, "  he  said.  "I 
bear  none." 

M.  de  Montsoreau,  who,  travel -stained  and  in  his 
corselet,  had  the  second  place  of  honour  at  the  foot 
of  the  table,  frowned.  "But — but,  M.  le  Comte,"  he 
said,  "my  instructions  from  Monsieur  were  to  pro- 
ceed to  carry  out  his  Majesty's  will  in  co-operation 
with  you,  who,  I  understood,  would  bring  letters  de 
par  le  Roi." 

"I  had  letters,"  Count  Hannibal  answered,  negli- 
gently. "But  on  the  way  I  mislaid  them." 

"Mislaid  them?"  Montsoreau  cried,  unable  to  be- 
lieve his  ears;  while  the  smaller  dignitaries  of  the 
city,  the  magistrates  and  churchmen,  who  sat  on 
either  side  of  the  table,  gaped  open-mouthed.  It  was 
incredible !  It  was  unbelievable !  Mislay  the  King's 
letters!  Who  had  ever  heard  of  such  a  thing? 


SACRILEGE!  331 

"Yes,  I  mislaid  them.  Lost  them,  if  you  like  it 
better." 

"But  you  jest!  "  the  Lieutenant-Governor  retorted, 
moving  uneasily  in  his  chair.  He  was  a  man  more 
highly  named  for  address  than  courage;  and,  like 
most  men  skilled  in  finesse,  he  was  prone  to  suspect  a 
trap.  "You  jest,  surely,  monsieur!  Men  do  not 
lose  his  Majesty's  letters,  by  the  way." 

"When  they  contain  his  Majesty's  will,  no,"  Ta- 
vanues  answered,  with  a  peculiar  smile. 

"You  imply,  then?" 

Count  Hannibal  shrugged  his  shoulders  but  had  not 
answered  when  Bigot  entered  and  handed  him  his 
sweetmeat  box;  he  paused  to  open  it  and  select  a 
prune.  He  was  long  in  selecting ;  but  no  change  of 
countenance  led  any  of  those  at  the  table  to  suspect 
that  inside  the  lid  of  the  box  was  a  message — a  scrap 
of  paper  informing  him  that  Montsoreau  had  left  fifty 
spears  in  the  suburb  without  the  Saumur  gate,  besides 
those  whom  he  had  brought  openly  into  the  town. 
Tavannes  read  the  note  slowly  while  he  seemed  to 
be  choosing  his  fruit.  And  then,  "Imply?"  he 
answered.  "I  imply  nothing,  M.  de  Montsoreau." 

"But " 

"But  that  sometimes  his  Majesty  finds  it  prudent  to 
give  orders  which  he  does  not  mean  to  be  carried  out. 
There  are  things  which  start  up  before  the  eye, "  Ta- 
vannes continued,  negligently  tapping  the  box  on  the 
table,  "and  there  are  things  which  do  not;  some- 
times the  latter  are  the  more  important.  You,  better 
than  I,  M.  de  Montsoreau,  know  that  the  King  in  the 
Gallery  at  the  Louvre  is  one,  and  in  his  closet  is 
another. " 

"Yes." 


332  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

"And  that  being  so " 

"You  do  not  mean  to  carry  the  letters  into  effect?  " 

"Had  I  the  letters,  certainly,  my  friend.  I  should 
be  bound  by  them.  But  I  took  good  care  to  lose 
them,"  Tavannes  added  naively.  "I  ani  no  fool." 

"Umph!" 

"However,"  Count  Hannibal  continued,  with  an 
airy  gesture,  "that  is  my  affair.  If  you,  M.  de  Mont- 
soreau,  feel  inclined,  in  spite  of  the  absence  of  my 
letters,  to  carry  yours  into  effect,  by  all  means  do  so 
— after  midnight  of  to-day." 

M.  de  Montsoreau  breathed  hard.  "And  why," 
he  askef1,  half  sulkily  and  half  ponderously,  "after 
midnight  only,  M.  le  Comte?" 

"Merely  that  I  may  be  clear  of  all  suspicion  of 
having  lot  or  part  in  the  matter,"  Count  Hannibal 
answered  pleasantly.  "After  midnight  of  to-night 
by  all  means,  do  as  you  please.  Until  midnight,  by 
your  leave,  we  will  be  quiet." 

The  Lieutenaut-Goveruor  moved  doubtfully  in  his 
chair,  the  fear — which  Tavanues  had  shrewdly  in- 
stilled into  his  mind — that  he  might  be  disowned  if 
he  carried  out  his  instructions,  struggling  with  his 
avarice  and  his  self-importance.  He  was  rather 
crafty  than  bold ;  and  such  things  had  been,  he  knew. 
Little  by  little,  and  while  he  sat  gloomily  debating, 
the  notion  of  dealing  wit  h  one  or  two  and  holding  the 
body  of  the  Huguenots  to  ransom — a  notion  which,  in 
spite  of  everything,  was  to  bear  good  fruit  for  Au- 
gers— began  to  form  in  his  mind.  The  plan  suited 
him :  it  left  him  free  to  face  either  way,  and  it  would 
fill  his  pockets  more  genteelly  than  would  open  rob- 
bery. On  the  other  hand,  he  would  offend  his 
brother  and  the  fanatical  party,  with  whom  he  com- 


SACKILEGE!  333 

monly  acted.  They  were  looking  to  see  him  assert 
himself.  They  were  looking  to  hear  him  declare  him- 
self. And 

Harshly  Count  Hannibal's  voice  broke  in  on  his 
thoughts;  harshly,  a  something  sinister  in  its  tone. 
"Where  is  your  brother?"  he  said.  And  it  was 
evident  that  he  had  not  noted  his  absence  until  then. 
"My  lord's  Vicar  of  all  people  should  be  here!"  he 
continued,  leaning  forward  and  looking  round  the 
table.  His  brow  was  stormy. 

Lescot  squirmed  under  his  eye,  Thuriot  turned  pale 
and  trembled.  It  was  one  of  the  canons  of  St. -Mau- 
rice who  at  length  took  on  himself  to  answer.  "  His 
Lordship  requested,  M.  le  Comte,"  he  ventured,  "that 
you  would  excuse  him.  His  duties " 

"Is  he  ill?" 

"He " 

"Is  he  ill,  sirrah?"  Tavaunes  roared.  And  while 
all  bowed  before  the  lightning  of  his  eye,  no  man  at 
the  table  knew  what  had  roused  the  sudden  tempest. 
But  Bigot  knew,  who  stood  by  the  door,  and  whose 
ear,  keen  as  his  master's,  had  caught  the  distant  re- 
port of  a  musket  shot.  "If  he  be  not  ill,"  Tavannes 
continued,  rising  and  looking  round  the  table  in 
search  of  signs  of  guilt,  "and  there  be  foul  play  here, 
and  he  the  player,  the  Bishop's  own  hand  shall  not 
saveliim!  By  heaven  it  shall  not!  Nor  yours!"  he 
continued,  looking  fiercely  at  Montsoreau.  "Nor 
your  master's!" 

The  Lieutenant-Governor  sprang  to  his  feet.  "M. 
le  Comte,"  he  stammered,  "I  do  not  understand  this 
language!  Nor  this  heat,  which  may  be  real  or  not! 
All  I  say  is,  if  there  be  foul  play  here " 

"If!"  Tavauues  retorted.     "At  least,  if  there  be, 


334  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

there  be  gibbets  too !  And  I  see  necks !  "  he  add- 
ed, leaning  forward.  "Necks!"  And  then,  with  a 
look  of  flame,  "Let  no  man  leave  this  table  until  I 
return,"  he  cried,  "or  he  will  have  to  deal  with  me. 
Nay,"  he  continued,  changing  his  tone  abruptly,  as 
the  prudence  which  never  entirely  left  him — and  per- 
haps the  remembrance  of  the  other's  fifty  spearmen 
— sobered  him  in  the  midst  of  his  rage,  "  I  am  hasty. 
I  mean  not  you,  M.  de  Montsoreau !  Ride  where  you 
will,  ride  with  me  if  you  will — and  I  will  thank  you. 
Only  remember,  until  midnight  Angers  is  mine ! " 

He  was  still  speaking  when  he  moved  from  the 
table,  and,  leaving  all  staring  after  him,  strode  down 
the  room.  An  instant  he  paused  on  the  threshold 
and  looked  back ;  then  he  passed  out,  and  clattered 
down  the  stone  stairs.  His  horse  and  riders  were 
waiting,  but,  his  foot  in  the  stirrup,  he  stayed  for  a 
word  with  Bigot.  "Is  it  so?  "  he  growled. 

The  Norman  did  not  speak,  but  pointed  towards 
the  Place  Ste.  -Croix,  whence  an  occasional  shot  made 
answer  for  him. 

In  those  days  the  streets  of  the  Black  City  were 
narrow  and  crooked,  overhung  by  timber  houses  and 
hampered  by  booths;  nor  could  Tavannes  from  the 
old  Town  Hall — now  abandoned — see  the  Place  Ste.  - 
Croix.  But  that  he  could  cure.  He  struck  spurs  to 
his  horse,  and,  followed  by  his  ten  horsemen,  he  clat- 
tered noisily  down  the  paved  street.  A  dozen  groups 
hurrying  the  same  way  sprang  panic-stricken  to  the 
walls,  or  saved  themselves  in  doorways.  He  was  up 
with  them,  he  was  beyond  them !  Another  hundred 
yards,  and  he  would  see  the  Place. 

And  then,  with  a  cry  of  rage,  he  drew  rein  a  little, 
discovering  what  was  before  him.  In  the  narrow  gut 


SACRILEGE!  335 

of  the  way  a  great  black  banner,  borne  on  two  poles, 
was  lurching  towards  him.  It  was  moving  in  the 
van  of  a  dark  procession  of  priests,  who,  with  their 
attendants  and  a  crowd  of  devout,  filled  the  street 
from  wall  to  wall.  They  were  chanting  one  of  the 
penitential  psalms,  but  not  so  loudly  as  to  drown  the 
uproar  in  the  Place  beyond  them. 

They  made  no  way,  and  Count  Hannibal  swore  fu- 
riously, suspecting  treachery.  But  he  was  no  mad- 
man, and  at  the  moment  the  least  reflection  would 
have  sent  him  about  to  seek  another  road.  Unfortu- 
nately, as  he  hesitated  a  man  sprang  with  a  gesture  of 
warning  to  his  horse's  head  and  seized  it;  and  Ta- 
vaunes,  mistaking  the  motive  of  the  act,  lost  his  self- 
control.  He  struck  the  fellow  down,  and  with  a 
reckless  word  rode  headlong  into  the  procession,  shout- 
ing to  the  black  robes  to  make  way,  make  way !  A  cry, 
nay,  a  very  shriek  of  horror,  answered  him  and  rent 
the  air.  And  in  a  minute  the  thing  was  done.  Too 
late,  as  the  Bishop's  Vicar,  struck  by  his  horse,  fell 
screaming  under  its  hoofs — too  late,  as  the  conse- 
crated vessels  which  he  had  been  bearing  rolled  in 
the  mud,  Tavannes  saw  that  they  bore  the  canopy 
and  the  Host ! 

He  knew  what  he  had  done,  then.  Before  his 
horse's  iron  shoes  struck  the  ground  again,  his  face — 
even  his  face — had  lost  its  colour.  But  he  knew  also 
that  to  hesitate  now,  to  pause  now,  was  to  be  torn  in 
pieces;  for  his  riders,  seeing  that  which  the  banner 
had  veiled  from  him,  had  not  followed  him,  and  he 
was  alone,  in  the  middle  of  brandished  fists  and 
weapons.  He  hesitated  not  a  moment.  Drawing  a 
pistol  he  spurred  onwards,  his  horse  plunging  wildly 
among  the  shrieking  priests;  and  though  a  hundred 


330  COUNT   HANNIBAL. 

bands,  hands  of  acolytes,  hands  of  shaven  monks, 
clutched  at  his  bridle  or  gripped  his  boot,  he  got  clear 
of  them.  Clear,  carrying  with  him  the  memory  of 
one  face  seen  an  instant  amid  the  crowd,  one  face 
seen,  to  be  ever  remembered — the  face  of  Father 
Pezelay,  white,  evil,  scarred,  distorted  by  wicked 
triumph. 

Behind  him,  the  thunder  of  "Sacrilege!  Sacri- 
lege ! "  rose  to  heaven,  and  men  were  gathering.  In 
front  the  crowd  which  skirmished  about  the  inn  was 
less  dense,  and,  ignorant  of  the  thing  that  had  hap- 
pened in  the  narrow  street,  made  ready  way  for  him, 
the  boldest  recoiling  before  the  look  on  his  face. 
Some  who  stood  nearest  to  the  inn,  and  had  begun  to 
hurl  stones  at  the  window  and  to  beat  on  the  doors — 
which  had  only  the  minute  before  closed  on  Badelon 
and  his  prisoners — supposed  that  he  had  his  riders 
behind  him ;  and  these  fled  apace.  But  he  knew  bet- 
ter even  than  they  the  value  of  time ;  he  pushed  his 
horse  up  to  the  gates,  and  hammered  them  with  his 
boot  while  he  kept  his  pistol-hand  towards  the  Place 
and  the  cathedral,  watching  for  the  transformation 
which  he  knew  would  come ! 

And  come  it  did ;  on  a  sudden,  in  a  twinkling !  A 
white-faced  monk,  frenzy  in  his  eyes,  appeared  in  the 
midst  of  the  crowd.  He  stood  and  tore  his  garments 
before  the  people,  and,  stooping,  threw  dust  on  his 
head.  A  second  and  a  third  followed  his  example ; 
then  from  a  thousand  throats  the  cry  of  "Sacrilege! 
Sacrilege!  "  rolled  up,  while  clerks  flew  wildly  hither 
and  thither  shrieking  the  tale,  and  priests  denied  the 
Sacraments  to  Angers  until  it  should  purge  itself  of 
the  evil  thing. 

By  that  time  Count  Hannibal  had  saved  himself 


SACRILEGE!  337 

behind  the  great  gates,  by  the  skin  of  his  teeth.  The 
gates  had  opened  to  him  in  time.  But  none  knew 
better  than  he  that  Angers  had  no  gates  thick  enough, 
nor  walls  of  a  height,  to  save  him  for  many  hours 
from  the  storm  he  had  let  loose ! 
22 


CHAPTEE  XXXI. 

THE   FLIGHT   FROM   ANGEKS. 

that  only  the  more  roused  the  devil  in  the  man ; 
that,  and  the  knowledge  that  he  had  his  own  head- 
strong act  to  thank  for  the  position.  He  looked  on 
the  panic-stricken  people  who,  scared  by  the  turmoil 
without,  had  come  together  in  the  courtyard,  wring- 
ing their  hands  and  chattering ;  and  his  face  was  so 
dark  and  forbidding  that  fear  of  him  took  the  place 
of  all  other  fear,  aud  the  nearest  shrank  from  contact 
with  him.  On  any  other  entering  as  he  had  entered, 
they  would  have  hailed  questions ;  they  would  have 
asked  what  was  amiss  and  if  the  city  were  rising, 
and  where  were  Bigot  and  his  men.  But  Count  Han- 
nibal's eye  struck  curiosity  dumb.  When  he  cried 
from  his  saddle,  "  Bring  me  the  landlord !  "  the  trem- 
bling man  was  found,  and  brought,  and  thrust  for- 
ward almost  without  a  word. 

"You  have  a  back  gate? "  Tavannes  said,  while  the 
crowd  leaned  forward  to  catch  his  words. 

"Yes,  my  lord,"  the  man  faltered. 

"Into  the  street  which  leads  to  the  ramparts'? " 

"Ye — yes,  my  lord." 

"Then" — to  Badelon — "saddle!  You  have  five 
minutes.  Saddle  as  you  never  saddled  before,"  he 

continued  in  a  low  tone,  "  or "  His  tongue  did 

not  finish  the  threat,  but  his  hand  waved  the  man 


THE  FLIGHT  FROM   ANGERS.  339 

away.  "For  you,"  he  held  Tignonville  an  instant 
with  his  lowering  eye,  "  and  the  preaching  fool  with 
you,  get  arms  and  mount!  You  have  never  played 
aught  but  the  woman  yet ;  but  play  me  false  now,  or 
look  aside  bnt  a  foot  from  the  path  I  bid  you  take, 
and  you  thwart  me  no  more,  monsieur!  And  you, 
madame, "  he  continued,  turning  to  the  Countess,  who 
stood  bewildered  at  one  of  the  doors,  the  Provost's 
daughter  clinging  and  weeping  about  her,  "you  have 
three  minutes  to  get  your  women  to  horse !  See  you, 
if  you  please,  that  they  take  no  longer !  " 

She  found  her  voice  with  difficulty.  "And  this 
child?  "  she  said.  "She  is  in  my  care." 

"Bring  her,"  he  muttered  with  a  scowl  of  impa- 
tience. And  then,  raising  his  voice  as  he  turned  on 
the  terrified  gang  of  hostlers  and  inn  servants  who 
stood  gaping  round  him,  "Go  help!"  he  thundered. 
"Go  help!  And  quickly!"  he  added,  his  face  grow- 
ing a  shade  darker  as  a  second  bell  began  to  toll  from 
a  neighbouring  tower,  and  the  confused  babel  in  the 
Place  Ste.-Croix  settled  into  a  dull  roar  of  "Sacrilege! 
sacrilege  !  " — "  Hasten !  " 

Fortunately  it  had  been  his  first  intention  to  go  to 
the  Council  attended  by  the  whole  of  his  troop ;  and 
eight  horses  stood  saddled  in  the  stalls.  Others  were 
hastily  pulled  out  and  bridled,  and  the  women  were 
mounted.  La  Tribe,  at  a  look  from  Tavanues,  took 
behind  him  the  Provost's  daughter,  who  was  helpless 
with  terror.  Between  the  suddenness  of  the  alarm, 
the  uproar  without,  and  the  panic  within,  none  but  a 
man  whose  people  served  him  at  a  nod  and  dreaded 
his  very  gesture  could  have  got  hisi  party  mounted  in 
time.  Javette  would  fain  have  swooned,  but  she 
dared  not.  Tignonville  would  fain  have  questioned, 


340  COUNT   HANXIBAL. 

but  he  shrank  from  the  venture.  The  Countess 
would  fain  have  said  something,  but  she  forced  her- 
self to  obey  and  no  more.  Even  so  the  confusion  in 
the  courtyard,  the  mingling  of  horses  and  men  and 
trappings  and  saddle-bags,  would  have  made  another 
despair;  but  wherever  Count  Hannibal,  seated  in  his 
saddle  in  the  middle,  turned  his  face,  chaos  settled 
into  a  kind  of  order,  servants,  ceasing  to  listen  to  the 
yells  and  cries  outside,  ran  to  fetch,  women  dropped 
cloaks  from  the  gallery,  and  men  loaded  muskets  and 
strapped  on  bandoliers. 

Until  at  last — but  none  knew  what  those  minutes  of 
suspense  cost  him — he  saw  all  mounted,  and,  pistol  in 
hand,  shepherded  them  to  the  back  gates.  As  he  did 
so  he  stooped  for  a  few  scowling  words  with  Badelon, 
whom  he  sent  to  the  van  of  the  party :  then  he  gave 
the  word  to  open.  It  was  done ;  and  even  as  Montso- 
reau's  horsemen,  borne  on  the  bosom  of  a  second 
and  more  formidable  throng,  swept  raging  into  the 
already  crowded  square,  and  the  cry  went  up  for  "a 
ram !  a  ram ! "  to  batter  in  the  gates,  Tavauues,  hurl- 
ing his  little  party  before  him,  dashed  out  at  the  back, 
and  putting  to  flight  a  handful  of  rascals  who  had 
wandered  to  that  side,  cantered  unmolested  down  the 
lane  to  the  ramparts.  Turning  eastward  at  the  foot 
of  the  frowning  Castle,  he  followed  the  inner  side  of 
the  wall  in  the  direction  of  the  gate  by  which  he  had 
entered  the  preceding  evening. 

To  gain  this  his  party  had  to  pass  the  end  of  the 
Eue  Toussaiut,  which  issues  from  the  Place  Ste.- 
Croix  and  runs  so  straight  that  the  mob  seething  in 
front  of  the  inn  had  only  to  turn  their  heads  to  see 
them.  The  danger  incurred  at  this  point  was  great ; 
for  a  party  as  small  as  Tavaunes'  and  encumbered 


THE   FLIGHT   FEOM   ANGERS.  341 

with  women  would  have  had  no  chance  if  attacked 
within  the  walls. 

Count  Hannibal  knew  it.  But  he  knew  also  that 
the  act  which  he  had  committed  rendered  the  north 
bank  of  the  Loire  impossible  for  him.  Neither  King 
nor  Marshal,  neither  Charles  of  Valois  nor  Gaspard  of 
Tavannes,  would  dare  to  shield  him  from  an  infu- 
riated Church,  a  Church^  too  wise  to  forgive  certain 
offences.  His  one  chance  lay  in  reaching  the  south- 
ern bank  of  the  Loire — roughly  speaking,  the  Hugue- 
not bank — and  taking  refuge  in  some  town,  Rochelle 
or  St.  Jean  d'Angely,  where  the  Huguenots  were 
strong,  and  whence  he  might  take  steps  to  set  himself 
right  with  his  own  side. 

But  to  cross  the  great  river  which  divides  France 
into  two  lands  widely  differing  he  must  leave  the  city 
by  the  east  gate ;  for  the  only  bridge  over  the  Loire 
within  forty  miles  of  Angers  lay  eastward  from  the 
town,  at  Fonts  de  Ce,  four  miles  away.  To  this  gate, 
therefore,  past  the  Rue  Toussaint,  he  whirled  his 
party  daringly ;  and  though  the  women  grew  pale  as 
the  sounds  of  riot  broke  louder  on  the  ear,  and  they 
discovered  that  they  were  approaching  instead  of 
leaving  the  danger — and  though  Tignouville  for  an 
instant  thought  him  mad,  and  snatched  at  the  Coun- 
tess's rein — Jiis  men-at-arms,  who  knew  him,  gal- 
loped stolidly  on,  passed  like  clockwork  the  end  of 
the  street,  and,  reckless  of  the  stream  of  persons  hur- 
rying in  the  direction  of  the  alarm,  heedless  of  the 
fright  and  anger  their  passage  excited,  pressed  stead- 
ily on.  A  moment  and  the  gate  through  which  they 
had  entered  the  previous  evening  appeared  before 
them.  Aud — a  sight  welcome  to  one  of  them — it  was 
open. 


342  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

They  were  fortunate  indeed,  for  a  few  seconds  later 
they  had  been  too  late.  The  alarm  had  preceded 
them ;  as  they  dashed  up,  a  man  ran  to  the  chains  of 
the  portcullis  and  tried  to  lower  it.  He  failed  to  do 
so  at  the  first  touch,  and  quailing,  fled  from  Badelon's 
levelled  pistol.  A  watchman  on  one  of  the  bastions 
of  the  wall  shouted  to  them  to  halt  or  he  would  fire : 
but  the  riders  yelled  in  derision,  and  thundering 
through  the  echoing  archway,  emerged  into  the  open, 
and  saw,  extended  before  them,  in  place  of  the 
gloomy  vistas  of  the  Black  Town,  the  glory  of  the 
open  country  and  the  vine-clad  hills,  and  the  fields 
about  the  Loire  yellow  with  late  harvest. 

The  women  gasped  their  relief,  and  one  or  two  who 
were  most  out  of  breath  would  have  pulled  up  their 
hoi-ses  and  let  them  trot,  thinking  the  danger  at  an 
end.  But  a  curt  savage  word  from  the  rear  set  them 
flying  again,  and  down  and  up  and  on  again  they  gal- 
loped, driven  forward  by  the  iron  hand  which  never 
relaxed  its  grip  of  theni.  Silent  and  pitiless  he 
whirled  them  before  him  until  they  were  within  a 
mile  of  the  long  Fonts  de  Ce — a  series  of  bridges 
rather  than  one  bridge — and  the  broad  shallow  Loire 
lay  plain  before  them,  its  sandbanks  grilling  in  the 
sun,  and  grey  lines  of  willows  marking  its  eyots.  By 
this  time  some  of  the  women,  white  with  fatigue, 
could  only  cling  to  their  saddles  with  their  hands ; 
while  others  were  red-hot,  their  hair  unrolled,  and 
the  perspiration  mingled  with  the  dust  on  their  faces. 
But  he  who  drove  them  had  no  pity  for  weakness  in 
an  emergency.  He  looked  back  and  saw,  a  half-mile 
behind  them,  the  glitter  of  steel  following  hard  on 
their  heels:  and  "Faster!  faster!"  he  cried,  regard- 
less of  their  prayers :  and  he  beat  the  rearmost  of  the 


THE   FLIGHT  FROM  ANGERS.  343 

horses  with  his  scabbard.  A  waiting-woman  shrieked 
that  she  should  fall,  but  he  answered  ruthlessly,  "  Fall 
then,  fool!"  and  the  instinct  of  self -preservation 
coming  to  her  aid,  she  clung  and  bumped  and  toiled  on 
with  the  rest  until  they  reached  the  first  houses  of  the 
town  about  the  bridges,  and  Badelon  raised  his  hand 
as  a  signal  that  they  might  slacken  speed. 

The  bewilderment  of  the  start  had  been  so  great 
that  it  was  then  only,  when  they  found  their  feet  on 
the  first  link  of  the  bridge,  that  two  of  the  party,  the 
Countess  and  Tignoiiville,  awoke  to  the  fact  that  their 
faces  were  set  southwards.  To  cross  the  Loire  in 
those  days  meant  -much  to  all :  to  a  Huguenot  very 
much.  It  chanced  that  these  two  rode  on  to  the 
bridge  side  by  side,  and  the  memory  of  their  last 
crossing — the  remembrance  that,  on  their  journey 
north  a  month  before,  they  had  crossed  it  hand-in- 
hand  with  the  prospect  of  passing  their  lives  together, 
and  with  no  faintest  thought  of  the  events  which 
were  to  ensue,  flashed  into  the  mind  of  each  of  them. 
It  deepened  the  flush  which  exertion  had  brought  to 
the  woman's  cheek,  then  left  it  paler  than  before.  A 
minute  earlier  she  had  been  wroth  with  her  old  lover ; 
she  had  held  him  accountable  for  the  outbreak  in  the 
town  and  this  hasty  retreat ;  now  her  anger  died  as 
she  looked  and  she  remembered.  In  the  man,  shal- 
lower of  feeling  and  more  alive  to  present  contingen- 
cies, the  uppermost  emotion  as  he  trod  the  bridge  was 
one  of  surprise  and  congratulation. 

He  could  not  at  first  believe  in  their  good  fortune. 
"  Mon  Dieu  ! "  he  cried,  "  we  are  crossing !  "  And 
then  again  in  a  lower  tone,  "  We  are  crossing !  We 
are  crossing !  "  And  he  looked  at  her. 

It  was  impossible  that  she  should  not  look  back ; 


344  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

that  she  who  had  ceased  to  be  angry  should  not  feel 
arid  remember;  impossible  that  her  answering  glance 
should  not  speak  to  his  heart.  Below  them,  as  on 
that  day  a  month  earlier,  when  they  had  crossed  the 
bridges  going  northward,  the  broad  shallow  river  ran 
its  course  in  the  sunshine,  its  turbid  currents  gleam- 
ing and  flashing  about  the  sandbanks  and  osier-beds. 
To  the  eye,  the  landscape,  save  that  the  vintage  was 
farther  advanced  and  the  harvest  in  part  gathered  in, 
was  the  same.  But  how  changed  were  their  relations, 
their  prospects,  their  hopes,  who  had  then  crossed  the 
river  hand-in-hand,  planning  a  life  to  be  passed  to- 
gether. 

The  young  man's  rage  boiled  up  at  the  thought. 
Too  vividly,  too  sharply  it  showed  him  the  wrongs 
which  he  had  suffered  at  the  hands  of  the  man  who 
rode  behind  him,  the  man  who  even  now  drove  him 
on  and  ordered  him  and  insulted  him.  He  forgot  that 
he  might  have  perished  in  the  general  massacre  if 
Count  Hannibal  had  not  intervened.  He  forgot  that 
Count  Hannibal  had  spared  him  once  and  twice.  He 
laid  011  his  enemy's  shoulders  the  guilt  of  all,  the 
blood  of  all :  and  as,  quick  on  the  thought  of  his 
wrongs  and  his  fellows'  wrongs  followed  the  reflection 
that  with  every  league  they  rode  southwards  the 
chance  of  requital  grew,  he  cried  again,  and  this  time 
joyously,  "We  are  crossing!  A  little,  and  we  shall 
be  in  our  own  land !  " 

The  tears  filled  the  Countess's  eyes  as  she  looked 
westwards  and  southwards.  "  Vrillac  is  there !  "  she 
cried;  and  she  pointed.  "I  smell  the  sea!  " 

"  Ay ! "  he  answered,  almost  under  his  breath.  "It 
lies  there!  And  no  more  than  thirty  leagues  from 
us !  With  fresh  horses  we  might  see  it  in  two  days !  " 


THE   FLIGHT  FEOM   ANGERS.  345 

Badelon's  voice  broke  in  on  them.  "Forward!" 
he  cried  as  they  reached  the  southern  bank.  "En 
avant !  "  And,  obedient  to  the  word,  the  little  party, 
refreshed  by  the  short  respite,  took  the  road  out  of 
Pouts  de  Ce  at  a  steady  trot.  Nor  was  the  Countess 
the  only  one  whose  face  glowed,  being  set  southwards, 
or  whose  heart  pulsed  to  the  rhythm  of  the  horses' 
hoofs  that  beat  out  "Home! "  Carlat's  and  Madame 
Carlat's  also.  Javette  even,  hearing  from  her  neigh- 
bour that  they  were  over  the  Loire,  plucked  up 
courage;  while  La  Tribe,  gazing  before  him  with 
moistened  ej'es,  cried  "Comfort"  to  the  scared  and 
weeping  girl  who  clung  to  his  belt.  It  was  singular 
to  see  how  all  sniffed  the  air  as  if  already  it  smacked 
of  the  sea  and  of  the  south ;  and  how  they  of  Poitou 
sat  their  horses  as  if  they  asked  nothing  better  than  to 
ride  on  and  on  and  on  until  the  scenes  of  home  arose 
about  them.  For  them  the  sky  had  already  a  deeper 
blue,  the  air  a  softer  fragrance,  the  sunshine  a  purity 
long  unknown ! 

Was  it  wonderful,  when  they  had  suffered  so  much 
on  that  northern  bank  ?  When  their  experience  dur- 
ing the  month  had  been  comparable  only  with  the  dir- 
est nightmare?  Yet  one  among  them,  after  the  first 
impulse  of  relief  and  satisfaction,  felt  differently. 
Tiguonville's  gorge  rose  against  the  sense  of  compul- 
sion, of  inferiority.  To  be  driven  forward  after  this 
fashion,  whether  he  would  or  no,  to  be  placed  at  the 
beck  of  every  base-born  man-at-arms,  to  have  no 
clearer  knowledge  of  what  had  happened  or  of  what 
was  passing,  or  of  the  peril  from  which  they  fled, 
than  the  women  among  whom  he  rode — these  things 
kindled  anew  the  sullen  fire  of  hate.  North  of  the 
Loire  there  had  been  some  excuse  for  his  inaction  mi- 


346  COUNT   HANNIBAL. 

der  insult;  he  had  been  in  the  man's  country  and 
power.  But  south  of  the  Loire,  within  forty  leagues 
of  Huguenot  Niort,  must  he  still  suffer,  still  be 
supine  ? 

His  rage  was  inflamed  by  a  disappointment  he  pres- 
ently underwent.  Looking  back  as  they  rode  clear  of 
the  wooden  houses  of  Fonts  de  Ce,  he  missed  Ta- 
vaunes  and  several  of  his  men;  and  he  wondered 
if  Count  Hannibal  had  remained  on  his  own  side 
of  the  river.  It  seemed  possible;  and  in  that 
event  La  Tribe  and  he  and  Carlat  might  deal  with 
Badelon  and  the  four  who  still  escorted  them.  But 
when  he  looked  back  a  minute  later,  Tavauues 
was  within  sight,  following  the  party  with  a  stern 
face;  and  not  Tavannes  only.  Bigot,  with  two  of 
the  ten  men  who  hitherto  had  been  missing,  was 
with  him. 

It  was  clear,  however,  that  they  brought  no  good 
news,  for  they  had  scarcely  ridden  up  before  Count 
Hannibal  cried  " Faster!  faster!"  in  his  harshest 
voice,  and  Bigot  urged  the  horses  to  a  quicker  trot. 
Their  course  lay  almost  parallel  with  the  Loire  in  the 
direction  of  Beaupre'au;  and  Tignonville  began  to 
fear  that  Count  Hannibal  intended  to  recross  the 
river  at  Nantes,  wrhere  the  only  bridge  below  Angers 
spa/nned  the  stream.  With  this  in  view  it  was  easy 
to  comprehend  his  wish  to  distance  his  pursuers  be- 
fore he  reerossed. 

The  Countess  had  no  such  thought.  "They  must 
be  close  upon  us ! "  she  murmured,  as  she  urged  her 
horse  in  obedience  to  the  order. 

"  Whoever  they  are !  "  Tignonville  muttered  bitter- 
ly. "If  we  knew  what  had  happened,  or  who  fol- 
lowed, we  should  know  more  about  it,  madame.  For 


THE  FLIGHT   FEOM   A^GEKS.  347 

that  matter,  I  know  what  I  wish  he  would  do.  And 
our  heads  are  set  for  it." 

"What?" 

"Make  for  VriUac!"  he  answered,  a  savage  gleam 
in  his  eyes. 

"For  Vrillac?" 

"Yes." 

"  Ah,  if  he  would ! "  she  cried,  her  face  turn- 
ing pale.  "If  he  would.  He  would  be  safe 
there ! " 

"Ay,  quite  safe!  "  he  answered  with  a  peculiar  in- 
tonation. And  he  looked  at  her  askance. 

He  fancied  that  his  thought,  the  thought  which  had 
just  flashed  into  his  brain,  was  her  thought;  that  she 
had  the  same  notion  in  reserve,  and  that  they  were  in 
sympathy.  And  Tavanues,  seeing  them  talking  to- 
gether, and  noting  her  look  and  the  fervour  of  her 
gesture,  formed  the  same  opinion,  and  retired  more 
darkly  into  himself.  The  downfall  of  his  plan  for 
dazzling  her  by  a  magnanimity  unparalleled  and  be- 
yond compare,  a  plan  dependent  on  the  submission  of 
Augers — his  disappointment  in  this  might  have  roused 
the  worst  passions  of  a  better  man.  But  there  was  in 
this  man  a  pride  on  a  level  at  least  with  his  other  pas- 
sions :  and  to  bear  himself  in  this  hour  of  defeat  and 
flight  so  that  if  she  could  not  love  him  she  must  ad- 
mire him,  checked  in  a  strange  degree  the  current  of 
his  rage.  When  Tignonville  presently  looked  back 
he  found  that  Count  Hannibal  and  six  of  his  riders 
had  pulled  up  and  were  walking  their  horses  far  in 
the  rear.  On  which  he  would  have  done  the  same 
himself;  but  Badelon  called  over  his  shoulder  the 
eternal  "Forward,  monsieur,  en  avant!"  and  sullenly, 
hating  the  man  and  his  master  more  deeply  every 


348  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

hour,  Tignonville  was  forced  to  push  on,  with 
thoughts  of  vengeance  in  his  heart. 

Trot,  trot !  Trot,  trot !  Through  a  country  which 
had  lost  its  smiling  wooded  character  and  grew  more 
sombre  and  less  fertile  the  farther  they  left  the  Loire 
behind  them.  Trot,  trot!  Trot,  trot! — for  ever,  it 
seemed  to  some.  Javette  wept  with  fatigue,  and  the 
other  women  were  little  better.  The  Countess  herself 
spoke  seldom  except  to  cheer  the  Provost's  daughter ; 
who,  poor  girl,  flung  suddenly  out  of  the  round  of 
her  life  and  cast  among  strangers,  showed  a  better 
spirit  than  might  have  been  expected.  At  length,  on 
the  slopes  of  some  low  hills,  which  they  had  long  seen 
before  them,  a  cluster  of  houses  and  a  church  ap- 
peared; and  Badelon,  drawing  rein,  cried,  "Beau- 
preau,  madame !  We  stay  an  hour !  " 

It  was  six  o'clock.  They  had  ridden  some  hours 
without  a  break.  With  sighs  and  cries  of  pain  the 
women  dropped  from  their  clumsy  saddles,  while  the 
men  laid  out  such  food — it  was  little — as  had  been 
brought,  and  hobbled  the  horses  that  they  might 
feed.  The  hour  passed  rapidly,  and  when  it  had 
passed  Badelou  was  inexorable.  There  was  wailing 
when  he  gave  the  word  to  mount  again ;  and  Tignon- 
ville, fiercely  resenting  this  dumb,  reasonless  flight, 
was  at  heart  one  of  the  mutineers.  But  Badelou  said 
grimly  that  they  might  go  on  and  live,  or  stay  and 
die,  as  it  pleased  them ;  and  once  more  they  climbed 
painfully  to  their  saddles,  and  jogged  steadily  on 
through  the  sunset,  through  the  gloaming,  through 
the  darkness,  across  a  weird,  mysterious  country  of 
low  hills  and  narrow  plains  which  grew  more  wild 
and  less  cultivated  as  they  advanced.  Fortunately 
the  horses  had  been  well  saved  during  the  long  lei- 


THE  FLIGHT  PEOM  AXGEKS.  349 

surely  journey  to  Angers,  and  now  went  well  and 
strongly.  When  they  at  last  unsaddled  for  the  night 
in  a  little  dismal  wood  within  a  mile  of  Clisson,  they 
had  placed  some  forty  miles  between  themselves  and 
Angers. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

THE   OKDEAL,   BY   STEEL. 

THE  women  for  the  most  part  fell  like  sacks  and  slept 
where  they  alighted,  dead  weary.  The  men,  when 
they  had  cared  for  the  horses,  followed  the  example ; 
for  Badelon  would  suffer  no  fire.  In  less  than  half 
an  hour,  a  sentry  who  stood  on  guard  at  the  edge  of 
the  wood,  and  Tignonville  and  La  Tribe,  who  talked 
in  low  voices  with  their  backs  against  a  tree,  were 
the  only  persons  who  remained  awake,  with  the  ex- 
ception of  the  Countess.  Carlat  had  made  a  couch 
for  her,  and  screened  it  with  cloaks  from  the  wind 
and  the  eye ;  for  the  moon  had  risen,  and  where  the 
trees  stood  sparsest  its  light  flooded  the  soil  with 
pools  of  white.  But  Madame  had  not  yet  retired  to 
her  bed.  The  two  men,  whose  voices  reached  her, 
saw  her  from  time  to  time  moving  restlessly  to  and 
fro  between  the  road  and  the  little  encampment. 
Presently  she  came  and  stood  over  them. 

"He  led  His  people  out  of  the  wilderness,"  La 
Tribe  was  saying ;  "  out  of  the  trouble  of  Paris,  out 
of  the  trouble  of  Angers,  and  always,  always  south- 
ward. If  you  do  not  in  this,  monsieur,  see  His 
finger " 

"And  Angers?  "  Tignonville  struck  in,  with  a  faint 
sneer.  "Has  He  led  that  out  of  trouble?  A  day  or 
two  ago  you  would  risk  all  to  save  it,  my  friend. 


THE  OEDEAL   BY   STEEL.  351 

Now,  with  your  back  safely  turned  on  it,  you  think 
all  for  the  best." 

"We  did  our  best,"  the  minister  answered  humbly. 
"  From  the  day  we  met  in  Paris  we  have  been  but 
instruments. " 

"To  save  Angers  1 " 

"To  save  a  remnant." 

On  a  sudden  the  Countess  raised  her  hand.  "Do 
you  not  hear  horses,  monsieur  ?  "  she  cried.  She  had 
been  listening  to  the  noises  of  the  night,  and  had  paid 
little  heed  to  what  the  two  were  saying. 

"One  of  ours  moved,"  Tignonville  answered  list- 
lessly. "  Why  do  you  not  lie  down,  madame  ?  " 

Instead  of  answering,  "Whither  is  he  going?"  she 
asked.  "Do  you  know?  " 

"I  wish  I  did  know,"  the  young  man  answered 
peevishly.  "To  Mort,  it  may  be.  Or  presently  he 
will  double  back  and  recross  the  Loire." 

"He  would  have  gone  by  Cholet  to  Niort,"  La 
Tribe  said.  "  The  direction  is  rather  that  of  Eochelle. 
God  grant  we  be  bound  thither !  " 

"Or  to  Vrillac,"  the  Countess  cried,  clasping  her 
hands  in  the  darkness.  "Can  it  be  to  Vrillac  he  is 
going  ?  " 

The  minister  shook  his  head. 

"  Ah,  let  it  be  to  Vrillac !  "  she  cried,  a  thrill  in  her 
voice.  "We  should  be  safe  there.  And  he  would  be 
safe." 

"  Safe  ? "  echoed  a  fourth  and  deeper  voice.  And 
out  of  the  darkness  beside  them  loomed  a  tall  fig- 
ure. 

The  minister  looked  and  leapt  to  his  feet.  Tignon- 
ville rose  more  slowly. 

The  voice  was  Tavannes'.     "And  where  am  I  to  be 


352  COUNT   HANNIBAL. 

safe?"  he  repeated  slowly,  a  faint  ring  of  saturnine 
amusement  in  his  tone. 

"At  Vrillac,"  she  cried.  "In  nay  house,  mon- 
sieur." 

lie  was  silent  a  moment.  Then,  "Your  house, 
madame  ?  In  which  direction  is  it,  from  here  ?  " 

"Westwards,"  she  answered  impulsively,  her  voice 
quivering  with  eagerness  and  emotion  and  hope. 
"Westwards,  monsieur — on  the  sea.  The  causeway 
from  the  land  is  long,  and  ten  can  hold  it  against  ten 
hundred." 

"  Westwards?     And  how  far  westwards?  " 

Tignonville  answered  for  her ;  in  his  tone  throbbed 
the  same  eagerness,  the  same  anxiety,  which  spoke 
in  hers.  Nor  was  Count  Hannibal's  ear  deaf  to  it. 
"Through  Challaus,"  he  said,  "thirteen  leagues." 

"From  Clisson?" 

"Yes,  Monsieur  le  Comte." 

"And  by  Commequiers  less,"  the  Countess  cried. 

"No,  it  is  a  worse  road,"  Tignonville  answered 
quickly ;  "  and  longer  in  time. " 

"But  we  came " 

"  At  our  leisure,  madame.  The  road  is  by  Chal- 
laus, if  we  wish  to  be  there  quickly." 

"Ah!"  Count  Hannibal  said.  In  the  darkness  it 
was  impossible  to  see  his  face  or  mark  how  he  took 
it.  "But  being  there,  I  have  few  men." 

"I  have  forty  will  come  at  call,"  she  cried  with 
pride.  "A  word  to  them,  and  in  four  hours  or  a  lit- 
tle more " 

"They  would  outnumber  mine  by  four  to  one," 
Count  Hannibal  answered  coldly,  drily,  in  a  voice 
like  ice-water  flung  in  their  faces.  "Thank  you, 
madame ;  I  understand.  To  Vrillac  is  no  long  ride ; 


THE  OEDEAL  BY  STEEL. 

but  we  will  not  ride  it  at  present. "  And  he  turned 
sharply  on  his  heel  aud  strode  from  them. 

He  had  not  covered  thirty  paces  before  she  over- 
took him  in  the  middle  of  a  broad  patch  of  moonlight 
and  touched  his  arm.  He  wheeled  swiftly,  his  hand 
half-way  to  his  hilt.  Then  he  saw  who  it  was. 
"Ah,"  he  said,  "I  had  forgotten,  madaine.  You 
have  come " 

"Jfo!"  she  cried  passionately;  and  standing  before 
him  she  shook  back  the  hood  of  her  cloak  that  he 
might  look  into  her  eyes.  "You  owe  me  no  blow 
to-day.  You  have  paid  me,  monsieur.  You  have 
struck  me  already,  and  foully,  like  a  coward.  Do 
you  remember,"  she  continued  rapidly,  "the  hour 
after  our  marriage,  and  what  you  said  to  me?  Do 
you  remember  what  you  told  me?  And  whom  to 
trust  and  whom  to  suspect,  where  lay  our  interest 
and  where  our  foes'  ?  You  trusted  me  then !  What 
have  I  done  that  you  now  dare — ay,  dare,  monsieur, " 
she  repeated  fearlessly,  her  face  pale  and  her  eyes 
glittering  with  excitement,  "to  insult  me?  That  you 
treat  me  as — Javette?  That  you  deem  me  capable  of 
that?  Of  luring  you  into  a  trap,  and  in  my  own 
house,  or  the  house  that  was  mine,  of " 

"  Treating  me  as  I  have  treated  others. " 

"You  have  said  it !  "  she  cried.  She  could  not  her- 
self understand  why  his  distrust  had  wounded  her 
so  sharply,  so  home,  that  all  fear  of  him  was  gone. 
11  You  have  said  it,  and  put  that  between  us  which 
will  not  be  removed.  I  could  have  forgiven  blows," 
she  continued,  breathless  in  her  excitement,  "so  you 
had  thought  me  what  I  am.  But  now  you  will  do 
well  to  watch  me!  You  will  do  well  to  leave  Vrillac 
on  one  side.  For  were  you  there,  and  raised  your 
23 


354  COUNT   HANNIBAL. 

hand  against  me — not  that  that  touches  me,  but  it 
will  do — and  there  are  those,  I  tell  you,  would  fling 
you  from  the  tower  at  my  word." 

"Indeed?" 

"Ay,  indeed  1     And  indeed,  monsieur!" 

Her  face  was  in  moonlight,  his  was  in  shadow. 

"And  this  is  your  new  tone,  madame,  is  it  I"  he 
said,  slowly  and  after  a  pregnant  pause.  "The  cross- 
ing of  a  river  has  wrought  so  great  a  change  in 
you?" 

"No! "  she  cried. 

"Yes, "he  said.  And  despite  herself  she  flinched 
before  the  grimness  of  his  tone.  "You  have  yet  to 
learn  one  thing,  however:  that  I  do  not  change. 
That,  north  or  south,  I  am  the  same  to  those  who  are 
the  same  to  me.  That  what  I  have  won  on  the  one 
bank  I  will  hold  on  the  other,  in  the  teeth  of  all,  and 
though  God's  Church  be  thundering  on  my  heels! 
I  go  to  Vrillac " 

"You— go?  "  she  cried.     "You  go? " 

"I  go,"  he  repeated,  "to-morrow.  And  among 
your  own  people  I  will  see  what  language  you  will 
hold.  While  you  were  in  my  power  I  spared  you. 
Now  that  you  are  in  your  own  land,  now  that  you  lift 
your  hand  against  me,  I  will  show  you  of  what  make 
I  am.  If  blows  will  not  tame  you,  I  will  try  that  will 
suit  you  less.  Ay,  you  wince,  madame!  You  had 
done  well  had  you  thought  twice  before  you  threat- 
ened, and  thrice  before  you  took  in  hand  to  scare 
Tavanues  with  a  parcel  of  clowns  and  fisherfolk.  To- 
morrow, to  Vrillac  and  your  duty!  And  one  word 
more,  madame,"  he  continued,  turning  back  to  her 
truculently  when  he  had  gone  some  paces  from  her. 
"  If  I  find  you  plotting  with  your  lover  by  the  way  I 


THE  ORDEAL   BY   STEEL.  355 

will  hang  not  you,  but  him.  I  have  spared  him  a 
score  of  times ;  but  I  know  him,  and  I  do  not  trust 
him." 

"Nor  me,"  she  said,  and  with  a  white,  set  face  she 
looked  at  him  in  the  moonlight.  "Had  you  not  bet- 
ter hang  me  now1? " 

"Why?" 

"  Lest  I  do  you  an  injury ! "  she  cried  with  passion  ; 
and  she  raised  her  hand  and  pointed  northward. 
"Lest  I  kill  you  some  night,  monsieur!  I  tell  you,  a 
thousand  men  on  your  heels  are  less  dangerous  than 
the  woman  at  your  side — if  she  hate  you." 

"Is  it  so?"  he  cried.  His  hand  flew  to  his  hilt; 
his  dagger  flashed  out.  But  she  did  not  move,  did 
not  flinch,  only  she  set  her  teeth ;  and  her  eyes,  fasci- 
nated by  the  steel,  grew  wider. 

His  hand  sank  slowly.  He  held  the  weapon  to  her, 
hilt  foremost ;  she  took  it  mschanically.  "You  think 
yourself  brave  enough  to  kill  me,  do  you  ? "  he 
sneered.  "Then  take  this,  and  strike,  if  you  dare. 
Take  it — strike,  madame !  It  is  sharp,  and  my  arms 
are  open."  And  he  flung  them  wide,  standing  within 
a  pace  of  her.  "Here,  above  the  collar-b^ne,  is  the 
surest  for  a  weak  hand.  What,  afraid?"  he  contin- 
ued, as,  stiffly  clutching  the  weapon  which  he  had 
put  into  her  hand,  she  glared  at  him,  trembling  and 
astonished.  "Afraid,  and  a  Vrillac!  Afraid,  and 
'tis  but  one  blow!  See,  my  arms  are  open.  One 
blow  home,  and  you  will  never  lie  in  them.  Think 
of  that.  One  blow  home,  and  you  may  lie  in  his. 
Think  of  that!  Strike,  then,  madame,"  he  went  on, 
piling  taunt  on  taunt,  "if  you  dare,  and  if  you  hate 
me.  What,  still  afraid!  How  shall  I  give  yor 
heart?  Shall  I  strike  you?  It  will  not  be  the  first 


356  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

time  by  ten.  I  keep  count,  you  see,"  he  continued 
mockingly.  "Or  shall  I  kiss  you?  Ay,  that  may  do. 
And  it  will  not  be  against  your  will,  either,  for  you 
have  that  in  your  hand  will  save  you  in  an  instant. 

Even" — he  drew  a  foot  nearer — "now!  Even " 

And  he  stooped  until  his  lips  almost  touched  hers. 

She  sprang  back.  "Oh,  do  not!"  she  cried.  "Oh, 
do  not ! "  And,  dropping  the  dagger,  she  covered  her 
face  with  her  hands,  and  burst  into  weeping. 

He  stooped  coolly,  and,  after  groping  some  time 
for  the  poniard,  drew  it  from  the  leaves  among  which 
it  had  fallen.  He  put  it  into  the  sheath,  and  not 
until  he  had  done  that  did  he  speak.  Then  it  was 
with  a  sneer.  "I  have  no  need  to  fear  overmuch," 
he  said.  "You  are  a  poor  hater,  madame.  And 
poor  haters  make  poor  lovers.  'Tis  his  loss!  If  you 
will  not  strike  a  blow  for  him,  there  is  but  one  thing 
left.  Go,  dream  of  him ! " 

And  shrugging  his  shoulders  contemptuously  he 
turned  on  his  heel. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

THE  AMBUSH. 

THE  start  they  made  at  daybreak  was  gloomy  and  ill- 
omened,  through  one  of  those  white  mists  which  are 
blown  from  the  Atlantic  over  the  flat  lands  of  Western 
Poitou.  The  horses,  looming  gigantic  through  the 
fog,  winced  as  the  cold  harness  was  girded  on  them. 
The  men  hurried  to  and  fro  with  saddles  on  their 
heads,  and  stumbled  over  other  saddles,  and  swore 
savagely.  The  women  turned  mutinous  and  would 
not  rise;  or,  being  dragged  up  by  force,  shrieked 
wild  unfitting  words,  as  they  were  driven  to  the 
horses.  The  Countess  looked  on  and  listened,  and 
shuddered,  waiting  for  Carlat  to  set  her  on  her  horse. 
She  had  gone  during  the  last  three  weeks  through 
much  that  was  dreary,  much  that  was  hopeless ;  but 
the  chill  discomfort  of  this  forced  start,  with  tired 
horses  and  wailing  women,  would  have  darkened  the 
prospect  of  home  had  there  been  no  fear  or  threat  to 
cloud  it. 

He  whose  will  compelled  all  stood  a  little  apart  and 
watched  all,  silent  and  gloomy.  When  Badelon,  af- 
ter taking  his  orders  and  distributing  some  slices  of 
black  bread  to  be  eaten  in  the  saddle,  moved  off  at 
the  head  of  his  troop,  Count  Hannibal  remained  be- 
hind, attended  by  Bigot  and  the  eight  riders  who  had 
formed  the  rearguard  so  far.  He  had  not  approached 


358  COUNT   HANNIBAL. 

the  Countess  since  rising,  and  she  had  been  thankful 
for  it.  But  now,  as  she  moved  away,  she  looked  back 
and  saw  him  still  standing ;  she  marked  that  he  wore 
his  corselet,  and  in  one  of  those  revulsions  of  feeling 
—which  outrun  man's  reason — she  who  had  tossed  on 
her  couch  through  half  the  night,  in  passionate  revolt 
against  the  fate  before  her,  took  fire  at  his  neglect 
and  his  silence ;  she  resented  on  a  sudden  the  distance 
he  kept,  and  his  scorn  of  her.  Her  breast  heaved, 
her  colour  came,  involuntarily  she  checked  her  horse, 
as  if  she  would  return  to  him,  and  speak  to  him. 
Then  the  Carlats  and  the  others  closed  up  behind 
her,  Badelon's  monotonous  "Forward,  madanie,  en 
avant ! "  proclaimed  the  day's  journey  begun,  and  she 
saw  him  no  more. 

Nevertheless,  the  motionless  figure,  looming  Ho- 
meric through  the  fog,  with  gleams  of  wet  light  re- 
flected from  the  steel  about  it,  dwelt  long  in  her 
mind.  The  road  which  Badelon  followed,  slowly  at 
first,  and  with  greater  speed  as  the  horses  warmed  to 
their  work,  and  the  women,  sore  and  battered,  re- 
signed themselves  to  suffering,  wound  across  a  flat 
expanse  broken  by  a  few  hills.  These  were  little 
more  than  mounds,  and  for  the  most  part  were  veiled 
from  sight  by  the  low-lying  sea-mist,  through  which 
gnarled  and  stunted  oaks  rose  mysterious,  to  fade  as 
strangely.  Weird  trees  they  were,  with  branches  un- 
like those  of  this  world's  trees,  rising  in  a  grey  land 
without  horizon  or  limit,  through  which  our  travel- 
lers moved,  jaded  phantoms  in  a  clinging  nightmare. 
At  a  walk,  at  a  trot,  more  often  at  a  weary  jog, 
they  pushed  on  behind  Badelon's  humped  shoulders. 
Sometimes  the  fog  hung  so  thick  about  them  that  they 
saw  only  those  who  rose  and  fell  in  the  saddles  iuime- 


THE   AMBUSH.  359 

diately  before  them ;  sometimes  the  air  cleared  a  lit- 
tle, the  curtain  rolled  up  a  space,  and  for  a  minute  or 
two  they  discerned  stretches  of  unfertile  fields,  half- 
tilled  and  stony,  or  long  tracts  of  gorse  and  broom, 
with  here  and  there  a  thicket  of  dwarf  shrubs  or  a 
wood  of  wind-swept  pines.  Some  looked  and  saw 
these  things ;  more  rode  on  sulky  and  unseeing,  sup- 
porting impatiently  the  toils  of  a  flight  from  they 
knew  not  what. 

To  do  Tignonville  justice,  he  was  not  of  these.  On 
the  contrary,  he  seemed  to  be  in  a  better  temper  on 
this  day ;  and,  where  so  many  took  things  unheroieal- 
ly,  he  showed  to  advantage.  Avoiding  the  Countess 
and  riding  with  Carlat,  he  talked  and  laughed  with 
marked  cheerfulness ;  nor  did  he  ever  fail,  when  the 
mist  rose,  to  note  this  or  that  landmark,  and  confirm 
Badelon  in  the  way  he  was  going. 

"  We  shall  be  at  Lege  by  noon ! "  he  cried  more 
than  once,  "and  if  M.  le  Cornte  persists  in  his 
plan,  may  reach  Vrillac  by  late  sunset.  By  way  of 
Challaus!" 

And  always  Carlat  answered,  "Ay,  by  Challans, 
monsieur,  so  be  it !  " 

He  proved,  too,  so  far  right  in  his  prediction  that 
noon  saw  them  drag,  a  weary  train,  into  the  hamlet 
of  Le"ge,  where  the  road  from  Nantes  to  Olonne  runs 
southward  over  the  level  of  Poitou.  An  hour  later 
Count  Hannibal  rode  in  with  six  of  his  eight  men, 
and,  after  a  few  minutes'  parley  with  Badelou,  who 
was  scanning  the  horses,  he  called  Carlat  to  him. 
The  old  man  came. 

"Can  we  reach  Vrillac  to-night?  "  Count  Hannibal 
asked  curtly. 

"By  Challans,  my  lord,"  the  steward  answered,  "I 


360  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

think  we  can.  We  call  it  seven  hours'  riding  from 
here. " 

"And  that  route  is  the  shortest1? " 

"  In  time,  M.  le  Comte,  the  road  being  better. " 

Count  Hannibal  bent  his  brows.  "  And  the  othet 
way  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Is  by  Commequiers,  my  lord.  It  is  shorter  in  dis- 
tance. " 

"By  how  much!" 

"Two  leagues.  But  there  are  fordings  and  a  salt 
marsli ;  and  with  Madame  and  the  women " 

"It  would  be  longer? " 

The  steward  hesitated.  "I  think  so,"  he  said 
slowly,  his  eyes  wandering  to  the  grey  misty  land- 
scape, against  which  the  poor  hovels  of  the  village 
stood  out  naked  and  comfortless.  A  low  thicket  of 
oaks  sheltered  the  place  from  southwesterly  gales. 
On  the  other  three  sides  it  lay  open. 

"Very  good,"  Tavannes  said  curtly.  "Be  ready  to 
start  in  ten  minutes.  You  will  guide  us. " 

But  when  the  ten  minutes  had  elapsed  and  the 
party  were  ready  to  start,  to  the  astonishment  of  all 
the  steward  was  not  to  be  found.  To  peremptory 
calls  for  him  no  answer  came ;  and  a  hurried  search 
through  the  hamlet  proved  equally  fruitless.  The 
orP  v  person  who  had  seen  him  since  his  interview 
with  Tavannes  turned  out  to  be  M.  de  Tiguonville ; 
and  he  had  seen  him  mount  his  horse  five  minutes  be- 
fore, and  move  off — as  he  believed — by  the  Challans 
road. 

"Ahead  of  us!" 

"Yes,  M.  le  Comte,"  Tignonville  answered,  shading 
his  eyes  and  gazing  in  the  direction  of  the  fringe  of 
trees.  "  I  did  not  see  him  take  the  road,  but  he  was 


THE  AMBUSH.  361 

beside  the  north  end  of  the  wood  when  I  saw  him 
last.  Thereabouts!"  and  he  pointed  to  a  place  where 
the  Challans  road  wound  round  the  flank  of  the  wood. 
"When  we  are  beyond  that  point,  I  think  we  shall 
see  him. " 

Count  Hannibal  growled  a  word  in  his  beard,  and, 
turning  in  his  saddle,  looked  back  the  way  he  had 
come.  Half  a  mile  away,  two  or  three  dots  could  be 
seen  approaching  across  the  plain.  He  turned  again. 
"You  know  the  road?  "  he  said,  curtly  addressing  the 
young  man. 

"Perfectly.     As  well  as  Carlat." 

"Then  lead  the  way,  monsieur,  with  Badelon. 
And  spare  neither  whip  nor  spur.  There  will  be 
need  of  both,  if  we  would  lie  warm  to-night." 

Tiguonville  nodded  assent  and,  wheeling  his  horse, 
rode  to  the  head  of  the  party,  a  faint  smile  playing 
about  his  mouth.  A  moment,  and  the  main  body 
moved  off  behind  him,  leaving  Count  Hannibal  and 
six  men  to  cover  the  rear.  The  mist,  which  at  noon 
had  risen  for  an  hour  or  two,  was  closing  down  again, 
and  they  had  no  sooner  passed  clear  of  the  wood  than 
the  trees  faded  out  of  sight  behind  them.  It  was  not 
wonderful  that  they  could  not  see  Carlat.  Objects 
a  hundred  paces  from  them  were  completely  hidden. 

Trot,  trot!  Trot,  trot!  through  a.  grey  world  so 
featureless,  so  unreal  that  the  riders,  now  dozing  in 
the  saddle,  and  now  awaking,  seemed  to  themselves 
to  stand  still,  as  in  a  nightmare.  A  trot  and  then  a 
walk,  and  then  a  trot  again;  and  all  a  dozen  times 
repeated,  while  the  women  bumped  along  in  their 
wretched  saddles,  and  the  horses  stumbled,  and  the 
men  swore  at  them. 

Ha !  La  Garnache  at  last,  and  a  sharp  turn  south- 


362  COUNT   HANNIBAL. 

ward  to  Challaus.  The  Countess  raised  her  head, 
and  began  to  look  about  her.  There,  should  be  a 
church,  she  knew;  and  there,  the  old  ruined  tower 
built  by  wizards,  or  the  Carthaginians,  so  old  tradi- 
tion ran ;  and  there,  to  the  westward,  the  great  salt 
marshes  towards  Noirmoutier.  The  mist  hid  all,  but 
the  knowledge  that  they  were  there  set  her  heart  beat- 
ing, brought  tears  to  her  eyes,  and  lightened  the  long 
road  to  Challans. 

At  Challans  they  halted  half-an-hour,  and  washed 
out  the  horses'  mouths  with  water  and  a  little  guigno- 
let — the  spirit  of  the  country.  A  dose  of  the  cordial 
was  administered  to  the  women ;  and  a  little  after 
seven  they  began  the  last  stage  of  the  journey, 
through  a  landscape  which  even  the  mist  could  not 
veil  from  the  eyes  of  love.  There  rose  the  windmill 
of  Soullans !  There  the  old  dolmen,  beneath  which 
the  grey  wolf  that  ate  the  two  children  of  Tornic  had 
its  lair.  For  a  mile  back  they  had  been  treading  my 
lady's  laud ;  they  had  only  two  more  leagues  to  ride, 
and  one  of  those  was  crumbling  under  each  dogged 
footfall.  The  salt  flavour,  which  is  new  life  to  the 
shore-born,  was  in  the  fleecy  reek  which  floated  by 
them,  now  thinner,  now  more  opaque;  and  almost 
they  could  hear  the  dull  thunder  of  the  Biscay  waves 
falling  on  the  rocks. 

Tignonville  looked  back  at  her  and  smiled.  She 
caught  the  look ;  she  fancied  that  she  understood  it 
and  his  thoughts.  But  her  own  eyes  were  moist  at 
the  moment  with  tears,  and  what  his  said,  and  what 
there  was  of  strangeness  in  his  glance,  half -warning, 
half -exultant,  escaped  her.  For  there,  not  a  mile  be- 
fore them,  where  the  low  hills  about  the  fishing  vil- 
lage began  to  rise  from  the  dull  inland  level — hills 


THE   AMBUSH.  363 

green  on  the  laud  side,  bare  and  scarped  towards  the 
sea  and  the  island — she  espied  the  wayside  chapel  at 
which  the  nurse  of  her  early  childhood  had  told  her 
beads.  Where  it  stood,  the  road  from  Commequiers 
and  the  road  she  travelled  became  one :  a  short  mile 
thence,  after  winding  among  the  hillocks,  it  ran 
down  to  the  beach  and  the  causeway — and  to  her 
home. 

At  the  sight  she  bethought  herself  of  Carlat,  and 
calling  to  M.  de  Tiguouville  she  asked  him  what  he 
thought  of  the  steward's  continued  absence. 

"He  must  have  outpaced  us! "  he  answered  with  an 
odd  laugh. 

"  But  he  must  have  ridden  hard  to  do  that. " 

He  reined  back  to  her.  "  Say  nothing !  "  he  mut- 
tered under  his  breath.  "But  look  ahead,  madame, 
and  see  if  we  are  expected ! " 

"Expected?  How  can  we  be  expected?  "  she  cried. 
The  colour  rushed  into  her  face. 

He  put  his  finger  to  his  lip,  and  looked  warningly 
at  Badelon's  humped  shoulders,  jogging  up  and  down 
in  front  of  them.  Then,  stooping  towards  her,  in  a 
lower  tone,  "If  Carlat  has  arrived  before  us,  he  will 
have  told  then:, "  he  said. 

"  Have  told  them !  "  she  exclaimed. 

"He  came  by  the  other  road,  and  it  is  quicker." 

She  gazed  at  him  in  astonishment,  her  lips  parted ; 
and  slowly  she  comprehended,  and  her  eyes  grew 
hard.  "Then  why,"  she  said,  "did  you  say  it  was 
longer?  Had  we  been  overtaken,  monsieur,  we  had 
had  you  to  thank  for  it,  it  seems ! " 

He  bit  his  lip.  "But  we  have  not  been  overtaken, " 
he  rejoined.  "On  the  contrary,  you  have  me  to 
thank  for  something  quite  different." 


364  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

"As  unwelcome,  perhaps!"  she  retorted.  "For 
what?" 

"Softly,  madame." 

"For  what?"  she  repeated,  refusing  to  lower  her 
voice.  "Speak,  monsieur,  if  you  please."  He  had 
never  seen  her  look  at  him  in  that  way. 

"For  the  fact,"  he  answered,  stung  by  her  look 
and  tone,  "  that  when  you  arrive  you  will  find  your- 
self mistress  in  your  own  house !  Is  that  nothing  ?  " 

"  You  have  called  in  my  people  ?  " 

"  Carlat  has  done  so,  or  should  have, "  he  answered. 
"Henceforth,"  he  continued,  a  ring  of  exultation  in 
his  voice,  "it  will  go  hard  with  M.  le  Comte,  if  he 
does  not  treat  you  better  than  he  has  treated  you 
hitherto.  That  is  all !  " 

"You  mean  that  it  will  go  hard  with  him  in  any 
case  ?  "  she  cried,  her  bosom  rising  and  falling. 

"I  mean,  madame But  there  they  are!  Good 

Carlat !  Brave  Carlat !  He  has  done  well. " 

"Carlat?" 

"Ay,  there  they  are!  And  you  are  mistress  in 
your  own  land!  At  last  you  are  mistress,  and  you 
have  me  to  thank  for  it!  See ! "  And  heedless  in  his 
exultation  whether  Badelon  understood  or  not,  he 
pointed  to  a  place  before  them  where  the  road  wound 
between  two  low  hills.  Over  the  green  shoulder  of 
one  of  these,  a  dozen  bright  points  caught  and  reflect- 
ed the  last  evening  light;  while  as  he  spoke  a  man 
rose  to  his  feet  on  the  hill-side  above,  and  began  to 
make  signs  to  persons  below.  A  pennon,  too,  showed 
an  instant  over  the  shoulder,  fluttered,  and  was  gone. 

Badelou  looked  as  they  looked.  The  next  instant 
he  uttered  a  low  oath,  and  dragged  his  horse  across 
the  front  of  the  party.  "Pierre!"  he  cried  to  the 


THE  AMBUSH.  365 

man  on  his  left,  "Bide  for  your  life!  To  my  lord, 
and  tell  him  we  are  ambushed ! "  And  as  the  trained 
soldier  wheeled  about  and  spurred  away,  the  sacker 
of  Eome  turned  a  dark  scowling  face  on  Tignonville. 
"If  this  be  your  work,"  he  hissed,  "we  shall  thank 
you  for  it  in  hell !  For  it  is  where  most  of  us  will  lie 
to-night!  They  are  Montsoreau's  spears,  and  they 
have  those  with  them  are  worse  to  deal  with  than 
themselves ! "  Then  in  a  different  tone,  and  throwing 
off  all  disguise,  "Men  to  the  front!"  he  shouted. 
"And  you,  madame,  to  the  rear  quickly,  and  the 
women  with  you!  Now,  men,  forward,  and  draw! 
Steady !  Steady !  They  are  coming !  " 

There  was  an  instant  of  confusion,  disorder,  panic ; 
horses  jostling  one  another,  women  screaming  and 
clutching  at  men,  men  shaking  them  off  and  forcing 
their  way  to  the  van.  Fortunately  the  enemy  did  not 
fall  on  at  once,  as  Badelon  expected,  but  after  show- 
ing themselves  in  the  mouth  of  the  valley,  at  a  dis- 
tance of  three  hundred  paces,  hung  for  some  reason 
irresolute.  This  gave  Badelon  time  to  array  his  seven 
swords  in  front ;  but  real  resistance  was  out  of  the 
question,  as  he  knew.  And  to  none  seemed  less  in 
question  than  to  Tignonville. 

When  the  truth,  and  what  he  had  done,  broke  on 
the  young  man,  he  sat  a  moment  motionless  with  hor- 
ror. It  was  only  when  Badelon  had  twice  summoned 
him  with  opprobrious  words  that  he  awoke  to  the  re- 
lief of  action.  Even  after  that  he  hung  an  instant 
trying  to  meet  the  Countess's  eyes,  despair  in  his 
own ;  but  it  was  not  to  be.  She  had  turned  her  head, 
and  was  looking  back,  as  if  thence  only  and  not  from 
him  could  help  come.  It  was  not  to  him  she  turned ; 
and  he  saw  it,  and  the  justice  of  it.  And  silent, 


366  COUNT   HANNIBAL. 

grim,  more  formidable  even  than  old  Badelon,  the 
veteran  tighter,  who  knew  all  the  tricks  and  shifts  of 
the  melee,  he  spurred  to  the  flank  of  the  line. 

"Now,  steady!"  Badelon  cried  again,  seeing  that 
the  enemy  were  beginning  to  move.  "Steady!  Ha! 
Thank  God,  my  lord!  My  lord  is  coming!  Stand! 
Stand!" 

The  distant  sound  of  galloping  hoofs  had  reached 
his  ear  in  the  nick  of  time.  He  stood  in  his  stirrups 
and  looked  back.  Yes,  Count  Hannibal  was  coming, 
riding  a  dozen  paces  in  front  of  his  men.  The  odds 
were  still  desperate — for  he  brought  but  six — the  ene- 
my were  still  three  to  one.  But  the  thunder  of  his 
hoofs  as  he  came  up  checked  for  a  moment  the  ene- 
my's onset;  and  before  Moutsoreau's  people  got  start- 
ed again  Count  Hannibal  had  ridden  up  abreast  of 
the  women,  and  the  Countess,  looking  at  him,  knew 
that,  desperate  as  was  their  strait,  she  had  not  looked 
behind  in  vain.  The  glow  of  battle,  the  stress  of  the 
moment,  had  displaced  the  cloud  from  his  face ;  the 
joy  of  the  born  fighter  lightened  in  his  eye.  His 
voice  rang  clear  and  loud  above  the  press. 

"  Badelon !  wait  you  and  two  with  madame !  "  he 
cried.  "Follow  at  fifty  paces'  distance,  and,  when 
we  have  broken  them,  ride  through!  The  others  with 
me!  Now  forward,  men,  and  show  your  teeth!  A 
Tavannes!  A  Tavanues!  A  Tavannes!  We  carry 
it  yet ! " 

And  he  dashed  forward,  leading  them  on,  leaving 
the  women  behind ;  and  down  the  sward  to  meet  him, 
thundering  in  double  line,  came  Moutsoreau's  men- 
at-arms,  and  with  the  men-at-arms,  a  dozen  pale, 
fierce  eyed  men  in  the  Church's  black,  yelling  the 
Church's  curses.  Madame's  heart  grew  sick  as  she 


THE   AMBUSH.  36? 

heard,  as  she  waited,  as  she  judged  him  by  the  fast- 
failing  light  a  horse's  length  before  his  men — with 
only  Tignouville  beside  him. 

She  held  her  breath — would  the  shock  never  come? 
If  Badelou  had  not  seized  her  rein  and  forced  her 
forward,  she  would  not  have  moved.  And  then, 
even  as  she  moved,  they  met !  With  yells  and  wild 
cries  and  a  mare's  savage  scream,  the  two  bands 
crashed  together  in  a  huddle  of  fallen  or  rearing 
horses,  of  flickering  weapons,  of  thrusting  men,  of 
grapples  hand-to-hand.  What  happened,  what  was 
happening  to  anyone,  who  it  was  fell,  stabbed 
through  and  through  by  four,  or  who  were  those  who 
still  fought  single  combats,  twisting  round  one  an- 
other's horses,  those  on  her  right  and  on  her  left,  she 
could  not  tell.  For  Badelou  dragged  her  on  with 
whip  and  spur,  and  two  horsemen — who  obscured  her 
view — galloped  in  front  of  her,  and  rode  down  bodily 
the  only  man  who  undertook  to  bar  her  passage.  She 
had  a  glimpse  of  that  man's  face,  as  his  horse,  struck 
in  the  act  of  turning,  fell  sideways  on  him ;  and  she 
knew  it,  in  its  agony  of  terror,  though  she  had  seen  it 
but  once.  It  was  the  face  of  the  man  whose  eyes  had 
sought  hers  from  the  steps  of  the  church  in  Augers ; 
the  lean  man  in  black,  who  had  turned  soldier  of  the 
Church — to  his  misfortune. 

Through  ?  Yes,  through,  the  way  was  clear  before 
them!  The  fight  with  its  screams  and  curses  died 
away  behind  them.  The  horses  swayed  and  all  but 
sank  under  them.  But  Badelou  knew  it  no  time  for 
mercy ;  iron-shod  hoofs  rang  on  the  road  behind,  and 
at  any  moment  the  pursuers  might  be  on  their  heels. 
He  flogged  on  until  the  cots  of  the  hamlet  appeared 
on  either  side  of  the  way ;  on,  until  the  road  forked 


368  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

and  the  Countess  with  strange  readiness  cried  "The 
left ! "  on,  until  the  beach  appeared  below  them  at 
the  foot  of  a  sharp  pitch,  and  beyond  the  beach  the 
slow  heaving  grey  of  the  ocean. 

The  tide  was  high.  The  causeway  ran  through  it, 
a  mere  thread  lipped  by  the  darkling  waves,  and  at 
the  sight  a  grunt  of  relief  broke  from  Badelou.  For 
at  the  end  of  the  causeway,  black  against  the  western 
sky,  rose  the  gateway  and  towers  of  Vrillac ;  and  he 
saw  that,  as  the  Countess  had  said,  it  was  a  place  ten 
men  could  hold  against  ten  hundred ! 

They  stumbled  down  the  beach,  reached  the  cause- 
way and  trotted  along  it ;  more  slowly  now,  and  look- 
ing back.  The  other  women  had  followed  by  hook 
or  by  crook,  some  crying  hysterically,  yet  clinging  to 
their  horses  aud  even  urging  them ;  and  in  a  medley, 
the  causeway  clear  behind  them  and  no  one  following, 
they  reached  the  drawbridge,  and  passed  under  the 
arch  of  the  gate  beyond. 

There  friendly  hands,  Carlat's  foremost,  welcomed 
them  and  aided  them  to  alight,  and  the  Countess  saw, 
as  in  a  dream,  the  familiar  scene,  all  unfamiliar:  the 
gate,  where  she  had  played,  a  child,  aglow  with  lan- 
tern-light and  arms.  Men,  whose  rugged  faces  she 
had  known  in  infancy,  stood  at  the  drawbridge  chains 
and  at  the  winches.  Others  blew  matches  and  han- 
dled primers,  while  old  servants  crowded  round  her, 
and  women  looked  at  her,  scared  and  weeping.  She 
saw  it  all  at  a  glance — the  lights,  the  black  shadows, 
the  sudden  glow  of  a  match  on  the  groining  of  the 
arch  above.  She  saw  it,  and  turning  swiftly,  looked 
back  the  way  she  had  come ;  along  the  dusky  cause- 
way to  the  low,  dark  shore,  which  night  was  stealing 
quickly  from  their  eyes.  She  clasped  her  hands. 


THE  AMBUSH.  360 

"Where  is  Badelon? "  she  cried.  "Where  is  hel " 
Where  is  he?" 

One  of  the  men  who  had  ridden  before  her  an- 
swered that  he  had  turned  back. 

"Turned  back!  "  she  repeated.  And  then,  shading 
her  eyes,  "Who  is  coming1?"  she  asked,  her  voice  in- 
sistent. "There  is  someone  coming.  Who  is  it? 
Who  is  it?" 

Two  were  coming  out  of  the  gloom,  travelling 
slowly  and  painfully  along  the  causeway.  One  was 
La  Tribe,  limping ;  the  other  a  rider,  slashed  across 
the  forehead,  and  sobbing  curses. 

"No  more ! "  she  muttered.     "Are  there  no  more?  " 

The  minister  shook  his  head.  The  rider  wiped  the 
blood  from  his  eyes,  and  turned  up  his  face  that  he 
might  see  the  better.  But  he  seemed  to  be  dazed, 
and  only  babbled  strange  words  in  a  strange  patois. 

She  stamped  her  foot  in  passion.  "More  lights!" 
she  cried.  "Lights!  How  can  they  find  their  way? 
And  let  six  men  go  down  the  digue,  and  meet  them. 
Will  you  let  them  be  butchered  between  the  shore 
and  this?" 

But  Carlat,  who  had  not  been  able  to  collect  more 
than  a  dozen  men,  shook  his  head;  and  before  she 
could  repeat  the  order,  sounds  of  battle,  shrill,  faint, 
like  cries  of  hungry  seagulls,  pierced  the  darkness 
which  shrouded  the  farther  end  of  the  causeway. 
The  women  shrank  inward  over  the  threshold,  while 
Carlat  cried  to  the  men  at  the  chains  to  be  ready,  and 
to  some  who  stood  at  loopholes  above,  to  blow  up 
their  matches  and  let  fly  at  his  word.  And  then  they 
all  waited,  the  Countess  foremost,  peering  eagerly 
into  the  growing  darkness.  They  could  see  nothing. 

A  distant  scuffle,  an  oath,  a  cry,  silence  I  The 
24 


370  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

same,  a  little  nearer,  a  little  louder,  followed  this 
time,  not  by  silence,  but  by  the  slow  tread  of  a  limp- 
ing horse.  Again  a  rush  of  feet,  the  clash  of  steel,  a 
scream,  a  laugh,  all  weird  and  unreal,  issuing  from 
the  night;  then  out  of  the  darkness  into  the  light, 
stepping  slowly  with  hanging  head,  moved  a  horse, 
bearing  on  its  back  a  man — or  was  it  a  man  ! — bend- 
ing low  in  the  saddle,  his  feet  swinging  loose.  For 
an  instant  the  horse  and  the  man  seemed  to  be  alone, 
a  ghostly  pair ;  then  at  their  heels  came  into  view  two 
figures,  skirmishing  this  way  and  that ;  and  now  com- 
ing nearer,  and  now  darting  back  into  the  gloom. 
One,  a  squat  figure,  stooping  low,  wielded  a  sword 
with  two  hands ;  the  other  covered  him  with  a  half - 
pike.  And  then  beyond  these — abruptly  as  it  seemed 
— the  night  gave  up  to  sight  a  swarm  of  dark  figures 
pressing  on  them  and  after  them,  driving  them  before 
them. 

Carlat  had  an  inspiration.  "  Fire !  "  he  cried ;  and 
four  arquebuses  poured  a  score  of  slugs  into  the  knot 
of  pursuers.  A  man  fell,  another  shrieked  and  stum- 
bled, the  rest  gave  back.  Only  the  horse  came  on 
spectrally,  with  hanging  head  and  shining  eyeballs, 
until  a  man  ran  out  and  seized  its  head,  and  dragged 
it,  more  by  his  strength  than  its  own,  over  the  draw- 
bridge. After  it  Badelon,  with  a  gaping  wound  in 
his  knee,  and  Bigot,  bleeding  from  a  dozen  hurts, 
walked  over  the  bridge,  and  stood  on  either  side  of 
the  saddle,  smiling  foolishly  at  the  man  on  the  horse. 

"Leave  me!"  he  muttered.  "Leave  me!"  He 
made  a  feeble  movement  with  his  hand,  as  if  it  held 
a  weapon ;  then  his  head  sank  lower.  It  was  Count 
Hannibal.  His  thigh  was  broken,  and  there  was  a 
lance-head  in  his  arm. 


THE  AMBUSH.  371 

The  Countess  looked  at  him,  then  beyond  him,  past 
him  into  the  darkness.  "  Are  there  no  more  ?  "  she 
whispered  tremulously.  "No  more?  Tignonville — 
my 

Badelon  shook  his  head.  The  Countess  covered 
her  face  and 


CHAPTER  XXXI  v. 

WHICH  WILL   YOU,    MADAME? 

IT  was  in  the  grey  dawning  of  the  next  day,  at  the 
hour  before  the  sun  rose,  that  word  of  M.  de  Tignon- 
ville's  fate  came  to  them  in  the  castle.  The  fog 
which  had  masked  the  van  and  coming  of  night  hung 
thick  on  its  retreating  skirts,  and  only  reluctantly 
and  little  by  little  gave  up  to  sight  and  daylight  a 
certain  thing  which  night  had  left  at  the  end  of  the 
causeway.  The  first  man  to  see  it  was  Carlat,  from 
the  roof  of  the  gateway ;  and  he  rubbed  eyes  weary 
with  watching,  and  peered  anew  at  it  through  the 
mist,  fancying  himself  back  in  the  Place  Ste.  -Croix 
at  Angers,  supposing  for  a  wild  moment  the  journey 
a  dream,  and  the  return  a  nightmare.  But  rub  as  he 
might,  and  stare  as  he  might,  the  ugly  outlines  of  the 
thing  he  had  seen  persisted— nay,  grew  sharper  as  the 
haze  began  to  lift  from  the  grey,  slow-heaving  floor 
of  sea.  He  called  another  man  and  bade  him  look. 
"What  is  it?"  he  said.  "D'you  see,  there?  Below 
the  village?" 

"'Tisa  gibbet,"  the  man  answered,  with  a  foolish 
laugh;  they  had  watched  all  night.  "God  keep  us 
from  it." 

"A  gibbet?" 

"Ay!" 

"But  what  is  it  for?    What  is  it  doing  there? " 


WHICH  WILL  YOU,    MADAME?        373 

"  It  is  there  to  hang  those  they  have  taken,  very 
like,"  the  man  answered,  stupidly  practical.  And 
then  other  men  came  up,  and  stared  at  it  and  growled 
in  their  beards.  Presently  there  were  eight  or  ten  on 
the  roof  of  the  gateway  looking  towards  the  laud  and 
discussing  the  thing ;  and  by-and-by  a  man  was  de- 
scried approaching  along  the  causeway  with  a  white 
flag  in  his  hand. 

At  that  Carlat  bade  one  fetch  the  minister.  "He 
understands  things,"  he  muttered,  "and  I  misdoubt 
this.  And  see, "  he  cried  after  the  messenger,  "  that 
no  word  of  it  come  to  Mademoiselle ! "  Instinctively 
in  the  maiden  home  he  reverted  to  the  maiden  title. 

The  messenger  went,  and  came  again  bringing  La 
Tribe,  whose  head  rose  above  the  staircase  at  the  mo- 
ment the  envoy  below  came  to  a  halt  before  the  gate. 
Carlat  signed  to  the  minister  to  come  forward ;  and 
La  Tribe,  after  sniffing  the  salt  air,  and  glancing  at 
the  long,  low,  misty  shore  and  the  stiff  ugly  shape 
which  stood  at  the  end  of  the  causeway,  looked  down 
and  met  the  envoy's  eyes.  For  a  moment  no  one 
spoke.  Only  the  men  who  had  remained  on  the 
gateway,  and  had  watched  the  stranger's  corning, 
breathed  hard. 

At  last,  "I  bear  a  message,"  the  man  announced 
loudly  and  clearly,  "for  the  lady  of  Vrillac.  Is  she 
present  ? " 

"Give  your  message! "  La  Tribe  replied. 

"It  is  for  her  ears  only." 

"Do  you  want  to  enter?  " 

"  No ! "  The  man  answered  so  hurriedly  that  more 
than  one  smiled.  He  had  the  bearing  of  a  lay  clerk 
of  some  precinct,  a  verger  or  sacristan ;  and  after  a 
fashion  the  dress  of  one  also,  for  he  was  in  dusty 


374  COUNT   HANNIBAL. 

black  arid  wore  no  sword,  though  he  was  girded  with 
a  belt.  "No!"  he  repeated,  "but  if  Madame  will 
come  to  the  gate,  and  speak  to  me — 

"Madame  has  other  fish  to  fry,"  Carlat  blurted  out. 
"  Do  you  think  that  she  has  naught  to  do  but  listen  to 
messages  from  a  gang  of  bandits  ?  " 

"If  she  does  not  listen  she  will  repent  it  all  her 
life !  "  the  fellow  answered  hardily.  "That  is  part  of 
my  message." 

There  was  a  pause  while  La  Tribe  considered  the 
matter.  In  the  end,  "From  whom  do  you  come?  "  he 
asked. 

"From  His  Excellency  the  Lieutenant-Governor  of 
Saunmr, "  the  envoy  answered  glibly,  "and  from  my 
lord  Bishop  of  Angers,  him  assisting  by  his  Vicar; 
and  from  others  gathered  lawfully,  who  will  as  law- 
fully depart  if  their  terms  are  accepted.  Also  from 
M.  de  Tiguonville,  a  gentleman,  I  am  told,  of  these 
parts,  now  in  their  hands  and  adjudged  to  die  at  sun- 
set this  day  if  the  terms  I  bring  be  not  accepted. " 

There  was  a  long  silence  on  the  gate.  The  men 
looked  down  fixedly;  not  a  feature  of  one  of  them 
moved,  for  no  one  was  surprised.  "Wherefore  is  he 
to  die !  "  La  Tribe  asked  at  last. 

"For  good  cause  shown." 

"Wherefore?" 

"He  is  a  Huguenot." 

The  minister  nodded.  "And  the  terms!"  Carlat 
muttered. 

"Ay,  the  terms!"  La  Tribe  repeated,  nodding 
afresh.  "  What  are  they  ?  " 

"They  are  for  rnadame's  ear  only,"  the  messenger 
made  answer. 

"Then  they  will  not  reach  it!  "  Carlat  broke  forth 


WHICH   WILL  YOU,    MADAME?         375 

in  wrath.  "So  much  for  that!  And  for  yourself, 
see  you  go  quickly  before  we  make  a  target  of  you ! " 

"Very  well,  I  go,"  the  envoy  answered  sullenly. 
"But— 

"But  what?"  La  Tribe  cried,  gripping  Carlat's 
shoulder  to  quiet  him.  "But  what!  Say  what  you 
have  to  say,  man!  Speak  out,  and  have  done  with 
it!" 

"I  will  say  it  to  her  and  to  no  other." 

"Then  you  will  not  say  it!"  Carlat  cried  again. 
"For  you  will  not  see  her.  So  you  may  go.  And 
the  black  fever  in  your  vitals. " 

"  Ay,  go !  "  La  Tribe  added  more  quietly. 

The  man  turned  away  with  a  shrug  of  the  shoul- 
ders, and  moved  off  a  dozen  paces,  watched  by  all  on 
the  gate  with  the  same  fixed  attention.  But  present- 
ly he  paused;  he  returned.  "Very  well,"  he  said, 
looking  up  with  an  ill  grace.  "  I  will  do  my  office 
here,  if  I  cannot  come  to  her.  But  I  hold  also  a  let- 
ter from  M.  de  Tignpnville,  and  that  I  can  deliver  to 
no  other  hands  than  hers ! "  He  held  it  up  as  he 
spoke,  a  thin  scrap  of  greyish  paper,  the  fly-leaf  of  a 
missal  perhaps.  "  See ! "  he  continued,  "  and  take  no- 
tice !  If  she  does  not  get  this,  and  learns  when  it  is 
too  late  that  it  was  offered — 

"The  terms,"  Carlat  growled  impatiently.  "The 
terms !  Come  to  them !  " 

"You  will  have  them?"  the  man  answered,  ner- 
vously passing  his  tongue  over  his  lips.  "You  will 
not  let  me  see  her,  or  speak  to  her  privately? " 

"No." 

"Then  hear  them.  His  Excellency  is  informed 
that  one  Hannibal  de  Tavannes,  guilty  of  the  detesta- 
ble crime  of  sacrilege  and  of  other  gross  crimes,  has 


376  COUNT   HANNIBAL. 

taken  refuge  here.  He  requires  that  the  said  Hanni- 
bal de  Tavannes  be  handed  to  him  for  punishment, 
and,  this  being  done  before  sunset  this  evening,  he 
will  yield  to  you  free  and  uninjured  the  said  M.  de 
Tignonyille,  and  will  retire  from  the  lands  of  Vrillac. 
But  if  you  refuse  " — the  man  passed  his  eye  along  the 
line  of  attentive  faces  which  fringed  the  battlement — 
"he  will  at  sunset  hang  the  said  Tignonville  on  the 
gallows  raised  for  Tavannes,  and  will  harry  the  de- 
mesne of  Vrillac  to  its  farthest  border !  " 

There  was  a  long  silence  on  the  gate.  Some,  their 
gaze  still  fixed  on  him,  moved  their  lips  as  if  they 
chewed.  Others  looked  aside,  met  their  fellows'  eyes 
in  a  pregnant  glance,  and  slowly  returned  to  him. 
But  no  one  spoke.  At  his  back  the  flush  of  dawn 
was  flooding  the  east,  and  spreading  and  waxing 
brighter.  The  air  was  growing  warm ;  the  shore  be- 
low, from  grey,  was  turning  green.  In  a  minute  or 
two  the  sun,  whose  glowing  marge  already  peeped 
above  the  low  hills  of  France,  would  top  the  horizon. 

The  man,  getting  no  answer,  shifted  his  feet  uneas- 
ily. ','  Well,"  he  cried,  "what  answer  am  I  to  take?  " 

Still  no  one  moved. 

"I've  done  my  part.  Will  no  one  give  her  the  let- 
ter ?  "  he  cried.  And  he  held  it  up.  "  Give  me  my 
answer,  for  I  am  going. " 

"  Take  the  letter ! "  The  words  came  from  the  rear 
of  the  group  in  a  voice  that  startled  all.  They 
turned  as  though  some  one  had  struck  them,  and  saw 
the  Countess  standing  beside  the  wooden  hood  which 
covered  the  stairs.  They  guessed  that  she  had  heard 
all  or  nearly  all ;  but  the  glory  of  the  sunrise,  shining 
full  on  her  at  that  moment,  lent  a  false  warmth  to 
her  face,  and  life  to  eyes  wofully  and  tragically  set. 


WHICH  WILL  YOU,    MADAME?         377 

It  was  not  easy  to  say  whether  she  had  heard  or  not. 
"Take  the  letter,"  she  repeated. 

Carlat  looked  helplessly  over  the  parapet. 

"Go  down!" 

He  cast  a  glance  at  La  Tribe,  but  he  got  none  in 
return,  and  he  was  preparing  to  do  her  bidding  when 
a  cry  of  dismay  broke  from  those  who  still  had  their 
eyes  bent  downwards.  The  messenger,  waving  the 
letter  in  a  last  appeal,  had  held  it  too  loosely ;  a  light 
air,  as  treacherous  as  unexpected,  had  snatched  it 
from  his  hand,  and  bore  it — even  as  the  Countess, 
drawn  by  the  cry,  sprang  to  the  parapet — fifty  paces 
from  him.  A  moment  it  floated  in  the  air,  eddying, 
rising,  falling ;  then,  light  as  thistle-down,  it  touched 
the  water  and  began  to  sink. 

The  messenger  uttered  frantic  lamentations,  and 
stamped  the  causeway  in  his  rage.  The  Countess 
only  looked,  and  looked,  until  the  rippling  crest  of  a 
baby  wave  broke  over  the  tiny  venture,  and  with  its 
freight  of  tidings  it  sank  from  sight. 

The  man,  silent  now,  stared  a  moment,  then 
shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  Well,  'tis  fortunate  it  was 
his, "he  cried  brutally,  "and  not  His  Excellency's, 
or  my  back  had  suffered!  And  now,"  he  added  im- 
patiently, "by  your  leave,  what  answer?" 

What  answer?  Ah,  God,  what  answer?  The  men 
who  leant  on  the  parapet,  rude  and  coarse  as  they 
were,  felt  the  tragedy  of  the  question  and  the  dilem- 
ma, guessed  what  they  meant  to  her,  and  looked 
everywhere  save  at  her.  What  answer?  Which  of 
the  two  was  to  live?  Which  die — shamefully! 
Which?  Which? 

"Tell  him — to  come  back — an  hour  before  sunset, n 
she  muttered. 


378  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

They  told  him  and  lie  went ;  and  one  by  one  the 
men  began  to  go  too,  and  stole  from  the  roof,  leaving 
her  standing  alone,  her  face  to  the  shore,  her  hands 
resting  on  the  parapet.  The  light  breeze  which  blew 
off  the  laud  stirred  loose  ringlets  of  her  hair,  and  flat- 
tened the  thin  robe  against  her  sunlit  figure.  So  had 
she  stood  a  thousand  times  in  old  days,  in  her  youth, 
in  her  maidenhood.  So  in  her  father's  time  had  she 
stood  to  see  her  lover  come  riding  along  the  sands  to 
woo  her !  So  had  she  stood  to  welcome  him  on  the 
eve  of  that  fatal  journey  to  Paris!  Thence  had  oth- 
ers watched  her  go  with  him.  The  men  remembered 
— remembered  all ;  and  one  by  one  they  stole  shame- 
facedly away,  fearing  lest  she  should  speak  or  turn 
tragic  eyes  on  them. 

True,  in  their  pity  for  her  was  no  doubt  of  the 
end,  or  thought  of  the  victim  who  must  suffer — of 
Tavannes.  They,  of  Poitou,  who  had  not  been  with 
him,  knew  nothing  of  him ;  they  cared  as  little.  He 
was  a  northern  man,  a  stranger,  a  man  of  the  sword, 
who  had  seized  her — so  they  heard — by  the  sword. 
But  they  saw  that  the  burden  of  choice  was  laid  on 
her ;  there,  in  her  sight  and  in  theirs,  rose  the  gibbet ; 
and,  clowns  as  they  were,  they  discerned  the  tragedy 
of  her  role,  play  it  as  she  might,  and  though  her  act 
gave  life  to  her  lover. 

When  all  had  retired  save  three  or  four,  she  turned 
and  saw  these  gathered  at  the  head  of  the  stairs  in  a 
ring  about  Carlat,  who  was  addressing  them  in  a  low 
eager  voice.  She  could  not  catch  a  syllable,  but  a 
look  hard,  and  almost  cruel,  flashed  into  her  eyes  as 
she  gazed;  and  raising  her  voice  she  called  the  stew- 
ard to  her.  "The  bridge  is  up,"  she  said,  her  tone 
hard,  "but  the  gates'?  Are  they  locked? " 


WHICH    WILL  YOU,    MADAME?         379 

"Yes,  Madame." 

"The  wicket?" 

"  Xo,  not  the  wicket. "  And  Carlat  looked  another 
way. 

"Then  go,  lock  it,  and  bring  the  keys  to  me!"  she 
replied.  "  Or  stay ! "  Her  voice  grew  harder,  her 
eyes  spiteful  as  a  cat's.  "Stay,  and  be  warned  that 
you  play  me  no  tricks!  Do  you  hear?  Do  you  un- 
derstand ?  Or  old  as  you  are,  and  long  as  you  have 
served  us,  I  will  have  you  thrown  from  this  tower, 
with  as  little  pity  as  Isabeau  flung  her  gallants  to  the 
fishes.  I  am  still  mistress  here,  never  more  mistress 
than  this  day.  Woe  to  you  if  you  forget  it." 

He  blenched  and  cringed  before  her,  muttering  in- 
coherently. 

"I  know,"  she  said,  "I  read  you!  And  now  the 
keys.  Go,  bring  them  to  me !  And  if  by  chance  I 
find  the  wicket  unlocked  when  I  come  down,  pray, 
Carlat,  pray!  For  you  will  have  need  of  prayers." 

He  slunk  away,  the  men  with  him ;  and  she  fell  to 
pacing  the  roof  feverishly.  Kow  and  then  she  ex- 
tended her  arms,  and  low  cries  broke  from  her,  as 
from  a  dumb  creature  in  pain.  Wherever  she  looked, 
old  memories  rose  up  to  torment  her  and  redouble 
her  misery.  A  thing  she  could  have  borne  in  the 
outer  world,  a  thing  which  might  have  seemed  tolera- 
ble in  the  reeking  air  of  Paris  or  in  the  gloomy  streets 
of  Angers,  wore  here  its  most  appalling  aspect. 
Henceforth,  whatever  choice  she  made,  this  home, 
where  even  in  those  troublous  times  she  had  known 
naught  but  peace,  must  bear  a  damning  stain! 
Henceforth  this  day  and  this  hour  must  come  be- 
tween her  and  happiness,  must  brand  her  brow,  and 
fix  her  with  a  deed  of  which  men  and  women  would 


380  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

tell  while  she  lived!  Oh,  God — pray?  Who  said, 
pray? 

"I! "  And  La  Tribe  with  tears  in  his  eyes  held  out 
the  keys  to  her.  "I,  madame,"  he  continued  solemn- 
ly, his  voice  broken  with  emotion.  "For  in  man  is 
no  help.  The  strongest  man,  he  who  rode  yesterday 
a  master  of  men,  a  very  man  of  war  in  his  pride  and 
his  valour  —see  him  now,  and " 

"  Don't  I"  she  cried,  sharp  pain  in  her  voice. 
"Don't!  "  And  she  stopped  him  with  her  hand,  her 
face  averted.  After  an  interval,  "You  come  from 
him  ?  "  she  muttered  faintly. 

"Yes." 

"Is  he — hurt  to  death,  think  you?"  She  spoke 
.low,  and  kept  her  face  hidden  from  him. 

"  Alas,  no !  "  he  answered,  speaking  the  thought  in 
his  heart.  "The  men  who  are  with  him  seem  confi- 
dent of  his  recovery." 

"Do  they  know?" 

"  Badelon  has  had  experience. " 

"No,  no.  Do  they  know  of  this?"  she  cried.  "Of 
this !  "  And  she  pointed  with  a  gesture  of  loathing  to 
the  black  gibbet  on  the  farther  strand. 

He  shook  his  head.  "I  think  not,"  he  muttered. 
And  after  a  moment,  "God  help  you!"  he  added  fer- 
vently. "God  help  and  guide  you,  madame!  " 

She  turned  on  him  suddenly,  fiercely.  "Is  that  all 
you  can  do?"  she  cried.  "Is  that  all  the  help  you 
can  give  1  You  are  a  man.  Go  down,  lead  them  out ; 
drive  off  these  cowards  who  drain  our  life's  blood, 
who  trade  on  a  woman's  heart !  On  them !  Do  some- 
thing, anything,  rather  than  lie  in  safety  here — 
here!" 

The  minister  shook  his  head  sadly.     "Alas,  ma- 


WHICH  WILL  YOU,    MADAME!       381 

dame!"  he  said,  "to  sally  were  to  waste  life.  They 
outnumber  us  three  to  one.  If  Count  Hannibal  could 
do  no  more  than  break  through  last  night,  with 
scarce  a  man  unwouuded " 

"He  had  the  women! " 

"And  we  have  not  him ! " 

"He  would  not  have  left  us!"  she  cried  hysteri- 
cally. 

"I  believe  it." 

"Had  they  taken  me,  do  you  think  he  would  have 
lain  behind  walls  ?  Or  skulked  in  safety  here,  while — 
while "  Her  voice  failed  her. 

He  shook  his  head  despondently. 

"And  that  is  all  you  can  do?"  she  cried,  and 
turned  from  him,  and  to  him  again,  extending  her 
arms,  in  bitter  scorn.  "All  you  will  do1?  Do  you 
forget  that  twice  he  spared  your  life  ?  That  in  Paris 
once,  and  once  in  Angers,  he  held  his  hand?  That 
always,  whether  he  stood  or  whether  he  fled,  he  held 
himself  between  us  and  harm?  Ay,  always?  And 
who  will  now  raise  a  hand  for  him  ?  Who  ?  " 

"Madame!" 

"Who?  Who?  Had  he  died  in  the  field,"  she 
continued,  her  voice  shaking  with  grief,  her  hands 
beating  the  parapet — for  she  had  turned  from  him — 
"  had  he  fallen  where  he  rode  last  night,  in  the  front, 
with  his  face  to  the  foe,  I  had  viewed  him  tearless,  I 
had  deemed  him  happy !  I  had  prayed  dry-eyed  for 
him  who — who  spared  me  all  these  days  and  weeks ! 
Whom  I  robbed  and  he  forgave  me !  Whom  I  tempt- 
ed, and  he  forbore  me!  Ay,  and  who  spared  not 
once  or  twice  him  for  whom  he  must  now — he  must 

now "  And  unable  to  finish  the  sentence  she 

beat  her  hands  again  and  passionately  on  the  stones. 


382  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

"Heaven  knows,  madaine,"  the  minister  cried 
vehemently,  "  Heaven  knows,  I  would  advise  you  if 
I  could." 

"  Why  did  he  wear  his  corselet  ? "  she  wailed,  as  if 
she  had  nob  heard  him.  "  Was  there  no  spear  could 
reach  his  breast,  that  he  must  come  to  this?  No  foe 
so  gentle  he  would  spare  him  this?  Or  why  did  lie 
not  die  with  me  in  Paris  when  we  waited1?  In  another 
minute  death  might  have  come  and  saved  us  this. " 

With  the  tears  running  down  his  face  he  tried  to 
comfort  her.  "Man  that  is  a  shadow,"  he  said, 
"passethaway — what  matter  how?  A  little  while,  a 
very  little  while,  and  we  shall  pass ! " 

"  With  his  curse  upon  us ! "  she  cried.  And, 
shuddering,  she  pressed  her  hands  to  her  eyes  to  shut 
out  the  sight  her  fancy  pictured. 

He  left  her  for  a  while,  hoping  that  in  solitude  she 
might  regain  control  of  herself.  When  he  returned 
he  found  her  seated,  and  outwardly  more  composed, 
her  arms  resting  on  the  parapet-wall,  her  eyes  bent 
steadily  on  the  long  stretch  of  hard  sand  which  ran 
northward  from  the  village.  By  that  route  her  lover 
had  many  a  time  come  to  her ;  there  she  had  ridden 
with  him  in  the  early  days ;  and  that  way  they  had 
started  for  Paris  on  such  a  morning  and  at  such  an 
hour  as  this,  with  sunshine  about  them,  and  larks 
singing  hope  above  the  sand-dunes,  and  warm  wave- 
lets creaming  to  the  horses'  hoofs ! 

Of  all  which,  La  Tribe,  a  stranger,  knew  nothing. 
The  rapt  gaze,  the  unchanging  attitude  only  con- 
firmed his  opinion  of  the  course  she  would  adopt. 
He  was  thankful  to  find  her  more  composed ;  and  in 
fear  of  such  a  scene  as  had  already  passed  between 
them  he  stole  away  again.  He  returned  by-and-by, 


WHICH   WILL  YOU,    MADAME?         383 

but  with  the  greatest  reluctance,  and  only  because 
Carlat's  urgency  would  take  no  refusal. 

He  came  this  time  to  crave  the  key  of  the  wicket, 
explaining  that — rather  to  satisfy  his  own  conscience 
and  the  men  than  with  any  hope  of  success — he  pro- 
posed to  go  half-way  along  the  causeway,  and  thence 
by  signs  invite  a  conference.  "It  is  just  possible," 
he  added,  hesitating — he  feared  nothing  so  much  as 
to  raise  hopes  in  her — "that  by  the  offer  of  a  money 
ransom,  Madame " 

"Go,"  she  said,  without  turning  her  head.  "Offer 
what  you  please.  But" — bitterly — "have  a  care  of 
them!  Montsoreau  is  very  like  Montereau!  Be- 
ware of  the  bridge ! " 

He  went  and  came  again  in  half-an-hour.  Then, 
indeed,  though  she  had  spoken  as  if  hope  was  dead  in 
her,  she  was  on  her  feet  at  the  first  sound  of  his  tread 
on  the  stairs ;  her  parted  lips  and  her  white  face  ques- 
tioned him.  He  shook  his  head. 

"There  is  a  priest,"  he  said  iu  broken  tones,  "with 
them,  whom  God  will  judge.  It  is  his  plan,  and  he 
is  without  mercy  or  pity." 

"  You  bring  nothing  from — him  ?  " 

"They  will  not  suffer  him  to  write  again." 

"You  did  not  see  him? " 

"No." 


CHAPTEE  XXXV. 

AGAINST  THE  WALL. 

IN  a  room  beside  the  gateway,  into  which,  as  the 
nearest  and  most  convenient  place,  Count  Hannibal 
had  been  carried  from  his  saddle,  a  man  sat  sideways 
in  the  narrow  embrasure  of  a  loophole,  to  which  his 
eyes  seemed  glued.  The  room,  which  formed  part  of 
the  oldest  block  of  the  chateau,  and  was  ordinarily 
the  quarters  of  the  Carlats,  possessed  two  other  win- 
dows, deep -set  indeed,  yet  superior  to  that  through 
which  Bigot — for  he  it  was — peered  so  persistently. 
But  the  larger  windows  looked  southwards,  across  the 
bay — at  this  moment  the  noon-high  sun  was  pouring 
his  radiance  through  them;  while  the  object  which 
held  Bigot's  gaze  and  fixed  him  to  his  irksome  seat, 
lay  elsewhere.  The  loophole  commanded  the  cause- 
way leading  shorewards;  through  it  the  Norman 
could  see  who  came  and  went,  and  even  the  cross- 
beam of  the  ugly  object  which  rose  where  the  cause- 
way touched  the  land. 

On  a  flat  truckle-bed  behind  the  door  lay  Count 
Hannibal,  his  injured  leg  protected  from  the  coverlid 
by  a  kind  of  cage.  His  eyes  were  bright  with  fever, 
and  his  untended  beard  and  straggling  hair  height- 
ened the  wildness  of  his  aspect.  But  he  was  in  pos- 
session of  his  senses;  and  as  his  gaze  passed  from 
Bigot  at  the  window  to  the  old  Free  Companion, 


AGAINST  THE   WALL.  385 

who  sat  on  a  stool  beside  him,  engaged  in  shaping  a 
piece  of  wood  into  a  splint,  an  expression  almost  soft 
crept  into  his  harsh  face. 

"Old  fool!"  he  said.  And  his  voice,  though 
changed,  had  not  lost  all  its  strength  and  harshness. 
"Did  the  Constable  need  a  splint  when  you  laid  him 
under  the  tower  at  Gaeta  "I  " 

The  old  man  lifted  his  eyes  from  his  task,  and 
glanced  through  the  nearest  window.  "It  is  long 
from  noon  to  night,"  he  said  quietly,  "and  far  from 
cup  to  lip,  my  lord ! " 

"It  would  be  if  I  had  two  legs,"  Tavannes  an- 
swered, with  a  grimace,  half -snarl,  half -smile.  "As 
it  is — where  is  that  dagger  ?  It  leaves  me  every  min- 
ute." 

It  had  slipped  from  the  coverlid  to  the  ground. 
Badelon  took  it  up,  and  set  it  on  the  bed  within  reach 
of  his  master's  hand. 

Bigot  swore  fiercely.  "It  would  be  farther  still," 
he  growled,  "if  you  would  be  guided  by  me,  my  lord. 
Give  me  leave  to  bar  the  door,  and  'twill  be  long  be- 
fore these  fisher  clowns  force  it.  Badelon  and  I " 

"Being  in  your  full  strength,"  Count  Hannibal 
murmured  cynically. 

"Could  hold  it.  We  have  strength  enough  for 
that,"  the  Norman  boasted,  though  his  livid  face  and 
his  bandages  gave  the  lie  to  his  words.  He  could  not 
move  without  pain;  and  for  Badelon,  his  knee  was 
as  big  as  two  with  plaisters  of  his  own  placing. 

Count  Hannibal  stared  at  the  ceiling.  "You  could 
not  strike  two  blows!"  he  said.  "Don't  lie  to  me] 
And  Badelon  cannot  walk  two  yards!  Fine  fight- 
ers!" he  continued  with  bitterness,  not  all  bitter. 
"Fine  bars  'twixt  a  man  and  death!  No,  it  is  time 
25 


386  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

to  turn  the  face  to  the  wall.  And,  since  go  I  must, 
it  shall  not  be  said  Count  Hannibal  dared  not  go 
alone !  Besides " 

Bigot  stopped  him  with  an  oath  that  was  in  part 
a  cry  of  pain.  "D — n  her!"  he  exclaimed  in  fury, 
"'tis  she  is  that  besides!  I  know  it.  'Tis  she  has 
been  our  ruin  from  the  day  we  saw  her  first,  ay,  to 
this  day!  'Tis  she  has  bewitched  you  until  your 
blood,  my  lord,  has  turned  to  water.  Or  you  would 
never,  to  save  the  hand  that  betrayed  us,  never  to 
save  a  man 

"Silence!"  Count  Hannibal  cried,  in  a  terrible 
voice.  And  rising  on  his  elbow,  he  poised  the  dag- 
ger as  if  he  would  hurl  it.  "Silence,  or  I  will  spit 
you  like  the  vermin  you  are!  Silence,  and  listen! 
And  you,  old  ban-dog,  listen  too,  for  I  know  you  ob- 
stinate !  It  is  not  to  save  him.  It  is  because  I  will 
die  as  I  have  lived,  fearing  nothing  and  asking  noth- 
ing !  It  were  easy  to  bar  the  door  as  you  would  have 
me,  and  die  in  the  corner  here  like  a  wolf  at  bay, 
biting  to  the  last.  That  were  easy,  old  wolf-hound! 
Pleasant  and  good  sport !  " 

"  Ay !  That  were  a  death ! "  the  veteran  cried,  his 
eyes  brightening.  "So  I  would  fain  die!  " 

"  And  I ! "  Count  Hannibal  returned,  showing  his 
teeth  in  a  grim  smile.  "I  too!  Yet  I  will  not!  I 
will  not !  Because  so  to  die  were  to  die  unwillingly, 
and  give  them  triumph.  Be  dragged  to  death?  No, 
old  dog,  if  die  we  must,  we  will  go  to  death !  We 
will  die  grandly,  highly,  as  becomes  Tavannes !  That 
when  we  are  gone  they  may  say,  '  There  died  a 
man ! ' " 

"She  may  say!  "  Bigot  muttered  scowling. 

Count  Hannibal  heard  and  glared  at  him,  but  pres- 


AGAINST   THE  WALL.  387 

ently  thought  better  of  it,  and  after  a  pause,  "  Ay,  she 
too !  "  he  said.  "  Why  not  ?  As  we  have  played  the 
game — for  her — so,  though  we  lose,  we  will  play  it  to 
the  end ;  nor  because  we  lose  throw  down  the  cards ! 
Besides,  man,  die  in  the  corner,  die  biting,  and  he 
dies  too ! " 

"And  why  not?"  Bigot  asked,  rising  in  a  fury. 
"Why  not?  Whose  work  is  it  we  lie  here,  snared  by 
these  clowns  of  fisherfolk?  Who  led  us  wrong  and 
betrayed  us?  He  die?  Would  the  devil  had  taken 
him  a  year  ago!  Would  he  were  within  my  reach 
now!  I  would  kill  him  with  my  bare  fingers!  He 
die?  And  why  not?" 

"Why,  because,  fool,  his  death  would  not  save 
me ! "  Count  Hannibal  answered  coolly.  "  If  it 
would,  he  would  die !  But  it  will  not ;  and  we  must 
even  do  again  as  we  have  done.  I  have  spared  him 
— he's  a  white-livered  hound! — both  once  and  twice, 
and  we  must  go  to  the  end  with  it  since  no  better  can 
be !  I  have  thought  it  out,  and  it  must  be.  Only  see 
you,  old  dog,  that  I  have  the  dagger  hid  in  the  splint 
where  I  can  reach  it.  And  then,  when  the  exchange 
has  been  made,  and  my  lady  has  her  silk  glove  again 
— to  put  in  her  bosom ! " — with  a  grimace  and  a 
sudden  reddening  of  his  harsh  features — "if  master 
priest  come  within  reach  of  my  arm,  I'll  send  him  be- 
fore me,  where  I  go." 

"Ay,  ay!"  said  Badelon.  "And  if  you  fail  of 
your  stroke  I  will  not  fail  of  mine !  I  shall  be  there, 
and  I  will  see  to  it  he  goes !  I  shall  be  there ! " 

"You?" 

"Ay,  why  not?"  the  old  man  answered  quietly. 
"I  may  halt  on  this  leg  for  aught  I  know,  and  come 
to  starve  on  crutches  like  old  Claude  Boiteux  who 


388  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

was  at  the  taking  of  Milan  and  now  begs  in  the  pas- 
sage under  the  Chatelet." 

"Bah,  man,  you  will  get  a  new  lord!  " 

Badelon  nodded.  "Ay,  a  new  lord  with  new 
ways!  "  he  answered  slowly  and  thoughtfully.  "And 
I  am  tired.  They  are  of  another  sort,  lords  now, 
than  they  were  when  I  was  young.  It  was  a  word 
and  a  blow  then.  Now  I  am  old,  with  most  it  is — 
'  Old  hog,  your  distance  1  You  scent  my  lady ! ' 
Then  they  rode,  and  hunted,  and  tilted  year  in  and 
year  out,  and  summer  or  winter  heard  the  lark  sing. 
'Now  they  are  curled,  and  paint  themselves,  and  lie  in 
silk  and  toy  with  ladies — who  shamed  to  be  seen  at 
Court  or  board  when  I  was  a  boy — and  love  better  to 
hear  the  mouse  squeak  than  the  lark  sing." 

"Still,  if  I  give  you  my  gold  chain,"  Count  Hanni- 
bal answered  quietly,  "  'twill  keep  you  from  that." 

"'Give  it  to  Bigot,"  the  old  man  answered.  The 
splint  he  was  fashioning  had  fallen  on  his  knees,  and 
his  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  distance  of  his  youth. 
"For  me,  my  lord,  I  am  tired,  and  I  go  with  you.  I 
go  with  you.  It  is  a  good  death  to  die  biting  before 
the  strength  be  quite  gone.  Have  the  dagger  too,  if 
you  please,  and  I'll  fit  it  within  the  splint  right  neat- 
ly. But  I  shall  be  there " 

"And  you'll  strike  home?  "  Tavannes  cried  eagerly. 
He  raised  himself  on  his  elbow,  a  gleam  of  joy  in  his 
gloomy  eyes. 

"Have  no  fear,  my  lord.  See,  does  it  tremble?" 
He  held  out  his  hand.  "And  when  you  are  sped,  I 
will  try  the  Spanish  stroke — upwards  with  a  turn  ere 
you  withdraw,  that  I  learned  from  Euiz — on  the 
skaven-pate.  I  see  them  about  me  now ! "  the  old 
man  continued,  his  face  flushing,  his  form  dilating. 


AGAINST  THE  WALL.  389 

"It  will  be  odd  if  I  cannot  snatch  a  sword  and  hew 
down  three  to  go  with  Tavannes !  And  Bigot,  he  will 
see  my  lord  the  Marshal  by-and-by ;  and  as  I  do  to 
the  priest,  the  Marshal  will  do  to  Montsoreau.  Ho ! 
ho!  He  will  teach  him  the  coup  de  Jarnac,  never 
fear!"  And  the  old  man's  moustaches  curled  up 
ferociously. 

Count  Hannibal's  eyes  sparkled  with  joy.  "Old 
dog !  "  he  cried — and  he  held  his  hand  to  the  veteran, 
who  brushed  it  reverently  with  his  lips — "we  will  go 
together  then!  Who  touches  my  brother,  touches 
Tavannes ! " 

"Touches  Tavannes!"  Badelon  cried,  the  glow  of 
battle  lighting  his  bloodshot  eyes.  He  rose  to  his 
feet.  "Touches  Tavannes!  You  mind  at  Jar- 
nac  " 

"Ah!     At  Jarnac!" 

"  When  we  charged  their  horse,  was  my  boot  a  foot 
from  yours,  my  lord?  " 

"Not  a  foot!" 

"And  at  Dreux,"  the  old  man  continued  with  a 
proud,  elated  gesture,  "when  we  rode  down  the  Ger- 
man pikemeu — they  were  grass  before  us,  leaves  on 
the  wind,  thistle-down — was  it  not  I  who  covered 
your  bridle  hand,  and  swerved  not  in  the  meUe  f  " 

"It  was!     It  was!" 

"And  at  St.  Quentin,  when  we  fled  before  the 
Spaniard — it  was  his  day,  you  remember,  and  cost  us 
dear " 

"  Ay,  I  was  young  then, "  Tavannes  cried  in  turn, 
his  eyes  glistening.  "St.  Quentin!  It  was  the  tenth 
of  August.  And  you  were  new  with  me,  and  seized 
my  rein " 

"And  we  rode  off  together,  my  lord — of  the  last, 


390  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

of  the  last,  as  God  sees  me!  And  striking  as  we 
went,  so  that  they  left  us  for  easier  game. " 

"It  was  so,  good  sword!  I  remember  it  as  if  it  had 
been  yesterday ! " 

"And  at  Cerisoles,  the  Battle  of  the  Plain,  in  the 
old  Spanish  wars,  that  Avas  most  like  a  joust  of  all 
the  pitched  fields  I  ever  saw — at  Cerisoles,  where  I 
caught  your  horse  ?  You  mind  me  ?  It  was  in  the 
shock  when  we  broke  Guasto's  line — — " 

"  At  Cerisoles  1"  Count  Hannibal  muttered  slowly. 
"Why,  man,  I " 

"I  caught  your  horse,  and  mounted  you  afresh? 
You  remember,  my  lord?  And  at  Landriano,  where 
Leyva  turned  the  tables  on  us  again." 

Count  Hannibal  stared.  "Landriauo? "  he  mut- 
tered bluntly.  "  'Twos  in  '29,  forty  years  ago  and 
more!  My  father,  indeed — 

"And  at  Rome — at  Rome,  my  lord?  Mon  Dieu ! 
in  the  old  days  at  Eome !  When  the  Spanish  com- 
pany scaled  the  wall — Ruiz  was  first,  I  next — was  it 
not  my  foot  you  held?  And  was  it  not  I  who 
dragged  you  up,  while  the  devils  of  Swiss  pressed  us 
hard  ?  Ah,  those  were  days,  my  lord !  I  was  young 
then,  and  you,  my  lord,  young  too,  and  handsome  as 
the  morning '' 

"You  rave!"  Tavannes  cried,  finding  his  tongue 
at  last.  "Rome?  You  rave,  old  man !  Why,  I  was 
not  born  in  those  days.  My  father  even  was  a  boy ! 
It  was  in  '27  you  sacked  it — five-and-forty  years 
ago ! " 

The  old  man  passed  his  hands  over  his  heated  face, 
and,  as  a  man  roused  suddenly  from  sleep  looks,  he 
looked  round  the  room.  The  light  died  out  of  his 
eyes — as  a  light  blown  out  in  a  room;  his  form 


AGAINST   THE   WALL.  391 

seemed  to  shrink,  even  while  the  others  gazed  at  him, 
and  he  sat  down.  "No,  I  remember,"  he  muttered 
slowly.  "It  was  Prince  Philibert  of  Chalons,  my 
lord  of  Orange." 

"Dead  these  forty  years!  " 

"Ay,  dead  these  forty  years!  All  dead!"  the  old 
man  whispered,  gazing  at  his  gnarled  hand,  and 
opening  and  shutting  it  by  turns.  "And  I  grow 
childish!  'Tis  time,  high  time,  I  followed  them! 
It  trembles  now ;  but  have  no  fear,  my  lord,  this  hand 
will  not  tremble  then.  All  dead !  Ay,  all  dead !  " 

He  sank  into  a  mournful  silence ;  and  Tavannes, 
after  gazing  at  him  awhile  in  rough  pity,  fell  to  his 
own  meditations,  which  were  gloomy  enough.  The 
day  was  beginning  to  wane,  and  with  the  downward 
turn,  though  the  sun  still  shone  brightly  through  the 
southern  windows,  a  shadow  seemed  to  fall  across  his 
thoughts.  They  no  longer  rioted  in  a  turmoil  of  defi- 
ance as  in  the  forenoon.  In  its  turn,  sober  reflection 
marshalled  the  past  before  his  eyes.  The  hopes  of  a 
life,  the  ambitious  of  a  life,  moved  in  sombre  proces- 
sion, and  things  done  and  things  left  undone,  the  sov- 
ereignty which  Nostradamus  had  promised,  the  faces 
of  men  he  had  spared  and  of  men  he  had  not  spared 
— and  the  face  of  one  woman. 

She  would  not  now  be  his.  He  had  played  highly, 
and  he  would  lose  highly,  playing  the  game  to  the 
end,  that  to-morrow  she  might  think  of  him  highly. 
Had  she  begun  to  think  of  him  at  all  I  In  the  cham- 
ber of  the  inn  at  Augers  he  had  fancied  a  change  in 
her,  an  awakening  to  life  and  warmth,  a  shadow  of 
turning  to  him.  It  had  pleased  him  to  think  so,  at 
any  rate.  It  pleased  him  still  to  imagine — of  this  he 
was  more  confident — that  in  the  time  to  come,  when 


392  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

she  was  Tignonville's,  she  would  think  of  him  secret- 
ly and  kindly.  She  would  remember  him,  and  in  her 
thoughts  and  in  her  memory  he  would  grow  to  the 
heroic,  even  as  the  man  she  had  chosen  would  shrink 
as  she  learned  to  know  him. 

It  pleased  him,  that.  It  was  almost  all  that  was 
left  to  please  him — that,  and  to  die  proudly  as  he  had 
lived.  But  as  the  day  wore  on,  and  the  room  grew 
hot  and  close,  and  the  pain  in  his  thigh  became  more 
grievous,  the  frame  of  his  mind  altered.  A  sombre 
rage  was  born  and  grew  in  him,  and  a  passion  fierce 
and  ill-suppressed.  To  end  thus,  with  nothing  done, 
nothing  accomplished  of  all  his  hopes  and  ambitions ! 
To  die  thus,  crushed  in  a  corner  by  a  mean  priest  and 
a  rabble  of  spearmen,  he  who  had  seen  Dreux  and 
Jarnac,  had  defied  the  King,  and  dared  to  turn  the 
St.  Bartholomew  to  his  ends !  To  die  thus,  and  leave 
her  to  that  puppet!  Strong  man  as  he  was,  of  a 
strength  of  will  surpassed  by  few,  it  taxed  him  to  the 
utmost  to  lie  and  make  no  sign.  Once,  indeed,  he 
raised  himself  on  his  elbow  with  something  between 
an  oath  and  a  snarl,  and  he  seemed  about  to  speak. 
So  that  Bigot  came  hurriedly  to  him. 

"My  lord?" 

"  Water  I"  he  said.  "  Water,  fool !"  And,  having 
drank,  he  turned  his  face  to  the  wall,  lest  he  should 
name  her  or  ask  for  her.  For  the  desire  to  see  her 
before  he  died,  to  look  into  her  eyes,  to  touch  her 
hand  once,  only  once,  assailed  his  mind  and  all  but 
whelmed  his  will.  She  had  been  with  him,  he  knew 
it,  in  the  night ;  she  had  left  him  only  at  daybreak. 
But  then,  in  his  state  of  collapse,  he  had  been  hardly 
conscious  of  her  presence.  Now  to  ask  for  her  or  to 
see  her  would  stamp  him  coward,  say  what  he  might 


AGAINST  THE  WALL.  393 

to  her.  The  proverb,  that  the  King's  face  gives 
grace,  applied  to  her;  and  an  overture  on  his  side 
could  mean  but  one  thing,  that  he  sought  her  grace. 
And  that  he  would  not  do  though  the  cold  waters  of 
death  covered  him  more  and  more,  and  the  coming  of 
the  end — in  that  quiet  chamber,  while  the  September 
sun  sank  to  the  appointed  place — awoke  wild  long- 
ings and  a  wild  rebellion  in  his  breast.  His  thoughts 
were  very  bitter,  as  he  lay,  his  loneliness  of  the  utter- 
most. He  turned  his  face  to  the  wall. 

In  that  posture  he  slept  after  a  time,  watched  over 
by  Bigot  with  looks  of  rage  and  pity.  And  on  the 
room  fell  a  long  silence.  The  sun  had  lacked  three 
hours  of  setting  when  he  fell  asleep.  When  he  re- 
opened his  eyes,  and,  after  lying  for  a  few  minutes 
between  sleep  and  waking,  became  conscious  of  his 
position,  of  the  day,  of  the  things  which  had  hap- 
pened, and  his  helplessness — an  awakening  which 
wrung  from  him  an  involuntary  groan — the  light  in 
the  room  was  still  strong,  and  even  bright.  He  fan- 
cied for  a  moment  that  he  had  merely  dozed  off  and 
awaked  again ;  and  he  continued  to  lie  with  his  face 
to  the  wall,  courting  a  return  of  slumber. 

But  sleep  did  not  come,  and  little  by  little,  as  he 
lay  listening  and  thinking  and  growing  more  restless, 
he  got  the  fancy  that  he  was  alone.  The  light  fell 
brightly  on  the  wall  to  which  his  face  was  turned ; 
how  could  that  be  if  Bigot's  broad  shoulders  still 
blocked  the  loophole?  Presently,  to  assure  himself, 
he  called  the  man  by  name. 

He  got  no  answer. 

"  Badelon ! "  he  muttered.     "  Badelon ! " 

Had  he  gone,  too,  the  old  and  faithful  1  It  seemed 
so,  for  again  no  answer  came. 


394  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

He  had  been  accustomed  all  his  life  to  instant  ser- 
vice; to  see  the  act  follow  the  word  ere  the  word 
ceased  to  sound.  And  nothing  which  had  gone  be- 
fore, nothing  which  he  had  suffered  since  his  defeat 
at  Angers,  had  brought  him  to  feel  his  impotence  and 
his  position — and  that  the  end  of  his  power  was  in- 
deed come — as  sharply  as  this.  The  blood  rushed  to 
his  head;  almost  the  tears  to  eyes  which  had  not 
shed  them  since  boyhood,  and  would  not  shed  them 
now,  weak  as  he  was!  He  rose  on  his  elbow  and 
looked  with  a  full  heart;  it  was  as  he  had  fancied. 
Badelon's  stool  was  empty ;  the  embrasure — that  was 
empty  too.  Through  its  narrow  outlet  he  had  a  tiny 
view  of  the  shore  and  the  low  rocky  hill,  of  which 
the  summit  shone  warm  in  the  last  rays  of  the  set- 
ting sun. 

The  setting  sun !  Ay,  for  the  lower  part  of  the  hill 
was  growing  cold;  the  shore  at  its  foot  was  grey. 
Then  he  had  slept  long,  and  the  time  was  come.  He 
drew  a  deep  breath  and  listened.  But  on  all  within 
and  without  lay  silence,  a  silence  marked,  rather 
than  broken,  by  the  dull  fall  of  a  wave  on  the  cause- 
way. The  day  had  been  calm,  but  with  the  sunset  a 
light  breeze  was  rising. 

He  set  his  teeth  hard,  and  continued  to  listen.  An 
hour  before  sunset  was  the  time  they  had  named  for 
the  exchange.  What  did  it  mean?  In  five  minutes 
the  sun  would  be  below  the  horizon;  already  the  zone 
of  warmth  on  the  hillside  was  moving  and  retreating 
upwards.  And  Bigot  and  old  Badelon?  Why  had 
they  left  him  while  he  slept?  An  hour  before  sun- 
set! Why,  the  room  was  growing  grey,  grey  and 
dark  in  the  corners,  and — what  was  that? 

He  started,  so  violently  that  he  jarred  his  leg,  and 


AGAINST   THE   WALL.  395 

the  pain  wrung  a  groan  from  him.  At  the  foot  of 
the  bed,  overlooked  until  then,  a  woman  lay  prone  on 
the  floor,  her  face  resting  on  her  outstretched  arms. 
She  lay  without  motion,  her  head  and  her  clasped 
hands  towards  the  loophole,  her  thick,  clubbed  hair 
hiding  her  neck.  A  woman!  Count  Hanuiba1 
stared,  and,  fancying  he  dreamed,  closed  his  eyes, 
then  looked  again.  It  was  no  phantasm.  It  was  the 
Countess ;  it  was  his  wife ! 

He  drew  a  deep  breath,  but  he  did  not  speak, 
though  the  colour  rose  slowly  to  his  cheek.  And 
slowly  his  eyes  devoured  her  from  head  to  foot,  from 
the  hands  lying  white  in  the  light  below  the  window 
to  the  shod  feet ;  unchecked  he  took  his  fill,  of  that 
which  he  had  so  much  desired — the  seeing  her !  A 
woman  prone,  with  all  of  her  hidden  but  her  hands: 
a  hundred  acquainted  with  her  would  not  have 
known  her.  But  he  knew  her,  and  would  have 
known  her  from  a  hundred,  nay  from  a  thousand,  by 
her  hands  alone. 

What  was  she  doing  here,  and  in  this  guise  I  He 
pondered;  then  he  looked  from  her  for  an  instant 
and  saw  that  while  he  had  gazed  at  her  the  sun  had 
set,  the  light  had  passed  from  the  top  of  the  hill ;  the 
world  without  and  the  room  within  were  growing 
cold.  Was  that  the  cause  she  no  longer  lay  quiet? 
He  saw  a  shudder  run  through  her,  and  a  second; 
then  it  seemed  to  him — or  was  he  going  mad  ? — that 
she  moaned,  and  prayed  in  half -heard  words,  and, 
wrestling  with  herself,  beat  her  forehead  on  her 
arms,  and  then  was  still  again,  as  still  as  death.  By 
the  time  the  paroxysm  had  passed,  the  last  flush  of 
sunset  had  faded  from  the  sky,  and  the  hills  were 
growing  dark. 


CHAPTER  XXXVL 

HIS  KINGDOM. 

COUNT  HANNIBAL  conld  not  have  said  why  he  did 
not  speak  to  her  at  once.  Warned  by  an  instinct 
vague  and  ill -understood,  he  remained  silent,  his 
eyes  riveted  on  her,  until  she  rose  from  the  floor.  A 
moment  later  she  met  his  gaze,  and  he  looked  to  see 
her  start.  Instead  she  stood  quiet  and  thoughtful, 
regarding  him  with  a  kind  of  sad  solemnity,  as  if 
she  saw  not  him  only,  but  the  dead ;  while  first  one 
tremor  and  then  a  second  shook  her  frame. 

At  length,  "It  is  over!"  she  whispered.  "Pa- 
tience, monsieur;  have  no  fear,  I  will  be  brave. 
But  I  must  give  a  little  to  him. " 

"  To  him !  "  Count  Hannibal  muttered,  his  face  ex- 
traordinarily pale. 

She  smiled  with  an  odd  passionateness.  "Who  was 
my  lover!  "  she  cried,  her  voice  a- thrill.  "Who  will 
ever  be  my  lover,  though  I  have  denied  him,  though 
I  have  left  him  to  die!  It  was  just.  He  who  has  so 
tried  me  knows  it  was  just!  He  whom  I  have  sacri- 
ficed— he  knows  it  too,  now!  But  it  is  hard  to  be — 
just,"  with  a  quavering  smile.  "You  who  take  all 
may  give  him  a  little,  may  pardon  me  a  little,  may 
have — patience !  " 

Count  Hannibal  uttered  a  strangled  cry,  between  a 
noan  and  a  roar.  A  moment  he  beat  the  coverlid 


HIS  KINGDOM.  397 

with  his  hands  in  impotence.  Then  he  sank  back  on 
the  bed.  "  Water ! "  he  muttered.  "  Water ! " 

She  fetched  it  hurriedly,  and,  raising  his  head  on 
her  arm,  held  it  to  his  lips.  He  drank,  and  lay  back 
again  with  closed  eyes.  He  lay  so  still  and  so  long 
that  she  thought  that  he  had  fainted;  but  after  a 
pause  he  spoke.  "You  have  done  that?"  he  whis- 
pered, "you  have  done  that?" 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  shuddering.  "God  forgive 
me !  I  have  done  that !  I  had  to  do  that,  or " 

"And  is  it  too  late — to  undo  it?  " 

"  It  is  too  late. "    A  sob  choked  her  voice. 

Tears — tears  incredible,  unnatural — welled  from 
under  Count  Hannibal's  closed  eyelids,  and  rolled 
sluggishly  down  his  harsh  cheek  to  the  edge  of  his 
beard.  " I  would  have  gone, "  he  muttered.  "If  you 
had  spoken,  I  would  have  spared  you  this." 

"I  know,"  she  answered  unsteadily;  "the  men  told 
me." 

"And  yet " 

"It  was  just.  And  you  are  my  husband,"  she  re- 
plied. "More,  I  am  the  captive  of  your  sword,  and 
as  you  spared  me  in  your  strength,  my  lord,  I  spared 
you  in  your  weakness. " 

"Mon  Dieu!  Mon  Dieu,  madame!"  he  cried,  "at 
what  a  cost ! " 

And  that  arrested,  that  touched  her  in  the  depths 
of  her  grief  and  her  horror ;  even  while  the  gibbet  on 
the  causeway,  which  had  burned  itself  into  her  eye- 
balls, hung  before  her.  For  she  knew  that  it  was  the 
cost  to  her  he  was  counting.  She  knew  that  for  him- 
self he  had  ever  held  life  cheap,  that  he  could  have 
seen  Tignonville  suffer  without  a  qualm.  And  the 
thoughtf ulness  for  her,  the  value  he  placed  on  a  thing 


398  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

— even  on  a  rival's  life — because  it  was  dear  to  her, 
touched  her  home,  moved  her  as  few  things  could 
have  moved  her  at  that  moment.  She  saw  it  of  a 
piece  with  all  that  had  gone  before,  with  all  that  had 
passed  between  them,  since  that  fatal  Sunday  in 
Paris.  But  she  made  no  sign.  More  than  she  had 
said  she  would  not  say ;  words  of  love,  even  of  recon- 
ciliation, had  no  place  on  her  lips  while  he  whom  she 
Jiad  sacrificed  awaited  his  burial. 

And  meantime  the  man  beside  her  lay  and  found  it 
incredible.  "It  was  just,"  she  had  said.  And  he 
knew  it;  Tignouville's  folly — that  and  that  only  had 
led  them  into  the  snare  and  caused  his  own  capture. 
But  what  had  justice  to  do  with  the  things  of  this 
world?  In  his  experience,  the  strong  hand — that 
was  justice,  in  France;  and  possession — that  was  law. 
By  the  strong  hand  he  had  taken  her,  and  by  the 
strong  hand  she  might  have  freed  herself. 

And  she  had  not.  There  was  the  incredible  thing. 
She  had  chosen  instead  to  do  justice!  It  passed  be- 
lief. Opening  his  eyes  on  a  silence  which  had  lasted 
some  minutes,  a  silence  rendered  more  solemn  by  the 
lapping  water  without,  Tavannes  saw  her  kneeling  in 
the  dusk  of  the  chamber,  her  head  bowed  over  his 
couch,  her  face  hidden  in  her  hands.  He  knew  that 
she  prayed,  and  feebly  he  deemed  the  whole  a  dream. 
No  scene  akin  to  it  had  had  place  in  his  life ;  and, 
weakened  and  in  pain,  he  prayed  that  the  vision 
might  last  for  ever,  that  he  might  never  awake. 

But  by-and-by,  wrestling  with  the  dread  thought 
of  what  she  had  done,  and  the  horror  which  would 
return  upon  her  by  fits  and  spasms,  she  flung  out  a 
hand,  and  it  fell  011  him.  He  started,  and  the  move- 
ment, jarring  the  broken  limb,  wrung  from  him  a  cry 


HIS  KINGDOM.  399 

of  pain.  She  looked  up  and  was  going  to  speak, 
when  a  scuffling  of  feet  under  the  gateway  arch,  and 
a  confused  sound  of  several  voices  raised  at  once, 
arrested  the  words  011  her  lips.  She  rose  to  her  feet 
and  listened.  Dimly  he  could  see  her  face  through 
the  dusk.  Her  eyes  were  on  the  door,  and  she 
breathed  quickly. 

A  moment  or  two  passed  in  this  way,  and  then 
from  the  hurly-burly  in  the  gateway  the  footsteps  of 
two  men  —  one  limped  —  detached  themselves  and 
came  nearer  and  nearer.  They  stopped  without.  A 
gleam  of  light  shone  under  the  door,  and  someone 
knocked. 

She  went  to  the  door,  and,  withdrawing  the  bar, 
stepped  quickly  back  to  the  bedside,  where  for  an  in- 
stant the  light  borne  by  those  who  entered  blinded 
her.  Then,  above  the  lantern,  the  faces  of  La  Tribe 
and  Bigot  broke  upon  her,  and  their  shining  eyes  told 
her  that  they  bore  good  news.  It  was  well,  for  the 
men  seemed  tongue-tied.  The  minister's  fluency  was 
gone ;  he  was  very  pale,  and  it  was  Bigot  who  in  the 
end  spoke  for  both.  He  stepped  forward,  and,  kneel- 
ing, kissed  her  cold  hand. 

"My  lady,"  he  said,  "you  have  gained  all,  and  lost 
nothing.  Blessed  be  God !  " 

"  Blessed  be  God !  "  the  minister  wept.  And  from 
the  passage  without  came  the  sound  of  laughter  and 
weeping  and  many  voices,  with  a  flutter  of  lights  and 
flying  skirts,  and  women's  feet. 

She  stared  at  him  wildly,  doubtfully,  her  hand  at 
her  throat.  "What? "  she  said,  "he  is  not  dead — M. 
de  Tiguouville  ? " 

"No,  he  is  alive,"  La  Tribe  answered,  "he  is  alive." 
And  he  lifted  up  his  hands  as  if  he  gave  thanks. 


400  COUNT  HANNIBAL. 

"Alive?"  she  cried.  "Alive!  Oh,  heaven  is 
merciful !  You  are  sure !  You  are  sure  ? " 

"Sure,  Madame,  sure.  He  was  not  in  their  hands. 
He  was  dismounted  in  the  first  shock,  it  seems,  and, 
coming  to  himself  after  a  time,  crept  away  and 
reached  St.  Gilles,  and  came  hither  in  a  boat.  But 
the  enemy  learned  that  he  had  not  entered  with  us, 
and  of  this  the  priest  wove  his  snare.  Blessed  be 
God,  who  put  it  into  your  heart  to  escape  it !  " 

The  Countess  stood  motionless  and,  with  closed 
eyes,  pressed  her  hands  to  her  temples.  Once  she 
swayed  as  if  she  would  fall  her  length,  and  Bigot 
sprang  forward  to  support  and  save  her.  But  she 
opened  her  eyes  at  that,  sighed  very  deeply,  and 
seemed  to  recover  herself. 

"You  are  sure?"  she  said  faintly.  "It  is  no 
trick?  " 

"No,  madame,  it  is  no  trick,"  La  Tribe  answered. 
"M.  de  Tignonville  is  alive,  and  here." 

"Here!"  She  started  at  the  word.  The  colour 
fluttered  in  her  cheek.  "But  the  keys,"  she  mur- 
mured. And  she  passed  her  hand  across  her  brow. 
"I  thought— that  I  had  them." 

"He  has  not  entered,"  the  minister  answered,  "for 
that  reason.  He  is  waiting  at  the  postern,  where  he 
landed.  He  came,  hoping  to  be  of  use  to  you. " 

She  paused  a  moment,  and  when  she  spoke  again 
her  aspect  had  undergone  a  subtle  change.  Her  head 
was  high,  a  flush  had  risen  to  her  cheeks,  her  eyes 
were  bright.  "Then,"  she  said,  addressing  La  Tribe, 
"do  you,  monsieur,  go  to  him,  and  pray  him  in  my 
name  to  retire  to  St.  Gilles,  if  he  can  do  so  without 
peril.  He  has  no  place  here — now ;  and  if  he  can  go 
safely  to  his  home  it  will  be  well  that  he  do  so. 


HIS  KINGDOM.  401 

Add,  if  you  please,  that  Madame  de  Tavannes  thanks 
him  for  his  offer  of  aid,  but  in  her  husband's  house 
she  needs  no  other  protection." 

Bigot's  eyes  sparkled  with  joy. 

The  minister  hesitated.  "  No  more,  madame  ?  "  he 
faltered.  He  was  tender-hearted,  and  Tigiionville 
was  of  hL  people. 

"No  more,"  she  said  gravely,  bowing  her  head. 
"It  is  not  M.  de  Tignonville  I  have  to  thank,  but 
Heaven's  mercy,  that  I  do  not  stand  here  at  this  mo- 
ment unhappy  as  I  entered — a  woman  accursed,  to  be 
pointed  at  while  I  live.  And  the  dead  " — she  pointed 
solemnly  through  the  dark  casement  to  the  shore — 
"the  dead  lie  there." 

La  Tribe  went. 

She  stood  a  moment  in  thought,  and  then  took  the 
keys  from  the  rough  stone  window-ledge  on  which 
she  had  laid  them  when  she  entered.  As  the  cold 
iron  touched  her  fingers  she  shuddered.  The  contact 
awoke  again  the  horror  and  misery  in  which  she  had 
groped,  a  lost  thing,  when  she  last  felt  that  chill. 

"Take  them,"  she  said;  and  she  gave  them  to  Bi- 
got. "  Until  my  lord  can  leave  his  couch  they  will  re- 
main in  your  charge,  and  you  will  answer  for  all  to 
him.  Go,  now,  take  the  light ;  and  in  half -an-hour 
send  Madame  Carlat  to  me." 

A  wave  broke  heavily  on  the  causeway  and  ran 
down  seething  to  the  sea ;  and  another  and  another, 
filling  the  room  with  rhythmical  thunders.  But  tlie 
voice  of  the  sea  was  no  longer  the  same  in  the  dark- 
ness, where  the  Countess  knelt  in  silence  beside  the 
bed — knelt,  her  head  bowed  on  her  clasped  hands,  as 
she  had  knelt  before,  but  with  a  mind  how  different, 
with  what  different  thoughts!  Count  Hannibal  could 
26 


402  COUNT   HANNIBAL. 

see  her  head  but  dimly,  for  the  light  shed  upwards  by 
the  spume  of  the  sea  fell  only  on  the  rafters.  But  he 
knew  she  was  there,  arid  he  would  fain,  for  his  heart 
was  full,  have  laid  his  hand  on  her  hair. 

And  yet  he  would  not.  He  would  not,  out  of 
pride.  Instead  he  bit  on  his  harsh  beard,  and  lay 
looking  upward  to  the  rafters,  waiting  what  would 
come.  He  who  had  held  her  at  his  will  now  lay  at 
hers,  and  waited.  He  who  had  spared  her  life  at  a 
price  now  took  his  own  a  gift  at  her  hands,  and 
bore  it. 

"Afterwards,  Madame  de  Tavannes " 

His  mind  went  back  by  some  chance  to  those  words 
— the  words  he  had  neither  meant  nor  fulfilled.  It 
passed  from  them  to  the  marriage  and  the  blow ;  to 
the  scene  in  the  meadow  beside  the  river ;  to  the  last 
ride  between  La  Fleche  and  Angers — the  ride  during 
which  he  had  played  with  her  fears  and  hugged  him- 
self on  the  figure  he  would  make  on  the  morrow. 
The  figure!  Alas!  of  all  his  plans  for  dazzling  her 
had  come — this  !  Angers  had  defeated  him,  a  priest 
had  worsted  him.  In  place  of  releasing  Tignonville 
after  the  fashion  of  Bayard  and  the  Paladins,  and  in 
the  teeth  of  snarling  thousands,  he  had  come  near  to 
releasing  him  after  another  fashion  and  at  his  own 
expense.  Instead  of  dazzling  her  by  his  mastery  and 
winning  her  by  his  magnanimity,  he  lay  here,  owing 
her  his  life,  and  so  weak,  so  broken,  that  the  tears  of 
childhood  welled  up  in  his  eyes. 

Out  of  the  darkness  a  hand,  cool  and  firm,  slid  into 
his,  clasped  it  tightly,  drew  it  to  warm  lips,  carried 
it  to  a  woman's  bosom.  "My  lord,"  she  murmured, 
"I  was  the  captive  of  your  sword,  and  you  spared 
me.  Him  I  loved  you  took  and  spared  him  too — not 


HIS   KINGDOM.  403 

once  or  twice.  Augers,  also,  and  my  people  you 
would  have  saved  for  my  sake.  And  you  thought  I 
could  do  this !  Oh !  shame,  shame ! "  But  her  hand 
held  his  always. 

"You  loved  him,"  he  muttered. 

"Yes,  I  loved  him,"  she  answered  slowly  and 
thoughtfully.  "  I  loved  him. "  And  she  fell  silent  a 
minute.  Then,  "And  I  feared  you,"  she  added,  her 
voice  low.  "  Oh,  how  I  feared  you — and  hated  you !  " 

"And  now?" 

"  I  do  not  fear  him, "  she  answered,  smiling  in  the 
darkness.  "Nor  hate  him.  And  for  you,  my  lord, 
I  am  your  wife  and  must  do  your  bidding,  whether  I 
will  or  no.  I  have  no  choice." 

He  was  silent. 

"Is  that  not  so?  "  she  asked. 

He  tried  weakly  to  withdraw  his  hand. 

But  she  clung  to  it.  "I  must  bear  your  blows  or 
your  kisses.  I  must  be  as  you  will  and  do  as  you 
will,  and  go  happy  or  sad,  lonely  or  with  you,  as  you 
will!  As  you  will,  my  lord!  For  I  am  your  chat- 
tel, your  property,  your  own.  Have  you  not  told 
me  so  1 " 

"But  your  heart,"  he  cried  fiercely,  "is  his!  Your 
heart,  which  you  told  me  in  the  meadow  could  never 
be  mine ! " 

"I  lied,"  she  murmured,  laughing  tearfully,  and 
her  hands  hovered  over  him.  "It  has  come  back! 
And  it  is  on  my  lips. " 

And  she  leant  over  and  kissed  him.  And  Count 
Hannibal  knew  that  he  had  entered  into  his  kingdom, 
the  sovereignty  of  a  woman's  heart. 


404  COUNT   HANNIBAL. 

An  hour  later  there  was  a  stir  in  the  village  on  the 
mainland.  Lanterns  began  to  flit  to  and  fro.  Sulk- 
ily men  were  saddling  and  preparing  for  the  road. 
It  was  far  to  Challans,  farther  to  Lege — more  than 
one  day,  and  many  a  weary  league  to  Fonts  de  C6 
and  the  Loire.  The  men  who  had  ridden  gaily  south- 
wards on  the  scent  of  spoil  and  revenge  turned  their 
backs  on  the  castle  with  many  a  sullen  oath  and 
word.  They  burned  a  hovel  or  two,  and  stripped 
such  as  they  spared,  after  the  fashion  of  the  day; 
and  it  had  gone  ill  with  the  peasant  woman  who  fell 
into  their  hands.  Fortunately,  under  cover  of  the 
previous  night  every  soul  had  escaped  from  the  vil- 
lage, some  to  sea,  and  the  rest  to  take  shelter  among 
the  sand  dunes ;  a,nd  as  the  troopers  rode  up  the  path 
from  the  beach,  and  through  the  green  valley,  where 
their  horses  shied  from  the  bodies  of  the  men  they 
had  slain,  there  was  not  an  eye  to  see  them  go. 

Or  to  mark  the  man  who  rode  last,  the  man  of  the 
white  face — scarred  on  the  temple — and  the  burning 
eyes,  who  paused  on  the  brow  of  the  hill,  and,  before 
he  passed  beyond,  cursed  with  quivering  lips  the  foe 
who  had  escaped  him.  The  words  were  lost,  as  soon 
as  spoken,  in  the  murmur  of  the  sea  on  the  causeway ; 
the  sea,  fit  emblem  of  the  Eternal,  which  rolled  its 
tide  regardless  of  blessing  or  cursing,  good  or  ill  will, 
nor  spared  one  jot  of  ebb  or  flow  because  a  puny 
creature  had  spoken  to  the  night. 


THE  END. 


A  GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  THE  SPORT  OF  FOOLS 1 

II.  THE  KING  OF  NAVARRE 13 

III.  BOOT  AXD  SADDLE       .                  25 

IV.  MADEMOISELLE  DE  LA  VIHE       .....  37 
V.  THE  ROAD  TO  BLOIS 53 

VI.  MY  MOTHER'S  LODGING 64 

VII.  SIMON  FLEIX 73 

VIII.  AN  EMPTY  ROOM 82 

IX.  THE  HOUSE  IN  THE  RDELLE  D'ARCY          ...  96 

X.  THE  FIGHT  ON  THE  STAIRS 106 

XI.  THE  MAN  AT  THE  DOOR     ......  117 

XII.  MAXIMILIAN  DE  BETHDNE,  BARON  DE  ROSNY    .         .  125 

XIII.  AT  ROSNY 138 

XIV.  M.  DE  RAMBOUILLET  .......  148 

XV.  VILAIN  HERODES         . 160 

XVL  IN  THE  KING'S  CHAMBER 173 

XVII.  THE  JACOBIN  MONK    .        .         .     '   .         .        .         .188 

XVIII.  THE  OFFER  OF  THE  LEAGUE       .        .         .         .         .  198 

XIX.  MEN  CALL  IT  CHANCE         .        .        .        .    .     .    :    .  206 

XX.  THE  KING'S  FACE        .         .        .        .'".         .        .  219 

XXI.  Two  WOMEN        .        .         .        .        .—    .        ...  235 

XXII.  '  LA  FEMME  DISPOSE  '         .         .         . '      ...  241 

XXIII.  THE  LAST  VALOIS       .        .         .        ...         .250 

XXIV.  A  ROYAL  PERIL.  262 


VI 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

XXV.  TERMS  OF  SURRENDER 

XXVI.  MEDITATIONS 

XXVII.  To  ME,  MY  FRIENDS  ! 

XXVIII.  THE  CASTLE  ON  THE  HILL 

XXIX.  PESTILENCE  AND  FAMINE    . 

XXX.  STRICKEN     . 

XXXI.  UNDER  THE  GREENWOOD     . 

XXXII.  A  TAVERN  BRAWL       . 

XXXIII.  AT  MEUDON 

XXXIV.  '  'Tis  AN  ILL  WIND  '  . 
XXXV.  <L,E  KOI  EST  MORT'  . 

XXXVI.  '  VIVE  LE  Roi ! ' 


PAGB 

272 
282 
288 
306 
319 
330 
339 
350 
363 
375 
388 
401 


A   GENTLEMAN   OF   FRANCE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE    SPORT    OF    FOOLS. 

THE  death  of  the  Prince  of  Conde,  which  occurred  in  the 
spring  of  1588,  by  depriving  me  of  my  only  patron,  reduced 
me  to  such  straits  that  the  winter  of  that  year,  which  saw 
the  King  of  Navarre  come  to  spend  his  Christmas  at  St. 
Jean  d'Angely,  saw  also  the  nadir  of  my  fortunes.  I  did 
not  know  at  this  time — I  may  confess  it  to-day  without 
shame — whither  to  turn  for  a  gold  crown  or  a  new  scabbard, 
and  neither  had  nor  discerned  any  hope  of  employment. 
The  peace  lately  patched  up  at  Blois  between  the  King  of 
France  and  the  League  persuaded  many  of  the  Huguenots 
that  their  final  ruin  was  at  hand;  but  it  could  not  fill  their 
exhausted  treasury  or  enable  them  to  put  fresh  troops  into 
the  field. 

The  death  of  the  Prince  had  left  the  King  of  Navarre 
without  a  rival  in  the  affections  of  the  Huguenots;  the 
Vicomte  de  Turenne,  whose  turbulent  ambition  already  be- 
gan to  make  itself  felt,  and  M.  de  Chatillon,  ranking  next 
to  him.  It  was  my  ill-fortune,  however,  to  be  equally 
unknown  to  all  three  leaders,  and  as  the  month  of  December 
which  saw  me  thus  miserably  straitened  saw  me  reach  the 
age  of  forty,  which  I  regard,  differing  in  that  from  many,  as 
the  grand  climacteric  of  a  man's  life,  it  will  be  believed  that 


2  A   GENTLEMAN"  OF  FRANCE 

I  had  need  of  all  the  courage  which  religion  and  a  cam- 
paigner's life  could  supply. 

I  had  been  compelled  some  time  before  to  sell  all  my 
horses  except  the  black  Sardinian  with  the  white  spot  on 
its  forehead;  and  I  now  found  myself  obliged  to  part  also 
with  my  valet  de  chambre  and  groom,  whom  I  dismissed 
on  the  same  day,  paying  them  their  wages  with  the  last 
links  of  gold  chain  left  to  me.  It  was  not  without  grief 
and  dismay  that  I  saw  myself  thus  stripped  of  the  appur- 
tenances of  a  man  of  birth,  and  driven  to  groom  my  own 
horse  under  cover  of  night.  But  this  was  not  the  worst. 
My  dress,  which  suffered  inevitably  from  this  menial  em- 
ployment, began  in  no  long  time  to  bear  witness  to  the 
change  in  my  circumstances ;  so  that  on  the  day  of  the  King 
of  Navarre's  entrance  into  St.  Jean  I  dared  not  face  the 
crowd,  always  quick  to  remark  the  poverty  of  those  above 
them,  but  was  fain  to  keep  within  doors  and  wear  out  my 
pacience  in  the  garret  of  the  cutler's  house  in  the  Rue  de  la 
Goutellerie,  which  was  all  the  lodging  I  could  now  afford. 

Pardieu,  'tis  a  strange  world!  Strange  that  time  seems 
to  me;  more  strange  compared  with  this.  My  reflections 
on  that  day,  I  remember,  were  of  the  most  melancholy. 
Look  at  it  how  I  would,  I  could  not  but  see  that  my  life's 
spring  was  over.  The  crows'-feet  were  gathering  about  my 
eyes,  and  my  moustachios,  which  seemed  with  each  day  of 
ill-fortune  to  stand  out  more  fiercely  in  proportion  as  my 
face  grew  leaner,  were  already  grey.  I  was  out  at  elbows, 
with  empty  pockets,  and  a  sword  which  peered  through  the 
sheath.  The  meanest  ruffler  who,  with  broken  feather  and 
tarnished  lace,  swaggered  at  the  heels  of  Turenne,  was 
scarcely  to  be  distinguished  from  me.  I  had  still,  it  is  true, 
a  rock  and  a  few  barren  acres  in  Brittany,  the  last  remains 
of  the  family  property;  but  the  small  sums  which  the  peas- 
ants could  afford  to  pay  were  sent  annually  to  Paris,  to  my 
mother,  who  had  no  other  dower.  And  this  I  would  not 
touch,  being  minded  to  die  a  gentleman,  even  if  I  could  not 
live  in  that  estate. 


THE  SPORT  OF  FOOLS  3 

Small  as  were  my  expectations  of  success,  since  I  had  no 
one  at  the  king's  side  to  push  my  business,  nor  any  friend 
at  Court,  I  nevertheless  did  all  I  could,  in  the  only  way  that 
occurred  to  me.  I  drew  up  a  petition,  and  lying  in  wait 
one  day  for  M.  Forget,  the  King  of  Navarre's  secretary, 
placed  it  in  his  hand,  begging  him  to  lay  it  before  that 
prince.  He  took  it,  and  promised  to  do  so,  smoothly,  and 
with  as  much  lip-civility  as  I  had  a  right  to  expect.  But 
the  careless  manner  in  which  he  doubled  up  and  thrust  away 
the  paper  on  which  I  had  spent  so  much  labour,  no  less  than 
the  covert  sneer  of  his  valet,  who  ran  after  me  to  get  the 
customary  present — and  ran,  as  I  still  blush  to  remember, 
in  vain — warned  me  to  refrain  from  hope. 

In  this,  however,  having  little  save  hope  left,  I  failed  so 
signally  as  to  spend  the  next  day  and  the  day  after  in  a 
fever  of  alternate  confidence  and  despair,  the  cold  fit  fol- 
lowing the  hot  with  perfect  regularity.  At  length,  on  the 
morning  of  the  third  day — I  remember  it  lacked  but  three 
of  Christmas — I  heard  a  step  on  the  stairs.  My  landlord 
living  in  his  shop,  and  the  two  intervening  floors  being 
empty,  I  had  no  doubt  the  message  was  for  me,  and  went 
outside  the  door  to  receive  it,  my  first  glance  at  the  messenger 
confirming  me  in  my  highest  hopes,  as  well  as  in  all  I  had 
ever  heard  of  the  generosity  of  the  King  of  Navarre.  For  by 
chance  I  knew  the  youth  to  be  one  of  the  royal  pages ;  a  saucy 
fellow  who  had  a  day  or  two  before  cried  'Old  Clothes' 
after  me  in  the  street.  I  was  very  far  from  resenting  this 
now,  however,  nor  did  he  appear  to  recall  it ;  so  that  I  drew 
the  happiest  augury  as  to  the  contents  of  the  note  he  bore 
from  the  politeness  with  which  he  presented  it  to  me. 

I  would  not,  however,  run  the  risk  of  a  mistake,  and 
before  holding  out  my  hand,  I  asked  him  directly  and  with 
formality  if  it  was  for  me. 

He  answered,  with  the  utmost  respect,  that  it  was  for  the 
Sieur  de  Marsac,  and  for  me  if  I  were  he. 

'There  is  an  answer,  perhaps?'  I  said,  seeing  that  he 
lingered. 


4  A    GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

'The  King  of  Navarre,  sir,'  he  replied,  with  a  low  bow, 
'will  receive  your  answer  in  person,  I  believe.'  And  with 
that,  replacing  the  hat  which  he  had  doffed  out  of  respect  to 
me,  he  turned  and  went  down  the  stairs. 

Returning  to  my  room,  and  locking  the  door,  I  hastily 
opened  the  missive,  which  was  sealed  with  a  large  seal,  and 
wore  every  appearance  of  importance.  I  found  its  contents 
to  exceed  all  my  expectations.  The  King  of  Navarre  desired 
me  to  wait  on  him  at  noon  on  the  following  day,  and  the 
letter  concluded  with  such  expressions  of  kindness  and  good- 
will as  left  me  in  no  doubt  of  the  Prince's  intentions.  I 
read  it,  I  confess,  with  emotions  of  joy  and  gratitude  which 
would  better  have  become  a  younger  man,  and  then  cheer- 
fully sat  down  to  spend  the  rest  of  the  day  in  making  such 
improvements  in  my  dress  as  seemed  possible.  With  a 
thankful  heart  I  concluded  that  I  had  now  escaped  from 
poverty,  at  any  rate  from  such  poverty  as  is  disgraceful  to 
a  gentleman ;  and  consoled  myself  for  the  meanness  of  the 
appearance  I  must  make  at  Court  with  the  reflection  that  a 
day  or  two  would  mend  both  habit  and  fortune. 

Accordingly,  it  was  with  a  stout  heart  that  I  left  my  lodg- 
ings a  few  minutes  before  noon  next  morning,  and  walked 
towards  the  castle.  It  was  some  time  since  I  had  made  so 
public  an  appearance  in  the  streets,  which  the  visit  of  the 
King  of  Navarre's  Court  had  filled  with  an  unusual  crowd, 
and  I  could  not  help  fancying  as  I  passed  that  some  of  the 
loiterers  eyed  me  with  a  covert  smile;  and,  indeed,  I  was 
shabby  enough.  But  finding  that  a  frown  more  than  sufficed. 
to  restore  the  gravity  of  these  gentry,  I  set  down  the  ap- 
pearance to  my  own  self-consciousness,  and,  stroking  my 
moustachios,  strode  along  boldly  until  I  saw  before  me,  and 
coming  to  meet  me,  the  same  page  who  had  delivered  the  note. 

He  stopped  in  front  of  me  with  an  air  of  consequence,  and 
making  me  a  low  bow — whereat  I  saw  the  bystanders  stare, 
for  he  was  as  gay  a  young  spark  as  maid-of -honour  could 
desire — he  begged  me  to  hasten,  as  the  king  awaited  me  in 
his  closet. 


THE  SPORT  OF  FOOLS  5 

'He  has  asked  for  you  twice,  sir,'  he  continued  impor- 
tantly, the  feather  of  his  cap  almost  sweeping  the  ground. 

'I  think,'  I  answered,  quickening  my  steps,  'that  the 
king's  letter  says  noon,  young  sir.  If  I  am  late  on  such  an 
occasion,  he  has  indeed  cause  to  complain  of  me. ' 

'Tut,  tut! '  he  rejoined,  waving  his  hand  with  a  dandified 
air.  'It  is  no  matter.  One  man  may  steal  a  horse  when 
another  may  not  look  over  the  wall,  you  know. ' 

A  man  may  be  gray-haired,  he  may  be  sad-complexioned, 
and  yet  he  may  retain  some  of  the  freshness  of  youth.  On 
receiving  this  indication  of  a  favour  exceeding  all  expecta- 
tion, I  remember  I  felt  the  blood  rise  to  my  face,  and  ex- 
perienced the  most  lively  gratitude.  I  wondered  who  had 
spoken  in  my  behalf,  who  had  befriended  me ;  and  conclud- 
ing at  last  that  my  part  in  the  affair  at  Brouage  had  come 
to  the  king's  ears,  though  I  could  not  conceive  through 
whom,  I  passed  through  the  castle  gates  with  an  air  of 
confidence  and  elation  which  was  not  unnatural,  I  think, 
under  the  circumstances.  Thence,  following  my  guide,  I 
mounted  the  ramp  and  entered  the  courtyard. 

A  number  of  grooms  and  valets  were  lounging  here,  some 
leading  horses  to  and  fro,  others  exchanging  jokes  with  the 
wenches  who  leaned  from  the  windows,  while  their  fellows 
again  stamped  up  and  down  to  keep  their  feet  warm,  or 
played  ball  against  the  wall  in  imitation  of  their  masters. 
Such  knaves  are  ever  more  insolent  than  their  betters ;  but 
I  remarked  that  they  made  way  for  me  with  respect,  and 
with  rising  spirits,  yet  a  little  irony,  I  reminded  myself  as 
I  mounted  the  stairs  of  the  words,  'whom  the  king  de- 
lighteth  to  honour! ' 

Reaching  the  head  of  the  flight,  where  was  a  soldier  on 
guard,  the  page  opened  the  door  of  the  antechamber,  and 
standing  aside  bade  me  enter.  I  did  so,  and  heard  the 
door  close  behind  me. 

For  a  moment  I  stood  still,  bashful  and  confused.  It 
seemed  to  me  that  there  were  a  hundred  people  in  the  room, 
and  that  half  the  eyes  which  met  mine  were  women's. 


6  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

Though  I  was  not  altogether  a  stranger  to  such  state  as  the 
Prince  of  Conde  had  maintained,  this  crowded  anteroom 
filled  me  with  surprise,  and  even  with  a  degree  of  awe,  of 
which  I  was  the  next  moment  ashamed.  True,  the  flutter 
of  silk  and  gleam  of  jewels  surpassed  anything  I  had 
then  seen,  for  my  fortunes  had  never  led  me  to  the  king's 
Court;  but  an  instant's  reflection  reminded  me  that  my 
fathers  had  held  their  own  in  such  scenes,  and  with  a  bow 
regulated  rather  by  this  thought  than  by  the  shabbiness  of 
my  dress,  I  advanced  amid  a  sudden  silence. 

'M.  de  Marsac!'  the  page  announced,  in  a  tone  which 
sounded  a  little  odd  in  my  ears ;  so  much  so,  that  I  turned 
quickly  to  look  at  him.  He  was  gone,  however,  and  when 
I  turned  again  the  eyes  which  met  mine  were  full  of  smiles. 
A  young  girl  who  stood  near  me  tittered.  Put  out  of 
countenance  by  this,  I  looked  round  in  embarrassment  to 
find  someone  to  whom  I  might  apply. 

The  room  was  long  and  narrow,  panelled  in  chestnut, 
with  a  row  of  windows  on  the  one  hand,  and  two  fireplaces, 
now  heaped  with  glowing  logs,  on  the  other.  Between  the 
fireplaces  stood  a  rack  of  arms.  Round  the  nearer  hearth 
lounged  a  group  of  pages,  the  exact  counterparts  of  the 
young  blade  who  had  brought  me  hither ;  and  talking  with 
these  were  as  many  young  gentlewomen.  Two  great  hounds 
lay  basking  in  the  heat,  and  coiled  between  them,  with  her 
head  on  the  back  of  the  larger,  was  a  figure  so  strange  that 
at  another  time  I  should  have  doubted  my  eyes.  It  wore  the 
fool's  motley  and  cap  and  bells,  but  a  second  glance  showed 
me  the  features  were  a  woman's.  A  torrent  of  black  hair 
flowed  loose  about  her  neck,  her  eyes  shone  with  wild  mer- 
riment, and  her  face,  keen,  thin,  and  hectic,  glared  at  me 
from  the  dog's  back.  Beyond  her,  round  the  farther  fire- 
place, clustered  more  than  a  score  of  gallants  and  ladies,  of 
whom  one  presently  advanced  to  me. 

'Sir,'  he  said  politely — and  I  wished  I  could  match  his 
bow — 'you  wished  to  see ? ' 

'  The  King  of  Navarre, '  I  answered,  doing  my  best. 


THE  SPORT  OF  FOOLS  7 

He  turned  to  the  group  behind  him,  and  said,  in  a  pecu- 
liarly even,  placid  tone,  'He  wishes  to  see  the  King  of 
Navarre.'  Then  in  solemn  silence  he  bowed  to  me  again 
and  went  back  to  his  fellows. 

Upon  the  instant,  and  before  I  could  make  up  my  mind 
how  to  take  this,  a  second  tripped  forward,  and  saluting 
me,  said,  'M.  de  Marsac,  I  think?' 

'At  your  service,  sir,'  I  rejoined.  In  my  eagerness  to 
escape  the  gaze  of  all  those  eyes,  and  the  tittering  which 
was  audible  behind  me,  I  took  a  step  forward  to  be  in  readi- 
ness to  follow  him.  But  he  gave  no  sign.  'M.  de  Marsac 
to  see  the  King  of  Navarre '  was  all  he  said,  speaking  as 
the  other  had  done  to  those  behind.  And  with  that  he  too 
wheeled  round  and  went  back  to  the  fire. 

I  stared,  a  first  faint  suspicion  of  the  truth  aroused  in  my 
mind.  Before  I  could  act  upon  it,  however — in  such  a  sit- 
uation it  was  no  easy  task  to  decide  how  to  act — a  third 
advanced  with  the  same  measured  steps.  'By  appointment 
I  think,  sir? '  he  said,  bowing  lower  than  the  others. 

'Yes,'  I  replied  sharply,  beginning  to  grow  warm,  'by 
appointment  at  noon.' 

'M.  de  Marsac,'  he  announced  in  a  sing-song  tone  to  those 
behind  him,  'to  see  the  King  of  Navarre  by  appointment  at 
noon.'  And  with  a  second  bow — while  I  grew  scarlet  with 
mortification — he  too  wheeled  gravely  round  and  returned 
to  the  fireplace. 

I  saw  another  preparing  to  advance,  but  he  came  too  late. 
Whether  my  face  of  anger  and  bewilderment  was  too  much 
for  them,  or  some  among  them  lacked  patience  to  see  the 
end,  a  sudden  uncontrollable  shout  of  laughter,  in  which 
all  the  room  joined,  cut  short  the  farce.  God  knows  it  hurt 
me :  I  winced,  I  looked  this  way  and  that,  hoping  here  or 
there  to  find  sympathy  and  help.  But  it  seemed  to  me  that 
the  place  rang  with  gibes,  that  every  panel  framed,  how- 
ever I  turned  myself,  a  cruel,  sneering  face.  One  behind 
me  cried  'Old  Clothes,'  and  when  I  turned  the  other  hearth 
whispered  the  taunt.  It  added  a  thousandfold  to  my  em- 


8  A   GENTLEMAAT  OF  FRANCE 

barrassment  that  there  was  in  all  a  certain  orderliness,  so 
that  while  no  one  moved,  and  none,  while  I  looked  at  them, 
raised  their  voices,  I  seemed  the  more  singled  out,  and 
placed  as  a  butt  in  the  midst. 

One  face  amid  the  pyramid  of  countenances  which  hid 
the  farther  fireplace  so  burned  itself  into  my  recollection  in 
that  miserable  moment,  that  I  never  thereafter  forgot  it;  a 
small,  delicate  woman's  face,  belonging  to  a  young  girl  who 
stood  boldly  in  front  of  her  companions.  It  was  a  face  full 
of  pride,  and,  as  I  saw  it  then,  of  scorn — scorn  that  scarcely 
deigned  to  laugh;  while  the  girl's  graceful  figure,  slight 
and  maidenly,  yet  perfectly  proportioned,  seemed  instinct 
with  the  same  feeling  of  contemptuous  amusement. 

The  play,  which  seemed  long  enough  to  me,  might  have 
lasted  longer,  seeing  that  no  one  there  had  pity  on  me,  had 
I  not,  in  my  desperation,  espied  a  door  at  the  farther  end  of 
the  room,  and  concluded,  seeing  no  other,  that  it  was  the 
door  of  the  king's  bedchamber.  The  mortification  I  was 
suffering  was  so  great  that  I  did  not  hesitate,  but  advanced 
with  boldness  towards  it.  On  the  instant  there  was  a  lull 
in  the  laughter  round  me,  and  half  a  dozen  voices  called  on 
me  to  stop. 

'I  have  come  to  see  the  king,'  I  answered,  turning  on 
them  fiercely,  for  I  was  by  this  time  in  no  mood  for  brow-? 
beating,  'and  I  will  see  him! ' 

'He  is  out  hunting,'  cried  all  with  one  accord;  and 
they  signed  imperiously  to  me  to  go  back  the  way  I  had 
come. 

But  having  the  king's  appointment  safe  in  my  pouch,  I 
thought  I  had  good  reason  to  disbelieve  them;  and  taking 
advantage  of  their  surprise — for  they  had  not  expected  so 
bold  a  step  on  my  part — I  was  at  the  door  before  they  could 
prevent  me.  I  heard  Mathurine,  the  fool,  who  had  sprung 
to  her  feet,  cry  'Pardieu!  he  will  take  the  Kingdom  of 
Heaven  by  force! '  And  those  were  the  last  words  I  heard; 
for,  as  I  lifted  the  latch — there  was  no  one  on  guard  there 
— a  sudden  swift  silence  fell  upon  the  room  behind  me. 


THE  SPORT  OF  FOOLS  9 

I  pushed  the  door  gently  open  and  went  in.  There  were 
two  men  sitting  in  one  of  the  windows,  who  turned  and 
looked  angrily  towards  me.  For  the  rest  the  room  was 
empty.  The  king's  walking-shoes  lay  by  his  chair,  and 
beside  them  the  boot-hooks  and  jack.  A  dog  before  the  fire 
got  up  slowly  and  growled,  and  one  of  the  men,  rising  from 
the  trunk  on  which  he  had  been  sitting,  came  towards  me 
and  asked  me,  with  every  sign  of  irritation,  what  I  wanted 
there,  and  who  had  given  me  leave  to  enter. 

I  was  beginning  to  explain,  with  some  diffidence — the 
stillness  of  the  room  sobering  me — that  I  wished  to  see  the 
king,  when  he  who  had  advanced  took  me  up  sharply  with, 
'The  king?  the  king?  He  is  not  here,  man.  He  is  hunting 
at  St.  Valery.  Did  they  not  tell  you  so  outside? ' 

I  thought  I  recognised  the  speaker,  than  whom  I  have 
seldom  seen  a  man  more  grave  and  thoughtful  for  his  years, 
which  were  something  less  than  mine,  more  striking  in  pres- 
ence, or  more  soberly  dressed.  And  being  desirous  to 
evade  his  question,  I  asked  him  if  I  had  not  the  honour  to 
address  M.  du  Plessis  Mornay;  for  that  wise  and  courtly 
statesman,  now  a  pillar  of  Henry's  counsels,  it  was. 

'The  same,  sir,'  he  replied  abruptly,  and  without  taking 
his  eyes  from  me.  'I  am  Mornay.  What  of  that? ' 

'I  am  M.  de  Marsac,'  I  explained.  And  there  I  stopped, 
supposing  that,  as  he  was  in  the  king's  confidence,  this 
would  make  my  errand  clear  to  him. 

But  I  was  disappointed.  'Well,  sir?'  he  said,  and 
waited  impatiently. 

So  cold  a  reception,  following  such  treatment  as  I  had 
suffered  outside,  would  have  sufficed  to  have  dashed  my 
spirits  utterly  had  I  not  felt  the  king's  letter  in  my  pocket. 
Being  pretty  confident,  however,  that  a  single  glance  at 
this  would  alter  M.  du  Mornay 's  bearing  for  the  better,  I 
hastened,  looking  on  it  as  a  kind  of  talisman,  to  draw  it  out 
and  present  it  to  him. 

He  took  it,  and  looked  at  it,  and  opened  it,  but  with  so 
cold  and  immovable  an  aspect  as  made  my  heart  sink  more 


10  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

than  all  that  had  gone  before.  'What  is  amiss?'  I  oried, 
unable  to  keep  silence.  "Tis  from  the  king,  sir.' 

'A  king  in  motley! '  he  answered,  his  lip  curling. 

The  sense  of  his  words  did  not  at  once  strike  home  to  me, 
and  I  murmured,  in  great  disorder,  that  the  king  had  sent 
for  me. 

'The  king  knows  nothing  of  it,'  was  his  blunt  answer, 
bluntly  given.  And  he  thrust  the  paper  back  into  my 
hands.  'It  is  a  trick,'  he  continued,  speaking  with  the 
same  abruptness,  'for  which  you  have  doubtless  to  thank 
some  of  those  idle  young  rascals  without.  You  had  sent  an 
application  to  the  king,  I  suppose?  Just  so.  No  doubt 
they  got  hold  of  it,  and  this  is  the  result.  They  ought  to 
be  whipped.' 

It  was  not  possible  for  me  to  doubt  any  longer  that  what 
he  said  was  true.  I  saw  in  a  moment  all  my  hopes  vanish, 
all  my  plans  flung  to  the  winds ;  and  in  the  first  shock  of 
the  discovery  I  could  neither  find  voice  to  answer  him  nor 
strength  to  withdraw.  In  a  kind  of  vision  I  seemed  to  see 
my  own  lean,  haggard  face  looking  at  me  as  in  a  glass,  and, 
reading  despair  in  my  eyes,  could  have  pitied  myself. 

My  disorder  was  so  great  that  M.  du  Mornay  observed  it. 
Looking  more  closely  at  me,  he  two  or  three  times  muttered 
my  name,  and  at  last  said,  'M.  de  Mar  sac?  Ha!  I  remem- 
ber. You  were  in  the  affair  of  Brouage,  were  you  not? ' 

I  nodded  my  head  in  token  of  assent,  being  unable  at  the 
moment  to  speak,  and  so  shaken  that  perforce  I  leaned 
against  the  wall,  my  head  sunk  on  my  breast.  The  memory 
of  my  age,  my  forty  years,  and  my  poverty,  pressed  hard 
upon  me,  filling  me  with  despair  and  bitterness.  I  could 
have  wept,  but  no  tears  came. 

M.  du  Mornay,  averting  his  eyes  from  me,  took  two  or 
three  short,  impatient  turns  up  and  dowu  the  chamber. 
When  he  addressed  me  again  his  tone  was  full  of  respect, 
mingled  with  such  petulance  as  one  brave  man  might  feel, 
seeing  another  so  hard  pressed.  'M.  de  Marsac,'  he  said, 
'you  have  my  sympathy.  It  is  a  shame  that  men  who  have 


THE  SPORT  OF  FOOLS  1 1 

served  the  cause  should  be  reduced  to  such  straits.  Were 
it  possible  for  me  to  increase  my  own  train  at  present,  I 
should  consider  it  an  honour  to  have  you  with  me.  But 
I  am  hard  put  to  it  myself,  and  so  are  we  all,  and  the  King 
of  Navarre  not  least  among  us.  He  has  lived  for  a  month 
upon  a  wood  which  M.  de  Rosny  has  cut  down.  I  will 
mention  your  name  to  him,  but  I  should  be  cruel  rather 
than  kind  were  I  not  to  warn  you  that  nothing  can  come 
of  it.' 

With  that  he  offered  me  his  hand,  and,  cheered  as  much 
by  this  mark  of  consideration  as  by  the  kindness  of  his  ex- 
pressions, I  rallied  my  spirits.  True,  I  wanted  comfort 
more  substantial,  but  it  was  not  to  be  had.  I  thanked  him 
therefore  as  becomingly  as  I  could,  and  seeing  there  was  no 
help  for  it,  took  my  leave  of  him,  and  slowly  and  sorrow- 
fully withdrew  from  the  room. 

Alas !  to  escape  I  had  to  face  the  outside  world,  for  which 
his  kind  words  were  an  ill  preparation.  I  had  to  run  the 
gauntlet  of  the  antechamber.  The  moment  I  appeared, 
or  rather  the  moment  the  door  closed  behind  me,  I  was 
hailed  with  a  shout  of  derision.  While  one  cried,  'Way! 
way  for  the  gentleman  who  has  seen  the  king ! '  another 
hailed  me  uproariously  as  Governor  of  Guyenne,  and  a  third 
requested  a  commission  in  my  regiment. 
.  I  heard  these  taunts  with  a  heart  full  almost  to  bursting. 
It  seemed  to  me  an  unworthy  thing  that,  merely  by  reason 
of  my  poverty,  I  should  be  derided  by  youths  who  had  still 
all  their  battles  before  them ;  but  to  stop  or  reproach  them 
would  only,  as  I  well  knew,  make  matters  worse,  and, 
moreover,  I  was  so  sore  stricken  that  I  had  little  spirit  left 
even  to  speak.  Accordingly,  I  made  my  way  through  them 
with  what  speed  I  might,  my  head  bent,  and  my  counte- 
nance heavy  with  shame  and  depression.  In  this  way — I 
wonder  there  were  not  among  them  some  generous  enough 
to  pity  me — I  had  nearly  gained  the  door,  and  was  begin- 
ning to  breathe,  when  I  found  my  path  stopped  by  that  par- 
ticular young  lady  of  the  Court  whom  I  have  described 


12  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

above.  Something  had  for  the  moment  diverted  her  atten- 
tion from  me,  and  it  required  a  word  from  her  companions 
to  apprise  her  of  my  near  neighbourhood.  She  turned 
then,  as  one  taken  by  surprise,  and  finding  me  so  close  to 
her  that  my  feet  all  but  touched  her  gown,  she  stepped 
quickly  aside,  and  with  a  glance  as  cruel  as  her  act,  drew 
her  skirts  away  from  contact  with  me. 

The  insult  stung  me,  I  know  not  why,  more  than  all  the 
gibes  which  were  being  flung  at  me  from  every  side,  and 
moved  by  a  sudden  impulse  I  stopped,  and  in  the  bitter- 
ness of  my  heart  spoke  to  her.  'Mademoiselle,'  I  said, 
bowing  low — for,  as  I  have  stated,  she  was  small,  and  more 
like  a  fairy  than  a  woman,  though  her  face  expressed  both 
pride  and  self-will — 'Mademoiselle,'  I  said  sternly,  'such 
as  I  am,  I  have  fought  for  France!  Some  day  you  may 
learn  that  there  are  viler  things  in  the  world — and  have  to 
bear  them — than  a  poor  gentleman ! ' 

The  words  were  scarcely  out  of  my  mouth  before  I  re- 
pented of  them,  for  Mathurine,  the  fool,  who  was  at  my 
elbow,  was  quick  to  turn  them  into  ridicule.  Raising  her 
hands  above  our  heads,  as  in  act  to  bless  us,  she  cried  out 
that  Monsieur,  having  gained  so  rich  an  office,  desired  a 
bride  to  grace  it;  and  this,  bringing  down  upon  us  a  coarse 
shout  of  laughter  and  some  coarser  gibes,  I  saw  the  young 
girl's  face  flush  hotly. 

The  next  moment  a  voice  in  the  crowd  cried  roughly, 
'Out  upon  his  wedding  suit! '  and  with  that  a  sweetmeat 
struck  me  in  the  face.  Another  and  another  followed,  cov- 
ering me  with  flour  and  comfits.  This  was  the  last  straw. 
For  a  moment,  forgetting  where  I  was,  I  turned  upon  them, 
red  and  furious,  every  hair  in  my  moustachios  bristling. 
The  next,  the  full  sense  of  my  impotence  and  of  the  folly 
of  resentment  prevailed  with  me,  and,  dropping  my  head 
upon  my  breast,  I  rushed  from  the  room. 

I  believe  that  the  younger  among  them  followed  me,  and 
that  the  cry  of  '  Old  Clothes ! '  pursued  me  evea  to  the  door 
of  my  lodgings  in  the  Rue  de  la  Coutellerie.  But  in  the 


THE  KING   OF  NAVARRE  13 

misery  of  the  moment,  and  my  strong  desire  to  be  within 
doors  and  alone,  I  barely  noticed  this,  and  am  not  certain 
whether  it  was  so  or  not. 


CHAPTER   II. 

THE    KING    OF    NAVARRE. 

I  HAVE  already  referred  to  the  danger  with  which  the 
alliance  between  Henry  the  Third  and  the  League  menaced 
us,  an  alliance  whereof  the  news,  it  was  said,  had  blanched 
the  King  of  Navarre's  moustache  in  a  single  night.  Not- 
withstanding this,  the  Court  had  never  shown  itself  more 
frolicsome  or  more  free  from  care  than  at  the  time  of  which 
I  am  speaking;  even  the  lack  of  money  seemed  for  the 
moment  forgotten.  One  amusement  followed  another,  and 
though,  without  doubt,  something  was  doing  under  the  sur- 
face— for  the  wiser  of  his  foes  held  our  prince  in  particular 
dread  when  he  seemed  most  deeply  sunk  in  pleasure — to 
the  outward  eye  St.  Jean  d'Angely  appeared  to  be  given 
over  to  enjoyment  from  one  end  to  the  other. 

The  stir  and  bustle  of  the  Court  reached  me  even  in  my 
garret,  and  contributed  to  make  that  Christmas,  which  fell 
on  a  Sunday,  a  trial  almost  beyond  sufferance.  All  day 
long  the  rattle  of  hoofs  on  the  pavement,  and  the  laughter 
of  riders  bent  on  diversion,  came  up  to  me,  making  the 
hard  stool  seem  harder,  the  bare  walls  more  bare,  and  in- 
creasing a  hundredfold  the  solitarj1-  gloom  in  which  I  sat. 
For  as  sunshine  deepens  the  shadows  which  fall  athwart  it, 
and  no  silence  is  like  that  which  follows  the  explosion  of 
a  mine,  so  sadness  and  poverty  are  never  more  intolerable 
than  when  hope  and  wealth  rub  elbows  with  them. 

True,  the  great  sermon  which  M.  d' Amours  preached  in 
the  market-house  on  the  morning  of  Christmas-day  cheered 
me,  as  it  cheered  all  the  more  sober  spirits.  I  was  present 


14  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

myself,  sitting  in  an  obscure  corner  of  the  building,  and 
heard  the  famous  prediction,  which  was  so  soon  to  be  ful- 
filled. 'Sire,'  said  the  preacher,  turning  to  the  King,  of 
Navarre,  and  referring,  with  the  boldness  that  ever  charac- 
terised that  great  man  and  noble  Christian,  to  the  attempt 
then  being  made  to  exclude  the  prince  from  the  succession 
— 'Sire,  what  God  at  your  birth  gave  you  man  cannot  take 
away.  A  little  while,  a  little  patience,  and  you  shall  cause 
us  to  preach  beyond  the  Loire!  With  you  for  our  Joshua 
we  shall  cross  the  Jordan,  and  in  the  Promised  Land  the 
Church  shall  be  set  up.' 

Words  so  brave,  and  so  well  adapted  to  encourage  the 
Huguenots  in  the  crisis  through  which  their  affairs  were 
then  passing,  charmed  all  hearers ;  save  indeed,  those — and 
they  were  few — who,  being  devoted  to  the  Vicomte  de  Tu- 
renne,  disliked,  though  they  could  not  controvert,  this  pub- 
lic acknowledgment  of  the  King  of  Navarre  as  the  Huguenot 
leader.  The  pleasure  of  those  present  was  evinced  in  a 
hundred  ways,  and  to  such  an  extent  that  even  I  returned 
to  my  chamber  soothed  and  exalted,  and  found,  in  dream- 
ing of  the  speedy  triumph  of  the  cause,  some  compensation 
for  my  own  ill-fortune. 

As  the  day  wore  on,  however,  and  the  evening  brought 
no  change,  but  presented  to  me  the  same  dreary  prospect 
with  which  morning  had  made  me  familiar,  I  .confess  with- 
out shame  that  my  heart  sank  once  more,  particularly  as  I 
saw  that  I  should  be  forced  in  a  day  or  two  to  sell  either 
my  remaining  horse  or  some  part  of  my  equipment  as 
essential;  a  step  which  I  could  not  contemplate  without 
feelings  of  the  utmost  despair.  In  this  state  of  mind  I  was 
adding  up  by  the  light  of  a  solitary  candle  the  few  coins  I 
had  left,  when  I  heard  footsteps  ascending  the  stairs.  1 
made  them  out  to  be  the  steps  of  two  persons,  and  was  still 
lost  in  conjectures  who  they  might  be,  when  a  hand  knocked 
gently  at  my  door. 

Fearing  another  trick,  I  did  not  at  once  open,  the  more 
as  there  was  something  stealthy  and  insinuating  in  the 


THE  KING   OF  NAVARRE  15 

knock.  Thereupon  my  visitors  held  a  whispered  consulta- 
tion; then  they,  knocked  again.  I  asked  loudly  who  was 
there,  but  to  this  they  did  not  choose  to  give  any  answer, 
while  I,  on  my  part,  determined  not  to  open  until  they  did. 
The  door  was  strong,  and  I  smiled  grimly  at  the  thought 
that  this  time  they  would  have  their  trouble  for  their  pains. 

To  my  surprise,  however,  they  did  not  desist,  and  go 
away,  as  I  expected,  but  continued  to  knock  at  intervals 
and  whisper  much  between  times.  More  than  once  they 
called  me  softly  by  name  and  bade  me  open,  but  as  they 
steadily  refrained  from  saying  who  they  were,  I  sat  still. 
Occasionally  I  heard  them  laugh,  but  under  their  breath  as 
it  were ;  and  persuaded  by  this  that  they  were  bent  on  a 
frolic,  I  might  have  persisted  in  my  silence  until  midnight, 
which  was  not  more  than  two  hours  off,  had  not  a  slight 
sound,  as  of  a  rat  gnawing  behind  the  wainscot,  drawn  my 
attention  to  the  door.  Eaising  my  candle  and  shading  my 
eyes  I  espied  something  small  and  bright  protruding  be- 
neath it,  and  sprang  up,  thinking  they  were  about  to  prise 
it  in.  To  my  surprise,  however,  I  could  discover,  on  tak- 
ing the  candle  to  the  threshold,  nothing  more  threatening 
than  a  couple  of  gold  livres,  which  had  been  thrust  through 
the  crevice  between  the  door  and  the  floor. 

My  astonishment  may  be  conceived.  I  stood  for  full  a 
minute  staring  at  the  coins,  the  candle  in  my  hand.  Then, 
reflecting  that  the  young  sparks  at  the  Court  would  be  very 
unlikely  to  spend  such  a  sum  on  a  jest,  I  hesitated  no 
longer,  but  putting  down  the  candle,  drew  the  bolt  of  the 
door,  purposing  to  confer  with  my  visitors  outside.  In 
this,  however,  I  was  disappointed,  for  the  moment  the 
door  was  open  they  pushed  forcibly  past  me  and,  entering  the 
room  pell-mell,  bade  me  by  signs  to  close  the  door  again. 

I  did  so  suspiciously,  and  without  averting  my  eyes  from 
my  visitors.  Great  were  my  embarrassment  and  confusion, 
therefore,  when,  the  door  being  shut,  they  dropped  their 
cloaks  one  after  the  other,  and  I  saw  before  me  M.  du  Mor- 
nay  and  the  well-known  figure  of  the  King  of  Navarre. 


16  A    GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

They  seemed  so  much  diverted,  looking  at  one  another 
and  laughing,  that  for  a  moment  I  thought  some  chance 
resemblance  deceived  me,  and  that  here  were  my  jokers 
again.  Hence  while  a  man  might  count  ten  I  stood  staring; 
and  the  king  was  the  first  to  speak.  'We  have  made  no 
mistake,  Du  Mornay,  have  we? '  he  said,  casting  a  laughing 
glance  at  me. 

'No,  sire,'  Da  Mornay  answered.  'This  is  the  Sieur  de 
Marsac,  the  gentleman  whom  I  mentioned  to  you.' 

I  hastened,  confused,  wondering,  and  with  a  hundred 
apologies,  to  pay  my  respects  to  the  king.  He  speedily 
cut  me  short,  however,  saying,  with  an  air  of  much  kind- 
ness, 'Of  Marsac,  in  Brittany,  I  think,  sir?' 

'The  same,  sire.' 

'Then  you  are  of  the  family  of  Bonne? ' 

'I  am  the  last  survivor  of  that  family,  sire,'  I  answered 
respectfully. 

'It  has  played  its  pa.rt,'  he  rejoined.  And  therewith  he 
took  his  seat  on  my  stool  with  an  easy  grace  which  charmed 
me.  'Your  motto  is  "  Bonne  foi,"  is  it  not?  And  Marsac, 
if  I  remember  rightly,  is  not  far  from  Kennes,  on  the 
Vilaine? ' 

I  answered  that  it  Was,  adding,  with  a  full  heart,  that  it 
grieved  me  to  be  compelled  to  receive  so  great  a  prince  in 
so  poor  a  lodging. 

'Well,  I  confess,'  Du  Mornay  struck  in,  looking  care- 
lessly round  him,  'you  have  a  queer  taste,  M.  de  Marsac, 
in  the  arrangement  of  your  furniture.  You — ' 

'Mornay! '  the  king  cried  sharply. 

'Sire?' 

'Chut!  your  elbow  is  in  the  candle.     Beware  of  it! ' 

But  I  well  understood  him.  If  my  heart  had  been  full 
before,  it  overflowed  now.  Poverty  is  not  so  shameful  as 
the  shifts  to  which  it  drives  men.  I  had  been  compelled 
some  days  before,  in  order  to  make  as  good  a  show  as  possi- 
ble— since  it  is  the  undoubted  duty  of  a  gentleman  to  hide 
his  nakedness  from  impertinent  eyes,  and  especially  from 


THE  KING   OF  NAVARRE  17 

the  eyes  of  the  canaille,  who  are  wont  to  judge  from  exter- 
nals— to  remove  such  of  my  furniture  and  equipage  as  re- 
mained to  that  side  of  the  room,  which  was  visible  from 
without  when  the  door  was  open.  This  left  the  farther  side 
of  the  room  vacant  and  bare.  To  anyone  within  doors  the 
artitice  was,  of  course,  apparent,  and  I  am  bound  to  say 
that  M.  du  Mornay's  words  brought  the  blood  to  my  brow. 

I  rejoiced,  however,  a  moment  later  that  he  had  uttered 
them;  for  without  them  I  might  never  have  known,  or 
known  so  early,  the  kindness  of  heart  and  singular  quick- 
ness of  apprehension  which  ever  distinguished  the  king,  my 
master.  So,  in  my  heart,  I  began  to  call  him  from  that 
hour. 

The  King  of  Navarre  was  at  this  time  thirty-five  years 
old,  his  hair  brown,  his  complexion  ruddy,  his  moustache, 
on  one  side  at  least,  beginning  to  turn  grey.  His  features, 
which  Nature  had  cast  in  a  harsh  and  imperious  mould, 
were  relieved  by  a  constant  sparkle  and  animation  such  as 
I  have  never  seen  in  any  other  man,  but  in  him  became 
ever  more  conspicuous  in  gloomy  and  perilous  times.  In- 
ured to  danger  from  his  earliest  youth,  he  had  come  to 
enjoy  it  as  others  a  festival,  hailing  its  advent  with  a  reck- 
less gaiety  which  astonished  even  brave  men,  and  led  others 
to  think  him  the  least  prudent  of  mankind.  Yet  such  he 
was  not:  nay,  he  was  the  opposite  of  this.  Never  did 
Marshal  of  France  make  more  careful  dispositions  for  a 
battle — albeit  once  in  it  he  bore  himself  like  any  captain  of 
horse — nor  ever  did  Du  Mornay  himself  sit  down  to  a  con- 
ference with  a  more  accurate  knowledge  of  affairs.  His 
prodigious  wit  and  the  affability  of  his  manners,  while  they 
endeared  him  to  his  servants,  again  and  again  blinded  his 
adversaries;  who,  thinking  that  so  much  brilliance  could 
arise  only  from  a  shallow  nature,  found  when  it  was  too 
late  that  they  had  been  outwitted  by  him  whom  they  con- 
temptuously styled  the  Prince  of  Beam,  a  man  a  hundred- 
fold more  astute  than  themselves,  and  master  alike  of  pen 
and  sword. 


1 8  A    GENTLEMAN   OF  FRANCE 

Much  of  this,  which  all  the  world  now  knows,  I  learned 
afterwards.  At  the  moment  I  could  think  of  little  save  the 
king's  kindness;  to  which  he  added  by  insisting  that  I 
should  sit  on  the  bed  while  we  talked.  'You  wonder,  M. 
de  Marsac,'  he  said,  'what  brings  me  here,  and  why  1  have 
come  to  you  instead  of  sending  for  you?  Still  more,  per- 
haps, why  I  have  come  to  you  at  night  and  with  such  pre- 
cautions? I  will  tell  you.  But  first,  that  my  coming  may 
not  fill  you  with  false  hopes,  let  me  say  frankly,  that 
though  I  may  relieve  your  present  necessities,  whether  you 
fall  into  the  plan  I  am  going  to  mention,  or  not,  I  cannot 
take  you  into  my  service;  wherein,  indeed,  every  post  is 
doubly  filled.  Du  Mornay  mentioned  your  name  to  me, 
but  in  fairness  to  others  I  had  to  answer  that  I  could  do 
nothing.' 

I  am  bound  to  confess  that  this  strange  exordium  dashed 
hopes  which  had  already  risen  to  a  high  pitch.  Recover- 
ing myself  as  quickly  as  possible,  however,  I  murmured 
that  the  honour  of  a  visit  from  the  King  of  Navarre  was 
sufficient  happiness  for  me. 

'Nay,  but  that  honour  I  must  take  from  you'  he  replied, 
smiling;  'though  I  see  that  you  would  make  an  excellent 
courtier — far  better  than  Du  Mornay  here,  who  never  in 
his  life  made  so  pretty  a  speech.  For  I  must  lay  my 
commands  on  you  to  keep  this  visit  a  secret,  M.  de  Marsac. 
Should  but  the  slightest  whisper  of  it  get  abroad,  your  use- 
fulness, as  far  as  I  am  concerned,  would  be  gone,  and  gone 
for  good! ' 

So  remarkable  a  statement  filled  me  with  wonder  I 
could  scarcely  disguise.  It  was  with  difficulty  I  found 
words  to  assure  the  king  that  his  commands  should  be 
faithfully  obeyed. 

'Of  that  I  am  sure,'  he  answered  with  the  utmost  kind- 
ness. 'Were  I  not,  and  sure,  too,  from  what  I  am  told  of 
your  gallantry  when  my  cousin  took  Brouage,  that  you  are 
a  man  of  deeds  rather  than  words,  I  should  not  be  here 
with  the  proposition  I  am  going  to  lay  before  you.  It  is 


THE  KING   OF  NAVARRE  19 

tbV  I  can  give  you  no  hope  of  public  employment,  M.  de 
Mar-sac,  but  I  can  offer  you  an  adventure — if  adventures  be 
to  your  taste — as  dangerous  and  as  thankless  as  any  Amadis 
ever  undertook.' 

'As  thankless,  sire?'  I  stammered,  doubting  if  I  had 
heard  aright,  the  expression  was  so  strange. 

'As  thankless,'  he  answered,  his  keen  eyes  seeming  to 
read  my  soul.  'I  am  frank  with  you,  you  see,  sir,'  he  con- 
tinued, carelessly.  'I  can  suggest  this  adventure — it  is  for 
the  good  of  the  State — I  can  do  no  more.  The  King  of 
Navarre  cannot  appear  in  it,  nor  can  he  protect  you. 
Succeed  or  fail  in  it,  you  stand  alone.  The  only  promise  I 
make  is,  that  if  it  ever  be  safe  for  me  to  acknowledge  the 
act,  I  will  reward  the  doer.' 

He  paused,  and  for  a  few  moments  I  stared  at  him  in 
sheer  amazement.  What  did  he  mean?  Were  he  and  the 
other  real  figures,  or  was  I  dreaming? 

'Do  you  understand?'  he  asked  at  length,  with  a  touch 
of  impatience. 

'Yes,  sire,  I  think  I  do,'  I  murmured,  very  certain  in 
truth  and  reality  that  I  did  not. 

'What  do  you  say,  then — yes  or  no? '  he  rejoined.  'Will 
you  undertake  the  adventure,  or  would  you  hear  more  be- 
fore you  make  up  your  mind? ' 

I  hesitated.  Had  I  been  a  younger  man  by  ten  years  I 
should  doubtless  have  cried  assent  there  and  then,  having 
been  all  my  life  ready  enough  to  embark  on  such  enterprises 
as  offered  a  chance  of  distinction.  But  something  in  the 
strangeness  of  the  king's  preface,  although  I  had  it  in  my 
heart  to  die  for  him,  gave  me  check,  and  I  answered,  with 
an  air  of  great  humility,  'You  will  think  me  but  a  poor 
courtier  now,  sire,  yet  he  is  a  fool  who  jumps  into  a  ditch 
without  measuring  the  depth.  I  would  fain,  if  I  may  say 
it  without  disrespect,  hear  all  that  you  can  tell  me.' 

'Then  I  fear,'  he  answered  quickly,  'if  you  would  have 
more  light  on  the  matter,  my  friend,  you  must  get  another 
candle.' 

c2 


2O 

I  started,  he  spoke  so  abruptly;  but  perceiving  that  the 
candle  had  indeed  burned  down  to  the  socket,  I  rose,  with 
many  apologies,  and  fetched  another  from  the  cupboard.  It 
did  not  occur  to  me  at  the  moment,  though  it  did  later,  that 
the  king  had  purposely  sought  this  opportunity  of  consult- 
ing with  his  companion.  I  merely  remarked,  when  I  re- 
turned to  my  place  on  the  bed,  that  they  were  sitting  a  little 
nearer  one  another,  and  that  the  king  eyed  me  before  he 
spoke — though  he  still  swung  one  foot  carelessly  in  the  ai) 
— with  close  attention. 

'  I  speak  to  you,  of  course,  sir, '  he  presently  went  on,  '  in 
confidence,  believing  you  to  be  an  honourable  as  well  as  a 
brave  man.  That  which  I  wish  you  to  do  is  briefly,  and  in 
a  word,  to  carry  off  a  lady.  Nay, '  he  added  quickly,  with 
a  laughing  grimace,  'have  no  fear!  She  is  no  sweetheart  of 
mine,  nor  should  I  go  to  my  grave  friend  here  did  I  need 
assistance  of  that  kind.  Henry  of  Bourbon,  I  pray  God, 
will  always  be  able  to  free  his  own  lady-love.  This  is  a 
State  affair,  and  a  matter  of  quite  another  character, 
though  we  cannot  at  present  entrust  you  with  the  meaning 
of  it.' 

I  bowed  in  silence,  feeling  somewhat  chilled  and  per- 
plexed, as  who  would  not,  having  such  an  invitation  before 
him?  I  had  anticipated  an  affair  with  men  only — a  secret 
assault  or  a  petard  expedition.  But  seeing  the  bareness  of 
my  room,  and  the  honour  the  king  was  doing  me,  I  felt  I 
had  no  choice,  and  I  answered,  'That  being  the  case,  sire, 
I  am  wholly  at  your  service.' 

'That  is  well,'  he  answered  briskly,  though  methought  he 
looked  at  Du  Mornay  reproachfully,  as  doubting  his  com- 
mendation of  me.  'But  will  yoxi  say  the  same,'  he  contin- 
ued, removing  his  eyes  to  me,  and  speaking  slowly,  as 
though  he  would  try  me,  'when  I  tell  you  that  the  lady  to 
be  carried  off  is  the  ward  of  the  Vicomte  de  Turenne,  whose 
arm  is  well-nigh  as  long  as  my  own,  and  who  would  fain 
make  it  longer;  who  never  travels,  as  he  told  me  yester- 
day, with  less  than  fifty  gentlemen,  and  has  a  thousand 


THE  KING   OF  NAVARRE  21 

arquebusiers  in  his  pay?  Is  the  adventure  still  to  your 
liking,  M.  de  Marsac,  now  that  you  knew  that? ' 

'It  is  more  to  my  liking,  sire,'  1  answered  stoutly. 

'Understand  this  too,'  he  rejoined.  'It  is  essential  that 
this  lady,  who  is  at  present  confined  in  the  Vicouite's  house 
at  Chize,  should  be  released;  but  it  is  equally  essential  that 
there  should  be  no  breach  between  the  Vicomte  and  myself. 
Therefore  the  affair  must  be  the  work  of  an  independent 
man,  who  has  never  been  in  my  service,  nor  in  any  way 
connected  with  me.  If  captured,  you  pay  the  penalty  with- 
out recourse  to  me. ' 

'I  fully  understand,  sire,'  I  answered. 

'Ventre  Saint  Gris! '  he  cried,  breaking  into  a  low  laugh. 
'I  swear  the  man  is  more  afraid  of  the  lady  than  he  is  of 
the  Vicomte !  That  is  not  the  way  of  most  of  our  Court. ' 

Du  Mornay,  wlio  had  been  sitting  nursing  his  knee  in 
silence,  pursed  up  his  lips,  though  it  was  easy  to  see  that 
he  was  well  content  with  the  king's  approbation.  He  now 
intervened.  'With  your  permission,  sire,'  he  said,  'I  will 
let  this  gentleman  know  the  details.' 

'Do,  my  friend,'  the  king  answered.  'And  be  short,  for 
if  we  are  here  much  longer  I  shall  be  missed,  and  in  a 
twinkling  the  Court  will  have  found  me  a  new  mistress.' 

He  spoke  in  jest  and  with  a  laugh,  but  I  saw  Du  Mornay 
start  at  the  words,  as  though  they  were  little  to  his  liking; 
and  I  learned  afterwards  that  the  Court  was  really  much 
exercised  at  this  time  with  the  question  who  would  be  the 
next  favourite,  the  king's  passion  for  the  Countess  de 
la  Guiche  being  evidently  on  the  wane,  and  that  which  he 
presently  evinced  for  Madame  de  Guercheville  being  as  yet 
a  matter  of  conjecture. 

Du  Mornay  took  no  overt  notice  of  the  king's  words, 
however,  but  proceeded  to  give  me  my  directions.  'Chize, 
which  you  know  by  name,'  he  said,  'is  six  leagues  from 
here.  Mademoiselle  de  la  Vire  is  confined  in  the  north- 
west room,  on  the  first-floor,  overlooking  the  park.  More 
I  cannot  tell  you,  except  that  her  woman'  r-  name  is  Fan- 


22  A    GENTLEMAN"  OF  FRANCE 

chette,  and  that  she  is  to  be  trusted.  The  house  is  welj. 
guarded,  and  you  will  need  four  or  five  men.  There  are 
plenty  of  cut-throats  to  be  hired,  only  see,  M.  de  Marsac, 
that  they  are  such  as  you  can  manage,  and  that  Mademoi- 
selle takes  no  hurt  among  them.  Have  horses  in  waiting, 
and  the  moment  you  have  released  the  lady  ride  north  with 
her  as  fast  as  her  strength  will  permit.  Indeed,  you  must 
not  spare  her,  if  Turenne  be  on  your  heels.  You  should 
be  across  the  Loire  in  sixty  hours  after  leaving  Chize.' 

'Across  the  Loire?'  I  exclaimed  in  astonishment. 

'Yes,  sir,  across  the  Loire,'  he  replied,  with  some  stern- 
ness. 'Your  task,  be  good  enough  to  understand,  is  to  con- 
voy Mademoiselle  de  la  Vire  with  all  speed  to  Blois.  There, 
attracting  as  little  notice  as  may  be,  you  will  inquire  for 
the  Baron  de  Eosny  at  the  Bleeding  Heart,  in  the  Rue  de 
St.  Denys.  He  will  take  charge  of  the  lady,  or  direct  you 
how  to  dispose  of  her,  and  your  task  will  then  be  accom- 
plished. You  follow  me? ' 

'Perfectly,'  I  answered,  speaking  in  my  turn  with  some 
dryness.  'But  Mademoiselle  I  understand  is  young.  What 
if  she  will  not  accompany  me,  a  stranger,  entering  her  room 
at  night,  and  by  the  window?  ' 

'That  has  been  thought  of  was  the  answer.  He  turned 
to  the  King  of  Navarre,  who,  after  a  moment's  search,  pro- 
duced a  small  object  from  his  pouch.  This  he  gave  to  his 
companion,  and  the  latter  transferred  it  to  me.  I  took  it 
with  curiosity.  It  was  the  half  of  a  gold  carolus,  the  broken 
edge  of  the  coin  being  rough  and  jagged.  'Show  that  to 
Mademoiselle,  my  friend,'  Du  Mornay  continued,  'and  she 
will  accompany  you.  She  has  the  other  half.' 

'But  be  careful,'  Henry  added  eagerly,  'to  make  no  men- 
tion, even  to  her,  of  the  King  of  Navarre.  You  mark  me, 
M.  de  Marsac!  If  you  have  at  any  time  occasion  to  speak 
of  me,  you  may  have  the  honour  of  calling  me  your  friend, 
and  referring  to  me  always  in  the  same  manner. ' 

This  he  said  with  so  gracious  an  air  that  I  was  charmed, 
and  thought  myself  happy  indeed  to  be  addressed  in  this 


THE  KING    OF  NAVARRE  23 

wise  by  a  prince  whose  name  was  already  so  glorious.  Nor 
was  my  satisfaction  diminished  when  his  companion  drew 
out  a  bag  containing,  as  he  told  me,  three  hundred  crowns 
in  gold,  and  placed  it  in  my  hands,  bidding  me  defray  there- 
from the  cost  of  the  journey.  'Be  careful,  however,'  he 
added  earnestly,  'to  avoid,  in  hiring  your  men,  any  appear- 
ance of  wealth,  lest  the  adventure  seem  to  be  suggested  by 
some  outside  person;  instead  of  being  dictated  by  the  des- 
perate state  of  your  own  fortunes.  Promise  rather  than  give, 
so  far  as  that  will  avail.  And  for  what  you  must  give,  let 
each  livre  seem  to  be  the  last  in  your  pouch. ' 

Henry  nodded  assent.  'Excellent  advice! '  he  muttered, 
rising  and  drawing  on  his  cloak,  'such  as  you  ever  give  me, 
Mornay,  and  I  as  seldom  take — more's  the  pity!  But,  after 
all,  of  little  avail  without  this.'  He  lifted  my  sword  from 
the  table  as  he  spoke,  and  weighed  it  in  his  hand.  'A 
pretty  tool, '  he  continued,  turning  suddenly  and  looking  me 
very  closely  in  the  face.  'A  very  pretty  tool.  Were  I  in 
your  place,  M.  de  Marsac,  I  would  see  that  it  hung  loose 
in  the  scabbard.  Ay,  and  more,  man,  use  it ! '  he  added, 
sinking  his  voice  and  sticking  out  his  chin,  while  his  grey 
eyes,  looking  ever  closer  into  mine,  seemed  to  grow  cold 
and  hard  as  steel.  'Use  it  to  the  last,  for  if  you  fall  into 
Turenne's  hands,  God  help  you!  I  cannot! ' 

'If  I  am  taken,  sire,'  I  answered,  trembling,  but  not  with 
fear,  'my  fate  be  on  my  own  head.' 

I  saw  the  king's  eyes  soften  at  that,  and  his  face  change 
so  swiftly  that  I  scarce  knew  him  for  the  same  man.  He 
let  the  weapon  drop  with  a  clash  on  the  table.  'Ventre 
Saint  Gris ! '  he  exclaimed  with  a  strange  thrill  of  yearning 
in  his  tone.  'I  swear  by  God,  I  would  I  were  in  your 
shoes,  sir.  To  strike  a  blow  or  two  with  no  care  what 
came  of  it.  To  take  the  road  with  a  good  horse  a^d  a  good 
sword,  and  see  what  fortune  would  send.  To  be  rid  of  all 
this  statecraft  and  protocolling,  and  never  to  issue  another 
declaration  in  this  world,  but  just  to  be  for  once  a  Gentle- 
man of  France,  with  all  to  win  and  nothing  to  lose  save  the 


24  A    GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

love  of  my  lady !  Ah !  Mornay,  would  it  not  be  sweet  to 
leave  all  this  fret  and  fume,  and  ride  away  to  the  green 
woods  by  Coarraze?  ' 

'Certainly,  if  you  prefer  them  to  the  Louvre,  sire,'  Du 
Mornay  answered  drily;  while  I  stpod,  silent  and  amazed, 
before  this  strange  man,  who  could  so  suddenly  change 
from  grave  to  gay,  and  one  moment  spoke  so  sagely,  and 
the  next  like  any  wild  lad  in  his  teens.  'Certainly,'  he 
answered,  'if  that  be  your  choice,  sire;  and  if  you  think 
that  even  there  the  Duke  of  Guise  will  leave  you  in  peace. 
Turenne,  I  am  sure,  will  be  glad  to  hear  of  your  decision. 
Doubtless  he  will  be  elected  Protector  of  the  Churches. 
Nay,  sire,  for  shame! '  Du  Mornay  continued,  almost  with 
sternness.  'Would  you  leave  France,  which  at  odd  times  I 
have  heard  you  say  you  loved,  to  shift  for  herself?  Would 
you  deprive  her  of  the  only  man  who  does  love  her  for  her 
own  sake? ' 

'Well,  well,  but  she  is  such  a  fickle  sweetheart,  my  friend, ' 
the  king  answered,  laughing,  the  side  glance  of  his  eye  on 
me.  'Never  was  one  so  coy  or  so  hard  to  clip!  And,  be- 
sides, has  not  the  Pope  divorced  us?  ' 

'The  Pope!  A  fig  for  the  Pope! '  Du  Mornay  rejoined 
with  impatient  heat.  'What  has  he  to  do  with  France? 
An  impertinent  meddler,  and  an  Italian  to  boot!  I  would 
he  and  all  the  brood  of  them  were  sunk  a  hundred  fathoms 
deep  in  the  sea.  But,  meantime,  I  would  send  him  a  text 
to  digest.' 

'Exemplum  ? '  said  the  king. 

'Whom  God  has  joined  together  let  no  man  put  asunder.' 

'Amen! '  quoth  Henry  softly.  'And  France  is  a  fair  and 
comely  bride.' 

After  that  he  kept  such  a  silence,  falling  as  it  seemed  to 
me  into  a  brown  study,  that  he  went  away  without  so  much 
as  bidding  me  farewell,  or  being  conscious,  as  far  as  I  could 
tell,  of  my  presence.  Du  Mornay  exchanged  a  few  words 
with  me,  to  assure  himself  that  I  understood  what  I  had  to 
do,  and  then,  with  many  kind  expressions,  which  I  did  not 


BOOT  AND  SADDLE  25 

fail  to  treasure  up  and  con  over  in  the  times  that  were 
coming,  hastened  downstairs  after  his  master. 

My  joy  when  I  found  myself  alone  may  be  conceived. 
Yet  was  it  no  ecstasy,  but  a  sober  exhilaration;  such  as 
stirred  my  pulses  indeed,  and  bade  me  once  more  face  the 
world  with  a  firm  eye  and  an  assured  brow,  but  was  far 
from  holding  out  before  me  a  troubadour's  palace  or  any 
dazzling  prospect.  The  longer  I  dwelt  on  the  interview, 
the  more  clearly  I  saw  the  truth.  As  the  glamour  which 
Henry's  presence  and  singular  kindness  had  cast  over  me 
began  to  lose  some  of  its  power,  I  recognised  more  and  more 
surely  why  he  had  come  to  me.  It  was  not  out  of  any 
special  favour  for  one  whom  he  knew  by  report  only,  if  at 
all  by  name ;  but  because  he  had  need  of  a  man  poor,  and 
therefore  reckless,  middle-aged  (of  which  comes  discretion), 
obscure — therefore  a  safe  instrument ;  to  crown  all,  a  gen- 
tleman, seeing  that  both  a  secret  and  a  woman  were  in 
question. 

Withal  I  wondered  too.  Looking  from  the  bag  of  money 
on  the  table  to  the  broken  coin  in  my  hand,  I  scarcely  knew 
which  to  admire  more :  the  confidence  which  entrusted  the 
one  to  a  man  broken  and  beggared,  or  the  courage  of  the 
gentlewoman  who  should  accompany  me  on  the  faith  of 
the  other. 


CHAPTER  III. 

BOOT   AND    SADDLE. 

As  was  natural,  I  meditated  deeply  and  far  into  the  night 
on  the  difficulties  of  the  task  entrusted  to  me.  I  saw  that 
it  fell  into  two  parts :  the  release  of  the  lady,  and  her  safe 
conduct  to  Blois,  a  distance  of  sixty  leagues.  The  release 
I  thought  it  probable  I  could  effect  single-handed,  or  with 
one  companion  only;  but  in  the  troubled  condition  of  the 
country  at  this  time,  more  particularly  on  both  sides  of  the 


26  A    GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

Loire,  I  scarcely  saw  how  I  could  ensure  a  lady's  safety  on 
the  road  northwards  unless  I  had  with  me  at  least  five 
swords. 

To  get  these  together  at  a  few  hours'  notice  promised  to 
be  no  easy  task;  although  the  presence  of  the  Court  of 
Navarre  had  filled  St.  Jean  with  a  crowd  of  adventurers. 
Yet  the  king's  command  was  urgent,  and  at  some  sacrifice, 
even  at  some  risk,  must  be  obeyed.  Pressed  by  these  con- 
siderations, I  could  think  of  no  better  man  to  begin  with 
than  Fresnoy. 

His  character  was  bad,  and  he  had  long  forfeited  such 
claim  as  he  had  ever  possessed — I  believe  it  was  a  misty 
one?  on  the  distaff  side — to  gentility.  But  the  same  cause 
which  had  rendered  me  destitute — I  mean  the  death  of  the 
Prince  of  Conde — had  stripped  him  to  the  last  rag;  and 
this,  perhaps,  inclining  me  to  serve  him,  I  was  the  more 
quick  to  see  his  merits.  I  knew  him  already  for  a  hardy, 
reckless  man,  very  capable  of  striking  a  shrewd  blow.  I 
gave  him  credit  for  being  trusty,  as  long  as  his  duty  jumped 
with  his  interest. 

Accordingly,  as  soon  as  it  was  light,  having  fed  and 
groomed  the  Cid,  which  was  always  the  first  employment 
of  my  day,  I  set  out  in  search  of  Fresnoy,  and  was  pres- 
ently lucky  enough  to  find  him  taking  his  morning  draught 
outside  the  'Three  Pigeons,'  a  little  inn  not  far  from  the 
north  gate.  It  was  more  than  a  fortnight  since  I  had  set 
eyes  on  him,  and  the  lapse  of  time  had  worked  so  great  a 
change  for  the  worse  in  him  that,  forgetting  my  own  shab- 
biness,  I  looked  at  him  askance,  as  doubting  the  wisdom  of 
enlisting  one  who  bore  so  plainly  the  marks  of  poverty  and 
dissipation.  His  great  face — he  was  a  large  man — had 
suffered  recent  ill-usage,  and  was  swollen  and  discoloured, 
one  eye  being  as  good  as  closed.  He  was  unshaven,  his 
hair  was  ill-kempt,  his  doublet  unfastened  at  the  throat, 
and  torn  and  stained  besides.  Despite  the  cold — for  the 
morning  was  sharp  and  frosty,  though  free  from  wind — 
there  were  half  a  dozen  packmen  drinking  and  squabbling 


BOOT  AND  SADDLE  27 

before  the  inn,  while  the  beasts  they  drove  quenched  their 
thirst  at  the  trough.  But  these  men  seemed  with  one 
accord  to  leave  him  in  possession  of  the  bench  at  which  he 
sat;  nor  did  I  wonder  much  at  this  when  I  saw  the  morose 
and  savage  glance  which  he  shot  at  me  as  I  approached. 
Whether  he  read  my  first  impressions  in  my  face,  or  for 
some  other  reason  felt  distaste  for  my  company,  I  could  not 
determine.  But,  undeterred  by  his  behaviour,  I  sat  down 
beside  him  and  called  for  wine. 

He  nodded  sulkily  in  answer  to  my  greeting,  and  cast  a 
half-shamed,  half-angry  look  at  me  out  of  the  corners  of 
his  eyes.  'You  need  not  look  at  me  as  though  I  were  a 
dog,'  he  muttered  presently.  'You  are  not  so  very  spruce 
yourself,  my  friend.  But  I  suppose  you  have  grown  proud 
since  you  got  that  fat  appointment  at  Court!'  And  he 
laughed  out  loud,  so  that  I  confess  I  was  in  two  minds 
whether  I  should  not  force  the  jest  down  his  ugly  throat. 

However  I  restrained  myself,  though  my  cheeks  burned. 
'You  have  heard  about  it,  then,'  I  said,  striving  to  speak 
indifferently. 

'Who  has  not?'  he  said,  laughing  with  his  lips,  though 
his  eyes  were  far  from  merry.  'The  Sieur  de  Marsac's  ap- 
pointment! Ha!  ha!  Why,  man ' 

'Enough  of  it  now!'  I  exclaimed.  And  I  dare  say  I 
writhed  on  my  seat.  'As  far  as  I  am  concerned  the  jest  is 
a  stale  one,  sir,  and  does  not  amuse  me.' 

'But  it  amuses  me,'  he  rejoined  with  a  grin. 

'Let  it  be,  nevertheless,'  I  said;  and  I  think  he  read  a 
warning  in  my  eyes.  'I  have  come  to  speak  to  you  upon 
another  matter.' 

He  did  not  refuse  to  listen,  but  threw  one  leg  over  the 
other,  and  looking  up  at  the  inn-sign  began  to  whistle  in  a 
rude,  offensive  manner.  Still,  having  an  object  in  view,  I 
controlled  myself  and  continued.  'It  is  this,  my  friend: 
money  is  not  very  plentiful  at  present  with  either  of  us.' 

Before  I  could  say  any  more  he  turned  on  me  savagely, 
and  with  a  loud  oath  thrust  his  bloated  face,  flushed  with 


28  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

passion,  close  to  mine.  'Now  look  here,  M.  de  Marsacl 
he  cried  violently,  'once  for  all,  it  is  no  good!  I  have  not 
got  the  money,  and  I  cannot  pay  it.  I  said  a  fortnight  ago, 
when  you  lent  it,  that  you  should  have  it  this  week.  Well, ' 
slapping  his  hand  on  the  bench,  'I  have  not  got  it,  and  it 
is  no  good  beginning  upon  me.  You  cannot  have  it,  and 
that  is  flat! ' 

'Damn  the  money! '  I  cried. 

'What?  '  he  exclaimed,  scarcely  believing  his  ears. 

'Let  the  money  be! '  I  repeated  fiercely.  'Do  you  hear? 
I  have  not  come  about  it.  I  am  here  to  offer  you  work — 
good,  well-paid  work — if  you  will  enlist  with  me  and  play 
me  fair,  Fresnoy.' 

'Play  fair! '  he  cried  with  an  oath. 

'There,  there,'  I  said,  'I  am  willing  to  let  bygones  be  by- 
gones if  you  are.  The  point  is,  that  I  have  an  adventure 
on  hand,  and,  wanting  help,  can  pay  you  for  it.' 

He  looked  at  me  cunningly,  his  eye  travelling  over  each 
rent  and  darn  in  my  doublet.  'I  will  help  you  fast  enough,' 
he  said  at  last.  'But  I  should  like  to  see  the  money  first.' 

'You  shall,'  I  answered. 

'Then  I  am  with  you,  my  friend.  Count  on  me  til? 
death! '  he  cried,  rising  and  laying  his  hand  in  mine  with  a 
boisterous  frankness  which  did  not  deceive  me  into  trusting 
him  far.  'And  now,  whose  is  the  affair,  and  what  is  it? ' 

'The  affair  is  mine,'  I  said  coldly.  'It  is  to  carry  off  a 
lady.' 

He  whistled  and  looked  me  over  again,  an  impudent  leer 
in  his  eyes.  'A  lady?'  he  exclaimed.  'Umph!  I  could 
understand  a  young  spark  going  in  for  such — but  that's 
your  affair.  Who  is  it? ' 

'That  is  my  affair,  too,'  I  ansAvered  coolly,  disgusted  by 
the  man's  venality  and  meanness,  and  fully  persuaded  that 
I  must  trust  him  no  farther  than  the  length  of  my  sword. 
'All  I  want  you  to  do,  M.  Fresnoy,'  I  continued  stiffly,  'is 
to  place  yourself  at  my  disposal  and  under  my  orders  for 
ten  days.  I  will  find  you  a  horse  and  pay  you — the  enter 


BOOT  AND  SADDLE  29 

prise  is  a  hazardous  one,  and  1  take  that  into  account — two 
gold  crowns  a  day,  and  ten  more  if  we  succeed  in  reaching 
a  place  of  safety.' 

'Such  a  place  as ' 

'Never  mind  that,'  I  replied.  'The  question  is,  do  you 
accept? ' 

He  looked  down  sullenly,  and  I  could  see  he  was  greatly 
angered  by  my  determination  to  keep  the  matter  to  myself. 
'Am  I  to  know  no  more  than  that? '  he  asked,  digging  the 
point  of  his  scabbard  again  and  again  into  the  ground. 

'No  more,'  I  answered  firmly.  'I  am  bent  on  a  desperate 
attempt  to  mend  my  fortunes  before  they  fall  as  low  as 
yours;  and  that  is  as  much  as  I  mean  to  tell  living  man. 
Tf  you  are  loth  to  risk  your  life  with  your  eyes  shut,  say 
„©,  and  I  will  go  to  someone  else.' 

But  he  was  not  in  a  position,  as  I  well  knew,  to  refuse 
such  an  offer,  and  presently  he  accepted  it  with  a  fresh 
semblance  of  heartiness.  I  told  him  I  should  want  four 
troopers  to  escort  us,  and  these  he  offered  to  procure,  say- 
ing that  he  knew  just  the  knaves  to  suit  me.  I  bade  him 
hire  two  only,  however,  being  too  wise  to  put  myself  alto- 
gether in  his  hands;  and  then,  having  given  him  money  to 
buy  himself  a  horse — I  made  it  a  term  that  the  men  should 
bring  their  own — and  named  a  rendezvous  for  the  firsi;  hour 
after  noon,  I  parted  from  him  and  went  rather  sadly  away. 

For  I  began  to  see  that  the  king  had  not  underrated  the 
dangers  of  an  enterprise  on  which  none  but  desperate  men 
and  such  as  were  down  in  the  world  could  be  expected  to 
embark.  Seeing  this,  and  also  a  thing  which  followed 
clearly  from  it — that  I  should  have  as  much  to  fear  from 
my  own  company  as  from  the  enemy — I  looked  forward 
with  little  hope  to  a  journey  during  every  day  and  every 
hour  of  which  I  must  bear  a  growing  weight  of  fear  and 
responsibility. 

It  was  too  late  to  turn  back,  however,  and  I  went  about 
my  preparations,  if  with  little  cheerfulness,  at  least  with 
steadfast  purpose.  I  had  my  sword  ground  and  my  pistols 


30  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

put  in  order  by  the  cutler  over  whom  I  lodged,  and  who 
performed  this  last  office  for  me  with  the  same  goodwill 
which  had  characterised  all  his  dealings  with  me.  I  sought 
out  and  hired  a  couple  of  stout  fellows  whom  I  believed  to 
be  indifferently  honest,  but  who  possessed  the  advantage  of 
having  horses;  and  besides  bought  two  led  horses  myself 
for  mademoiselle  and  her  woman.  Such  other  equipments 
as  were  absolutely  necessary  I  purchased,  reducing  my  stock 
of  money  in  this  way  to  two  hundred  and  ten  crowns.  How 
to  dispose  of  this  sum  so  that  it  might  be  safe  and  yet  at 
my  command  was  a  question  which  greatly  exercised  me. 
In  the  end  I  had  recourse  to  my  friend  the  cutler,  who  sug- 
gested hiding  a  hundred  crowns  of  it  in  my  cap,  and  deftly 
contrived  a  place  for  the  purpose.  This,  the  cap  being 
lined  with  steel,  was  a  matter  of  no  great  difficulty.  A 
second  hundred  I  sewed  up  in  the  stuffing  of  my  saddle, 
placing  the  remainder  in  my  pouch  for  present  necessities. 

A  small  rain  was  falling  in  the  streets  when,  a  little 
after  noon,  I  started  with  my  two  knaves  behind  me  and 
made  for  the  north  gate.  So  many  were  moving  this  way 
and  the  other  that  we  passed  unnoticed,  ana  might  have 
done  so  had  we  numbered  six  swords  instead  of  three. 
When  we  reached  the  rendezvous,  a  mile  beyond  the  gate, 
we  found  Fresnoy  already  there,  taking  shelter  in  the  lee 
of  a  big  holly-tree.  He  had  four  horsemen  with  him,  and 
on  our  appearance  rode  forward  to  meet  us,  crying  heartily, 
'Welcome,  M.  le  Capitaine ! ' 

'Welcome,  certainly,'  I  answered,  pulling  the  Cid  up 
sharply,  and  holding  off  from  him.  'But  who  are  these, 
M.  Fresnoy?'  and  I  pointed  with  my  riding-cane  to  his 
four  companions. 

He  tried  to  pass  the  matter  off  with  a  laugh.  'Oh! 
these?'  he  said.  'That  is  soon  explained.  The  Evangel- 
ists would  not  be  divided,  so  I  brought  them  all — Matthew, 
Mark,  Luke,  and  John — thinking  it  Hkely  you  might  fail 
to  secure  your  men.  And  I  will  warrant  them  for  four  as 
gallant  boys  as  you  will  ever  find  behind  you! ' 


BOOT  AND  SADDLE  31 

They  were  certainly  four  as  arrant  ruffians  as  I  had  ever 
seen  before  me,  and  I  saw  I  must  not  hesitate.  'Two  or 
none,  M.  Fresnoy, '  I  said  firmly.  'I  gave  you  a  commis- 
sion for  two,  and  two  I  will  take — Matthew  o,nd  Mark,  or 
Luke  and  John,  as  you  please.' 

"Tis  a  pity  to  break  the  party,'  said  he,  scowling. 

'If  that  be  all,'  I  retorted,  'one  of  my  men  is  called  John. 
And  we  will  dub  the  other  Luke,  if  that  will  mend  the 
matter.' 

'The  Prince  of  Conde,'  he  muttered  sullenly,  'employed 
these  men.' 

'The  Prince  of  Conde  employed  some  queer  people  some- 
times, M.  Fresnoy,'  I  answered,  looking  him  straight  be- 
tween the  eyes,  'as  we  all  must.  A  truce  to  this,  if  you 
please.  We  will  take  Matthew  and  Mark.  The  other  two 
be  good  enough  to  dismiss.' 

He  seemed  to  waver  for  a  moment,  as  if  he  had  a  mind 
to  disobey,  but  in  the  end,  thinking  better  of  it,  he  bade 
the  men  return;  and  as  I  complimented  each  of  them  with 
a  piece  of  silver,  they  went  off,  after  some  swearing,  in 
tolerably  good  humour.  Thereon  Fresnoy  was  for  taking 
the  road  at  once,  but  having  no  mind  to  be  followed,  I  gave 
the  word  to  wait  until  the  two  were  out  of  sight. 

I  think,  as  we  sat  our  horses  in  the  rain,  the  holly-bush 
not  being  large  enough  to  shelter  us  all,  we  were  as  sorry  a 
band  as  ever  set  out  to  rescue  a  lady;  nor  was  it  without 
pain  that  I  looked  round  and  saw  myself  reduced  to  com- 
mand such  people.  There  was  scarcely  one  whole  un- 
patched  garment  among  us,  and  three  of  my  squires  had 
but  a  spur  apiece.  To  make  up  for  this  deficiency  we  mus- 
tered two  black  eyes,  Fresnoy's  included,  and  a  broken 
nose.  Matthew's  nag  lacked  a  tail,  and,  more  remarkable 
still,  its  rider,  as  I  presently  discovered,  was  stone-deaf; 
while  Mark's  sword  was  innocent  of  a  scabbard,  and  his 
bridle  was  plain  rope.  One  thing,  indeed,  I  observed  with 
pleasure.  The  two  men  who  had  come  with  me  looked 
askance  at  the  two  who  had  come  with  Fresnoy,  and  these 


32  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

returned  the  stare  with  interest.  On  this  division  and  on 
the  length  of  my  sword  I  based  all  my  hopes  of  safety  and 
of  something  more.  On  it  I  was  about  to  stake,  not  my 
own  life  only — which  was  no  great  thing,  seeing  what  my 
prospects  were — but  the  life  and  honour  of  a  woman, 
young,  helpless,  and  as  yet  unknown  to  me. 

Weighed  down  as  I  was  by  these  considerations,  I  had  to 
bear  the  additional  burden  of  hiding  my  fears  and  suspi- 
cions under  a  cheerful  demeanour.  I  made  a  short  speech 
to  my  following,  who  one  and  all  responded  by  swearing  to 
stand  by  me  to  the  death.  I  then  gave  the  word,  and  we 
started,  Fresnoy  and  I  leading  the  way,  Luke  and  John 
with  the  led  horses  following,  and  the  other  two  bringing 
up  the  rear. 

The  rain  continuing  to  fall  and  the  country  in  this  part 
being  dreary  and  monotonous,  even  in  fair  weather,  I  felt 
my  spirits  sink  still  lower  as  the  day  advanced.  The  re- 
sponsibility I  was  going  to  incur  assumed  more  serious  pro- 
portions each  time  I  scanned  my  following;  while  Fresnoy, 
plying  me  with  perpetual  questions  respecting  my  plans, 
was  as  uneasy  a  companion  as  my  worst  enemy  could  have 
wished  me. 

'Come!'  he  grumbled  presently,  when  we  had  covered 
four  leagues  or  so,  'you  have  not  told  me  yet,  sieur,  where 
we  stay  to-night.  You  are  travelling  so  slowly  that ' 

'I  am  saving  the  horses,'  I  answered  shortly.  'We  shall 
do  a  long  day  to-morrow.' 

'Yours  looks  fit  for  a  week  of  days,'  he  sneered,  with  an 
evil  look  at  my  Sardinian,  which  was,  indeed,  in  better  case 
than  its  master.  'It  is  sleek  enough,  any  way!' 

'It  is  as  good  as  it  looks,'  I  answered,  a  little  nettL-.l 
by  his  tone. 

'There  is  a  better  here,'  he  responded. 

'I  don't  see  it,'  I  said.  I  had  already  eyed  the  nags  all 
round,  and  assured  myself  that,  ugly  and  blemished  as  they 
were,  they  were  up  to  their  work.  But  I  had  discerned  no 
special  merit  among  them.  I  looked  them  over  again  now, 


BOOT  AND  SADDLE  33 

and  carne  to  the  same  conclusion — that,  except  the  led 
horses,  which  I  had  chosen  with  some  care,  there  was  noth- 
ing among  them  to  vie  with  the  Cid,  either  in  speed  or 
looks.  I  told  Fresnoy  so. 

'Would  you  like  to  try? '  he  said  tauntingly. 

I  laughed,  adding,  'If  you  think  I  am  going  to  tire  our 
horses  by  racing  them,  with  such  work  as  we  have  before 
us,  you  are  mistaken,  Fresnoy.  I  am  not  a  boy,  you 
know. ' 

'There  need  be  no  question  of  racing,'  he  answered  more 
quietly.  'You  have  only  to  get  on  that  rat-tailed  bay  of 
Matthew's  to  feel  its  paces  and  say  I  am  right.' 

I  looked  at  the  bay,  a  bald-faced,  fiddle-headed  horse, 
and  saw  that,  with  no  signs  of  breeding,  it  was  still  a  big- 
boned  animal  with  good  shoulders  and  powerful  hips.  I 
thought  it  possible  Fresnoy  might  be  right,  and  if  so,  and 
the  bay's  manners  were  tolerable,  it  might  do  for  mademoi- 
selle better  than  the  horse  I  had  chosen.  At  any  rate,  if 
we  had  a  fast  horse  among  us,  it  was  well  to  know  the  fact, 
so  bidding  Matthew  change  with  me,  and  be  careful  of  the 
Cid,  I  mounted  the  bay,  and  soon  discovered  that  its  paces 
were  easy  and  promised  speed,  while  its  manners  seemed 
as  good  as  even  a  timid  rider  could  desire. 

Our  road  at  the-  time  lay  across  a  flat  desolate  heath, 
dotted  here  and  there  with  thorn-bushes;  the  track  being 
broken  and  stony,  extended  more  than  a  score  of  yards  in 
width,  through  travellers  straying  to  this  side  and  that  to 
escape  the  worst  places.  Fresnoy  and  I,  in  making  the 
change,  had  fallen  slightly  behind  the  other  three,  and 
were  riding  abreast  of  Matthew  on  the  Cid. 

'Well,'  he  said,  'was  I  not  right?' 

'In  part,'  I  answered.  'The  horse  is  better  than  its 
looks.' 

'Like  many  others,'  he  rejoined,  a  spark  of  resentment 
in  his  tone — 'men  as  well  as  horses,  M.  de  Marsac.  But 
what  do  you  say?  Shall  we  canter  on  a  little  and  overtake 
the  others?' 


34  A    GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

Thinking  it  well  to  do  so,  I  assented  readily,  and  we 
started  together.  We  had  ridden,  however,  no  more  than 
a  hundred  yards,  and  I  was  only  beginning  to  extend  the 
bay,  when  Fresnoy,  slightly  drawing  rein,  turned  in  his 
saddle  and  looked  back.  The  next  moment  he  cried, 
'Hallo!  what  is  this?  Those  fellows  are  not  following  us, 
are  they? ' 

I  turned  sharply  to  look.  At  that  moment,  without 
falter  or  warning,  the  bay  horse  went  down  under  me  as  if 
shot  dead,  throwing  me  half  a  dozen  yards  over  its  head; 
and  that  so  suddenly  that  I  had  no  time  to  raise  my  arms, 
but,  falling  heavily  on  my  head  and  shoulder,  lost  con- 
sciousness. 

I  have  had  many  falls,  but  no  other  to  vie  with  that  in 
utter  unexpectedness.  When  I  recovered  my  senses  I  found 
myself  leaning,  giddy  and  sick,  against  the  bole  of  an  old 
thorn-tree.  Fresnoy  and  Matthew  supported  me  on  either 
side,  and  asked  me  how  I  found  myself;  while  the  other 
three  men,  their  forms  black  against  the  stormy  evening 
sky,  sat  their  horses  a  few  paces  in  front  of  me.  I  was  too 
much  dazed  at  first  to  see  more,  and  this  only  in  a  mechani- 
cal fashion;  but  gradually,  my  brain  grew  clearer,  and  I 
advanced  from  wondering  who  the  strangers  round  me  were 
to  recognising  them,  and  finally  to  remembering  what  had 
happened  to  me. 

'Is  the  horse  hurt?'  I  muttered  as  soon  as  I  could  speak. 

'Not  a  whit,'  Fresnoy  answered,  chuckling,  or  I  was 
much  mistaken.  'I  am  afraid  you  came  off  the  worse  of 
the  two,  captain.' 

He  exchanged  a  look  with  the  men  on  horseback  as  he 
spoke,  and  in  a  dull  fashion  I  fancied  I  saw  them  smile. 
One  even  laughed,  and  another  turned  in  his  saddle  as  if  to 
hide  his  face.  I  had  a  vague  general  sense  that  there  was 
some  joke  on  foot  in  which  I  had  no  part.  But  I  was  too 
much  shaken  at  the  moment  to  be  curious,  and  gratefully 
accepted  the  offer  of  one  of  the  men  to  fetch  me  a  little 
water.  While  he  was  away  the  rest  stood  round  me,  the 


BOOT  AND  SADDLE  35 

same  look  of  ill-concealed  drollery  on  their  faces.  Fresnoy 
alone  talked,  speaking  volubly  of  the  accident,  pouring  out 
expressions  of  sympathy  and  cursing  the  road,  the  horse, 
and  the  wintry  light  until  the  water  came;  when,  much 
refreshed  by  the  draught,  I  managed  to  climb  to  the  Cid's 
saddle  and  plod  slowly  onwards  with  them. 

'A  bad  beginning,'  Fresnoy  said  presently,  stealing  a  sly 
glance  at  me  as  we  jogged  along  side  by  side,  Chize  half  a 
league  before  us,  and  darkness  not  far  off. 

By  this  time,  however,  I  was  myself  again,  save  for  a 
little  humming  in  the  head,  and,  shrugging  my  shoulders, 
I  told  him  so.  'All's  well  that  ends  well,'  I  added.  'Not 
that  it  was  a  pleasant  fall,  or  that  I  wish  to  have  such 
another. ' 

'No,  I  should  think  not,'  he  answered.  His  face  was 
turned  from  me,  but  I  fancied  I  heard  him  snigger. 

Something,  which  may  have  been  a  vague  suspicion,  led 
me  a  moment  later  to  put  my  hand  into  my  pouch.  Then 
I  understood.  I  understood  too  well.  The  sharp  surprise 
of  fche  discovery  was  such  that  involuntarily  I  drove  my 
spurs  into  the  Cid,  and  the  horse  sprang  forward. 

'What  is  the  matter?'  Fresnoy  asked. 

'The  matter? '  I  echoed,  my  hand  still  at  my  belt,  feeling 
— feeling  hopelessly. 

'Yes,  what  is  it?'  he  asked,  a  brazen  smile  on  his  ras- 
cally face. 

I  looked  at  him,  my  brow  as  red  as  fire.  'Oh!  nothing 
— nothing,'  I  said.  'Let  us  trot  on.' 

In  truth  I  had  discovered  that,  taking  advantage  of  my 
helplessness,  the  scoundrels  had  robbed  me,  while  I  lay 
insensible,  of  every  gold  crown  in  my  purse !  Nor  was  this 
all,  or  the  worst,  for  I  saw  at  once  that  in  doing  so  they 
had  effected  something  which  was  a  thousandfold  more 
ominous  and  formidable — established  against  me  that  secret 
understanding  which  it  was  my  especial  aim  to  prevent,  and 
on  the  absence  of  which  I  had  been  counting.  Nay,  I  saw 
that  for  my  very  life  I  had  only  my  friend  the  cutler  and 

D2 


36  A  GENTLEMAN-  OF  FRANCE 

my  own  prudence  to  thank,  seeing  that  these  rogues  would 
certainly  have  murdered  me  without  scruple  had  they  suc- 
ceeded in  finding  the  bulk  of  my  money.  Baffled  in  this, 
while  still  persuaded  that  I  had  other  resources,  they  had 
stopped  short  of  that  villany — or  this  memoir  had  never 
been  written.  They  had  kindly  permitted  me  to  live  until 
a  more  favourable  opportunity  of  enriching  themselves  at 
my  expense  should  put  them  in  possession  of  my  last  crown ! 

Though  I  was  sufficiently  master  of  myself  to  refrain 
from  complaints  which  I  felt  must  be  useless,  and  from 
menaces  which  it  has  never  been  my  habit  to  utter  unless 
I  had  also  the  power  to  put  them  into  execution,  it  must 
not  be  imagined  that  I  did  not,  as  I  rode  on  by  Fresnoy's 
side,  feel  my  position  acutely  or  see  how  absurd  a  figure  I 
cut  in  my  dual  character  of  leader  and  dupe.  Indeed,  the 
reflection  that,  being  in  this  perilous  position,  I  was  about 
to  stake  another's  safety  as  well  as  my  own,  made  me  feel 
the  need  of  a  few  minutes'  thought  so  urgent  that  I  deter- 
mined to  gain  them,  even  at  the  risk  of  leaving  my  men  at 
liberty  to  plot  further  mischief.  Coming  almost  immedi- 
ately afterwards  within  sight  of  the  turrets  of  the  Chateau 
of  Chize,  I  told  Fresnoy  that  we  should  lie  the  night  at  the 
village;  and  bade  him  take  the  men  on  and  secure  quartern 
at  the  inn.  Attacked  instantly  by  suspicion  and  curiosity, 
he  demurred  stoutly  to  leaving  me,  and  might  have  per- 
sisted in  his  refusal  had  I  not  pulled  up,  and  clearly  shown 
him  that  I  would  have  my  own  way  in  this  case  or  come  to 
an  open  breach.  He  shrank,  as  I  expected,  from  the  latter 
alternative,  and,  bidding  me  a  sullen  adieu,  trotted  on  with 
his  troop.  I  waited  until  they  were  out  of  sight,  and  then, 
turning  the  Cid's  head,  crossed  a  small  brook  which  divided 
the  road  from  the  chase,  and  choosing  a  ride  which  seemed 
to  pierce  the  wood  in  the  direction  of  the  Chateau,  pro- 
ceeded down  it,  keeping  a  sharp  look-out  on  either  hand. 

It  was  then,  my  thoughts  turning  to  the  lady  who  was 
now  so  near,  and  who,  noble,  rich,  and  a  stranger,  seemed, 
as  I  approached  her,  not  the  least  formidable  of  the  embar- 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  LA    VIRE  37 

rassments  before  me — it  was  then  that  I  made  a  discovery 
which  sent  a  cold  shiver  through  my  frame,  and  in  a 
moment  swept  all  memory  of  my  paltry  ten  crowns  from 
my  head.  Ten  crowns!  Alas!  I  had  lost  that  which  was 
worth  all  my  crowns  put  together — the  broken  coin  which 
the  King  of  Navarre  had  entrusted  to  me,  and  which  formed 
my  sole  credential,  my  only  means  of  persuading  Mademoi- 
selle de  la  Vire  that  I  came  from  him.  I  had  put  it  in  my 
pouch,  and  of  course,  though  the  loss  of  it  only  came  home 
to  my  mind  now,  it  had  disappeared  with  the  rest. 

I  drew  rein  and  sat  for  some  time  motionless,  the  image 
of  despair.  The  wind  which  stirred  the  naked  boughs  over- 
head, and  whirled  the  dead  leaves  in  volleys  past  my  feet, 
and  died  away  at  last  among  the  whispering  bracken,  met 
nowhere  with  wretchedness  greater,  I  believe,  than  was  mine 
at  that  moment. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

MADEMOISELLE    DE    LA   VIRE. 

MY  first  desperate  impulse  on  discovering  the  magnitude 
of  my  loss  was  to  ride  after  the  knaves  and  demand  the 
token  at  the  sword's  point.  The  certainty,  however,  of 
finding  them  united,  and  the  difficulty  of  saying  which  of 
the  five  possessed  what  I  wanted,  led  me  to  reject  this  plan 
as  I  grew  cooler;  and  since  I  did  not  dream,  even  in  this 
dilemma,  of  abandoning  the  expedition,  the  only  alternative 
seemed  to  be  to  act  as  if  I  still  had  the  broken  coin,  and 
essay  what  a  frank  explanation  might  effect  when  the  time 
came. 

After  some  wretched,  very  wretched,  moments  of  debate, 
I  resolved  to  adopt  this  course;  and,  for  the  present,  think- 
ing I  might  gain  some  knowledge  of  the  surroundings  while 
the  light  lasted,  I  pushed  cautiously  forward  through  the 


38  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

trees  and  came  in  less  than  five  minutes  within  sight  of  a 
corner  of  the  chateau,  which  I  found  to  be  a  modern  build- 
ing of  the  time  of  Henry  II.,  raised,  like  the  houses  of  that 
time,  for  pleasure  rather  than  defence,  and  decorated  with 
many  handsome  casements  and  tourelles.  Despite  this,  it 
•wore,  as  I  saw  it,  a  grey  and  desolate  air,  due  in  part  to 
the  loneliness  of  the  situation  and  the  lateness  of  the  hour; 
and  in  part,  I  think,  to  the  smallness  of  the  household 
maintained,  for  no  one  was  visible  on  the  terrace  or  at  the 
windows.  The  rain  dripped  from  the  trees,  which  on  two 
aides  pressed  so  closely  on  the  house  as  almost  to  darken 
the  rooms,  and  everything  I  saw  encouraged  me  to  hope 
that  mademoiselle's  wishes  would  second  my  entreaties, 
and  incline  her  to  lend  a  ready  ear  to  my  story. 

The  appearance  of  the  house,  indeed,  was  a  strong  in- 
ducement to  me  to  proceed,  for  it  was  impossible  to  believe 
that  a  young  lady,  a  kinswoman  of  the  gay  and  vivacious 
Turenne,  and  already  introduced  to  the  pleasures  of  the 
Court,  would  elect  of  her  own  free  will  to  spend  the  winter 
in  so  dreary  a  solitude. 

Taking  advantage  of  the  last  moments  of  daylight,  I  rode 
cautiously  round  the  house,  and,  keeping  in  the  shadow  of 
the  trees,  had  no  difficulty  in  discovering  at  the  north-east 
corner  the  balcony  of  which  I  had  been  told.  It  was  semi- 
circular in  shape,  with  a  stone  balustrade,  and  hung  some 
fifteen  feet  above  a  terraced  walk  which  ran  below  it,  and 
was  separated  from  the  chase  by  a  low  sunk  fence. 

I  was  surprised  to  observe  that,  notwithstanding  the  rain 
and  the  coldness  of  the  evening,  the  window  which  gave 
upon  this  balcony  was  open.  Nor  was  this  all.  Luck  was 
in  store  for  me  at  last.  I  had  not  gazed  at  the  window 
more  than  a  minute,  calculating  its  height  and  other  partic- 
ulars, when,  to  my  great  joy,  a  female  figure,  closely 
hooded,  stepped  out  and  stood  looking  up  at  the  sky.  I 
was  too  far  off  to  be  able  to  discern  by  that  uncertain  light 
tvhether  this  was  Mademoiselle  de  la  Vire  or  her  woman; 
but  the  attitude  was  so  clearly  one  of  dejection  and  despon- 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  LA    VIRE  39 

dency,  that  I  felt  sure  it  was  either  one  or  the  other.  De- 
termined not  to  let  the  opportunity  slip,  I  dismounted  has- 
tily and,  leaving  the  Cid  loose,  advanced  on  foot  until  I 
stood  within  half-a-dozen  paces  of  the  window. 

At  that  point  the  watcher  became  aware  of  me.  She 
started  back,  but  did  not  withdraw.  Still  peering  down  at 
me,  she  called  softly  to  some  one  inside  the  chamber,  and 
immediately  a  second  figure,  taller  and  stouter,  appeared. 
I  had  already  doffed  my  cap,  and  I  now,  in  a  low  voice, 
begged  to  know  if  I  had  the  honour  of  speaking  to  Made- 
moiselle de  la  Vire.  In  the  growing  darkness  it  was  im- 
possible to  distinguish  faces. 

'Hush! '  the  stouter  figure  muttered  in  a  tone  of  warning. 
'Speak  lower.  Who  are  you,  and  what  do  you  here? ' 

'I  am  here,'  I  answered  respectfully,  'commissioned  by  a 
friend  of  the  lady  I  have  named,  to  convey  her  to  a  place 
of  safety. ' 

'Mondieu! '  was  the  sharp  answer.  'Now?  It  is  impos- 
sible.' 

'No,'  I  murmured,  'not  now,  but  to-night.  The  moon 
rises  at  half -past  two.  My  horses  need  rest  and  food.  At 
three  I  will  be  below  this  window  with  the  means  of  escape, 
if  mademoiselle  choose  to  use  them. ' 

I  felt  that  they  were  staring  at  me  through  the  dusk,  as 
though  they  would  read  my  breast.  'Your  name,  sir?'  the 
shorter  figure  murmured  at  last,  after  a  pause  which  was 
full  of  suspense  and  excitement. 

'I  do  not  think  my  name  of  much  import  at  present, 
Mademoiselle, '  I  answered,  reluctant  to  proclaim  myself  a 
stranger.  '  When '  « 

'  Your  name,  your  name,  sir ! '  she  repeated  imperiously, 
and  I  heard  her  little  heel  rap  upon  the  stone  floor  of  the 
balcony. 

'Gaston  de  Marsac,'  I  answered  unwillingly. 

They  both  started,  and  cried  out  together.  'Impossible! ' 
the  last  speaker  exclaimed,  amazement  and  anger  in  her 
tone.  'This  is  a  jest,  sir.  This ' 


40  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

What  more  she  would  have  said  I  was  left  to  guess,  foi 
at  that  moment  her  attendant — I  had  no  doubt  now  which 
was  mademoiselle  and  which  Fanchette — suddenly  laid  her 
hand  on  her  mistress's  mouth  and  pointed  to  the  room 
behind  them.  A  second's  suspense,  and  with  a  warning 
gesture  the  two  turned  and  disappeared  through  the 
window. 

I  lost  no  time  in  regaining  the  shelter  of  the  trees ;  and 
concluding,  though  I  was  far  from  satisfied  with  the  inter- 
view, that  I  could  do  nothing  more  now,  but  might  rather, 
by  loitering  in  the  neighbourhood,  awaken  suspicion,  I  re- 
mounted and  made  for  the  highway  and  the  village,  where 
I  found  my  men  in  noisy  occupation  of  the  inn,  a  poor 
place,  with  unglazed  windows,  and  a  fire  in  the  middle  of 
the  earthen  floor.  My  first  care  was  to  stable  the  Cid  in  a 
shed  at  the  back,  where  I  provided  for  its  wants  as  far  as 
I  could  with  the  aid  of  a  half -naked  boy,  who  seemed  to  be 
in  hiding  there. 

This  done,  I  returned  to  the  front  of  the  house,  having 
pretty  well  made  up  my  mind  how  I  would  set  about  the 
task  before  me.  As  I  passed  one  of  the  windows,  which 
was  partially  closed  by  a  rude  curtain  made  of  old  sacks,  I 
stopped  to  look  in.  Fresnoy  and  his  four  rascals  were 
seated  on  blocks  of  wood  round  the  hearth,  talking  loudly 
and  fiercely,  and  ruffling  it  as  if  the  fire  and  the  room  were 
their  own.  A  pedlar,  seated  on  his  goods  in  one  corner, 
was  eyeing  them  with  evident  fear  and  suspicion ;  in  an- 
other corner  two  children  had  taken  refuge  under  a  donkey, 
which  some  fowls  had  chosen  as  a  roosting-pole.  The  inn- 
keeper, a  sturdy  fellow,  with  a  great  club  in  his  fist,  sat 
moodily  at  the  foot  of  a  ladder  which  led  to  the  loft  above, 
while  a  slatternly  woman,  who  was  going  to  and  fro  getting 
supper,  seemed  in  equal  terror  of  her  guests  and  her  good 
man. 

Confirmed  by  what  I  saw,  and  assured  that  the  villains 
were  ripe  for  any  mischief,  and,  if  not  checked,  would 
speedily  be  beyond  my  control,  I  noisily  flung  the  door 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  LA    VIRE  41 

open  and  entered.  Fresnoy  looked  up  with  a  sneer  as  I 
did  so,  and  one  of  the  men  laughed.  The  others  became 
silent;  but  no  one  moved  or  greeted  me.  Without  a 
moment's  hesitation  I  stepped  to  the  nearest  fellow  and, 
with  a  sturdy  kick,  sent  his  log  from  under  him.  'Kise, 
you  rascal,  when  I  enter ! '  I  cried,  giving  vent  to  the  anger 
I  had  long  felt.  'And  you,  too! '  and  with  a  second  kick  I 
sent  his  neighbour's  stool  flying  also,  and  administered  a 
couple  of  cuts  with  my  riding-cane  across  the  man's  shoul- 
ders. 'Have  you  no  manners,  sirrah?  Across  with  you, 
and  leave  this  side  to  your  betters.' 

The  two  rose,  snarling  and  feeling  for  their  weapons,  and 
for  a  moment  stood  facing  me,  looking  now  at  me  and  now 
askance  at  Fresnoy.  But  as  he  gave  no  sign,  and  their 
comrades  only  laughed,  the  men's  courage  failed  them  at 
the  pinch,  and  with  a  very  poor  grace  they  sneaked  over  to 
the  other  side  of  the  fire  and  sat  there  scowling. 

I  seated  myself  beside  their  leader.  'This  gentleman 
and  I  will  eat  here,'  I  cried  to  the  man  at  the  foot  of  the 
ladder.  'Bid  your  wife  lay  for  us,  and  of  the  best  you 
have;  and  do  you  give  those  knaves  their  provender  where 
the  smell  of  their  greasy  jackets  will  not  come  between  us 
and  our  victuals.' 

The  man  came  forward,  glad  enough,  as  I  saw,  to  discover 
any  one  in  authority,  and  very  civilly  began  to  draw  wine 
and  place  a  board  for  us,  while  his  wife  filled  our  platters 
from  the  black  pot  which  hung  over  the  fire.  Fresnoy's 
face  meanwhile  wore  the  amused  smile  of  one  who  compre- 
hended my  motives,  but  felt  sufficiently  sure  of  his  position 
and  influence  with  his  followers  to  be  indifferent  to  my 
proceedings.  I  presently  showed  him,  however,  that  I 
had  not  yet  done  with  him.  Our  table  was  laid  in  obedi- 
ence to  my  orders  at  such  a  distance  from  the  men  that  they 
could  not  overhear  our  talk,  and  by-and-by  I  leant  over  to 
him. 

'M.  Fresnoy,'  I  said,  'you  are  in  danger  of  forgetting 
one  thing,  I  fancy,  which  it  behoves  you  to  remember- ' 


42  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

'What? '  he  muttered,  scarcely  deigning  to  look  up  at  me. 

'That  you  have  to  do  with  Gaston  de  Marsac,'  I  answered 
quietly.  'I  am  making,  as  I  told  you  this  morning,  a  last 
attempt  to  recruit  my  fortunes,  and  I  will  let  no  man — no 
man,  do  you  understand,  M.  Fresnoy? — thwart  me  and  go 
harmless.' 

'Who  wishes  to  thwart  you? '  he  asked  impudently. 

'You,'  I  answered  unmoved,  helping  myself,  as  I  spoke, 
from  the  roll  of  black  bread  which  lay  beside  me.  'You 
robbed  me  this  afternoon;  I  passed  it  over.  You  encour- 
aged those  men  to  be  insolent ;  I  passed  it  over.  But  let 
me  tell  you  this.  If  you  fail  me  to-night,  on  the  honour 
of  a  gentleman,  M.  Fresnoy,  I  will  run  you  through  as  I 
would  spit  a  lark.' 

'Will  you?  But  two  can  play  at  that  game,'  he  cried, 
rising  nimbly  from  his  stool.  'Still  better  six!  Don't  you 
think,  M.  de  Marsac,  you  had  better  have  waited ? ' 

'I  think  you  had  better  hear  one  word  more,'  I  answered 
coolly,  keeping  my  seat,  'before  you  appeal  to  your  fellows 
there.' 

'Well,'  he  said,  still  standing,  'what  is  it?' 

'Nay,'  I  replied,  after  once  more  pointing  to  his  stool  in 
vain,  'if  you  prefer  to  take  my  orders  standing,  well  and 
good. ' 

'Your  orders?'  he  shrieked,  growing  suddenly  excited. 

'Yes,  my  orders!'  I  retorted,  rising  as  suddenly  to  my 
feet  and  hitching  forward  my  sword.  'My  orders,  sir,'  I 
repeated  fiercely,  'or,  if  you  dispute  my  right  to  command 
as  well  as  to  pay  this  party,  let  us  decide  the  question  here 
and  now — you  and  I,  foot  to  foot,  M.  Fresnoy. ' 

The  quarrel  flashed  up  so  suddenly,  though  I  had  been 
preparing  it  all  along,  that  no  one  moved.  The  woman, 
indeed,  fell  back  to  her  children,  but  the  rest  looked  on 
open-mouthed.  Had  they  stirred,  or  had  a  moment's 
hurly-burly  heated  his  blood,  I  doubt  not  Fresnoy  would 
have  taken  up  my  challenge,  for  he  did  not  lack  hardihood. 
But  as  it  was,  face  to  face  with  me  in  the  silence,  his  cour- 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  LA    VIRE  43 

age  failed  him.  He  paused,  glowering  at  me  uncertainly, 
and  did  not  speak. 

'Well,'  I  said,  'don't  you  think  that  if  I  pay  I  ought  to 
give  orders,  sir? ' 

'Who  wishes  to  oppose  your  orders? '  he  muttered,  drink- 
ing off  a  bumper,  and  sitting  down  with  an  air  of  impudent 
bravado,  assumed  to  hide  his  discomfiture. 

'If  you  don't,  no  one  else  does,'  I  answered.  'So  that  is 
settled.  Landlord,  some  more  wine.' 

He  was  very  sulky  with  me  for  a  while,  fingering  his 
glass  in  silence  and  scowling  at  the  table.  He  had  enough 
gentility  to  feel  the  humiliation  to  which  he  had  exposed 
himself,  and  a  sufficiency  of  wit  to  understand  that  that 
•.moment's  hesitation  had  cost  him  the  allegiance  of  his 
•fellow-ruffians.  I  hastened,  therefore,  to  set  him  at  his 
ease  by  explaining  my  plans  for  the  night,  and  presently 
succeeded  beyond  my  hopes;  for  when  he  heard  who  the 
lady  was  whom  I  proposed  to  carry  off,  and  that  she  was 
lying  that  evening  at  the  Chateau  de  Chize,  his  surprise 
swept  away  the  last  trace  of  resentment.  He  stared  at  me 
as  at  a  maniac. 

'Mon  Dieu! '  he  exclaimed.  'Do  you  know  what  you  are 
doing,  Sieur? ' 

'I  think  so,'  I  answered. 

'Do  you  know  to  whom  the  chateau  belongs? ' 

'To  the  Vicomte  de  Turenne.' 

'And  that  Mademoiselle  de  la  Vire  is  his  relation? ' 

'Yes,'  I  said. 

'Mon  Dieu! '  he  exclaimed  again.  And  he  looked  at  me 
open-mouthed. 

'What  is  the  matter? '  I  asked,  though  I  had  an  uneasy 
consciousness  that  I  knew — that  I  knew  very  well. 

'Man,  he  will  crush  you  as  I  crush  this  hat! '  he  answered 
in  great  excitement.  'As  easily.  Who  do  you  think  will 
protect  you  from  him  in  a  private  quarrel  of  this  kind? 
Navarre?  France?  our  good  man?  Not  one  of  them. 
You  had  better  steal  the  king's  crown  jewels — he  is  weak; 


44  A    GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

or  Guise's  last  plot — he  is  generous  at  times ;  or  Navarre's 
last  sweetheart — he  is  as  easy  as  an  old  shoe.  You  had 
better  have  to  do  with  all  these  together,  I  tell  you,  than 
touch  Turenne's  ewe-lambs,  unless  your  aim  be  to  be  broken 
on  the  wheel !  Mon  Dieu,  yes ! ' 

'I  am  much  obliged  to  you  for  your  advice,'  I  said  stiffly, 
'but  the  die  is  cast.  My  mind  is  made  up.  On  the  other 
hand,  if  you  are  afraid,  M.  Fresnoy ' 

'I  am  afraid;  very  much  afraid,'  he  answered  frankly. 

'Still  your  name  need  not  be  brought  into  the  matter,'  I 
replied,  'I  will  take  the  responsibility.  I  will  let  them 
know  my  name  here  at  the  inn,  where,  doubtless,  inquiries 
will  be  made.' 

'To  be  sure,  that  is  something,'  he  answered  thoughtfully. 
'Well,  it  is  an  ugly  business,  but  I  am  in  for  it.  You  want 
me  to  go  with  you  a  little  after  two,  do  you?  and  the  others 
to  be  in  the  saddle  at  three?  Is  that  it? ' 

I  assented,  pleased  to  find  him  so  far  acquiescent ;  and  in 
this  way,  talking  the  details  over  more  than  once,  we  set- 
tled our  course,  arranging  to  fly  by  way  of  Poitiers  and 
Tours.  Of  course  I  did  not  tell  him  why  I  selected  Blois  as 
our  refuge,  nor  what  was  my  purpose  there;  though  he 
pressed  me  more  than  once  on  the  point,  and  grew  thought- 
ful and  somewhat  gloomy  when  I  continually  evaded  it. 
A  little  after  eight  we  retired  to  the  loft  to  sleep;  our  men 
remaining  below  round  the  fire  and  snoring  so  merrily  as 
almost  to  shake  the  crazy  old  building.  The  host  was 
charged  to  sit  up  and  call  us  as  soon  as  the  moon  rose,  but, 
as  it  turned  out,  I  might  as  well  have  taken  this  office  on 
myself,  for  between  excitement  and  distrust  I  slept  little, 
and  was  wide  awake  when  I  heard  his  step  on  the  ladder 
and  knew  it  was  time  to  rise. 

I  was  up  in  a  moment,  and  Fresnoy  was  little  behind  me; 
so  that,  losing  no  time  in  talk,  we  were  mounted  and  on  the 
road,  each  with  a  spare  horse  at  his  knee,  before  the  moon 
was  well  above  the  trees.  Once  in  the  Chase  we  found  it 
necessary  to  proceed  on  foot,  but,  the  distance  being  short, 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  LA    VIRE  45 

we  presently  emerged  without  misadventure  and  stood  op- 
posite to  the  chateau,  the  upper  part  of  which  shone  cold 
and  white  in  the  moon's  rays. 

There  was  something  so  solemn  in  the  aspect  of  the 
place,  the  night  being  fine  and  the  sky  without  a  cloud, 
that  I  stood  for  a  minute  awed  and  impressed,  the  sense  of 
the  responsibility  I  was  here  to  accept  strong  upon  me.  In 
that  short  space  of  time  all  the  dangers  before  me,  as  well 
the  common  risks  of  the  road  as  the  vengeance  of  Turenne 
and  the  turbulence  of  my  own  men,  presented  themselves 
to  my  mind,  and  made  a  last  appeal  to  me  to  turn  back  from 
an  enterprise  so  foolhardy.  The  blood  in  a  man's  veins 
runs  low  and  slow  at  that  hour,  and  mine  was  chilled  by 
lack  of  sleep  and  the  wintry  air.  It  needed  the  remem- 
brance of  my  solitary  condition,  of  my  past  spent  in  straits 
and  failure,  of  the  grey  hairs  which  swept  my  cheek,  of 
the  sword  which  I  had  long  used  honourably,  if  with  little 
profit  to  myself;  it  needed  the  thought  of  all  these  things 
to  restore  me  to  courage  and  myself. 

I  judged  at  a  later  period  that  my  companion  was  affected 
in  somewhat  the  same  way;  for,  as  I  stooped  to  press  home 
the  pegs  which  I  had  brought  to  tether  the  horses,  he  laid 
his  hand  on  my  arm.  Glancing  up  to  see  what  he  wanted, 
I  Avas  struck  by  the  wild  look  in  his  face  (which  the  moon- 
light invested  with  a  peculiar  mottled  pallor),  and  partic- 
ularly in  his  eyes,  which  glittered  like  a  madman's.  He 
tried  to  speak,  but  seemed  to  find  a  difficulty  in  doing  so; 
and  I  had  to  question  him  roughly  before  he  found  his 
tongue.  When  he  did  speak,  it  was  only  to  implore  me 
in  an  odd,  excited  manner  to  give  up  the  expedition  and 
return. 

'What,  now?'  I  said,  surprised.  'Now  we  are  here, 
Fresnoy  ? ' 

'Ay,  give  it  up! '  he  cried,  shaking  me  almost  fiercely  by 
the  arm.  'Give  it  up,  man!  It  will  end  badly,  I  tell  you! 
In  God's  name,  give  it  up,  and  go  home  before  worse  comes 
of  it.' 


46  A    GENTLEMAN-  OF  FRANCE 

'Whatever  comes  of  it,'  I  answered  coldly,  shaking  his 
grasp  from  my  arm,  and  wondering  much  at  this  sudden  tit 
of  cowardice,  'I  go  on.  You,  M.  Fresnoy,  may  do  as  you 
please ! ' 

He  started  and  drew  back  from  me ;  but  he  did  not  reply, 
nor  did  he  speak  again.  When  I  presently  went  off  to 
fetch  a  ladder,  of  the  position  of  which  I  had  made  a  note 
during  the  afternoon,  he  accompanied  me,  and  followed  me 
back  in  the  same  dull  silence  to  the  walk  below  the  balcony. 
I  had  looked  more  than  once  and  eagerly  at  mademoiselle's 
window  without  any  light  or  movement  in  that  quarter 
rewarding  my  vigilance;  but,  undeterred  by  this,  which 
might  mean  either  that  my  plot  was  known,  or  that  Made- 
moiselle de  la  Vire  distrusted  me,  I  set  the  ladder  softly 
against  the  balcony,  which  was  in  deep  shadow,  and  paused 
only  to  give  Fresnoy  his  last  instructions.  These  were 
simply  to  stand  on  guard  at  the  foot  of  the  ladder  and 
defend  it  in  case  of  surprise;  so  that,  whatever  happened 
inside  the  chateau,  my  retreat  by  the  window  might  not 
be  cut  off. 

Then  I  went  cautiously  up  the  ladder,  and,  with  my 
sheathed  sword  in  my  left  hand,  stepped  over  the  balus- 
trade. Taking  one  pace  forward,  with  fingers  outstretched, 
I  felt  the  leaded  panes  of  the  window  and  tapped  softly. 

As  softly  the  casement  gave  way,  and  I  .followed  it.  A 
hand  which  I  could  see  but  not  feel  was  laid  on  mine.  All 
was  darkness  in  the  room,  and  before  me,  but  the  hand 
guided  me  two  paces  forward,  then  by  a  sudden  pressure 
bade  me  stand.  I  heard  the  sound  of  a  curtain  being  drawn 
behind  me,  and  the  next  moment  the  cover  of  a  rushlight  was 
removed,  and  a  feeble  but  sufficient  light  filled  the  chamber. 

I  comprehended  that  the  drawing  of  that  curtain  over  the 
window  had  cut  off  my  retreat  as  effectually  as  if  a  door  had 
been  closed  behind  me.  But  distrust  and  suspicion  gave 
way  the  next  moment  to  .the  natural  embarrassment  of  the 
man  who  finds  himself  in  a  false  position  and  knows  he 
can  escape  from  it  only  by  an  awkward  explanation. 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  LA    VIRE  47 

The  room  in  which  I  found  myself  was  long,  narrow,  and 
low  in  the  ceiling;  and  being  hung  with  some  dark  stuff 
which  swallowed  up  the  light,  terminated  funereally  at  the 
farther  end  in  the  still  deeper  gloom  of  an  alcove.  Two  or 
three  huge  chests,  one  bearing  the  remnants  of  a  meal,  stood 
against  the  walls.  The  middle  of  the  floor  was  covered 
with  a  strip  of  coarse  matting,  on  which  a  small  table,  a 
chair  and  foot-rest,  and  a  couple  of  stools  had  place,  with 
some  smaller  articles  which  lay  scattered  round  a  pair  of 
half-filled  saddle-bags.  The  slighter  and  smaller  of  the 
two  figures  I  had  seen  stood  beside  the  table,  wearing  a 
mask  and  riding  cloak;  and  by  her  silent  manner  of  gazing 
at  me,  as  well  as  by  a  cold,  disdainful  bearing,  which 
neither  her  mask  nor  cloak  could  hide,  did  more  to  chill 
and  discomfit  me  than  even  my  own  knowledge  that  I  had 
lost  the  pass-key  which  should  have  admitted  me  to  her 
confidence. 

The  stouter  figure  of  the  afternoon  turned  out  to  be  a 
red-cheeked,  sturdy  woman  of  thirty,  with  bright  black 
eyes  and  a  manner  which  lost  nothing  of  its  fierce  impa- 
tience when  she  came  a  little  later  to  address  me.  All  my 
ideas  of  Fanchette  were  upset  by  the  appearance  of  this 
woman,  who,  rustic  in  her  speech  and  ways,  seemed  more 
like  a  duenna  than  the  waiting-maid  of  a  court  beauty,  and 
better  fitted  to  guard  a  wayward  damsel  than  to  aid  her  in 
such  an  escapade  as  we  had  in  hand. 

She  stood  slightly  behind  her  mistress,  her  coarse  red 
hand  resting  on  the  back  of  the  chair  from  which  mademoi- 
selle had  apparently  risen  on  my  entrance.  For  a  few 
seconds,  which  seemed  minutes  to  me,  we  stood  gazing  at 
one  another  in  silence,  mademoiselle  acknowledging  my  bow 
by  a  slight  movement  of  the  head.  Then,  seeing  that  they 
waited  for  me  to  speak,  I  did  so. 

'Mademoiselle  de  la  Vire? '  I  murmured  doubtfully. 

She  bent  her  head  again;  that  was  all. 

I  strove  to  speak  with  confidence.  'You  will  pardon  me, 
mademoiselle,'  I  said,  'if  I  seem  to  be  abrupt,  but  time  is 


48  A    GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

everything.  The  horses  are  standing  within  a  Imndred 
yards  of  the  house,  and  all  the  preparations  for  your  night 
are  made.  If  we  leave  now,  we  can  do  so  without  opposi- 
tion. The  delay  even  of  an  hour  may  lead  to  discovery.' 

For  answer  she  laughed  behind  her  mask — laughed  coldly 
and  ironically.  'You  go  too  fast,  sir,'  she  said,  her  low 
clear  voice  matching  the  laugh  and  rousing  a  feeling  almost 
of  anger  in  my  heart.  'I  do  not  know  you;  or,  rather, 
I  know  nothing  of  you  which  should  entitle  you  to  interfere 
in  iny  affairs.  You  are  too  quick  to  presume,  sir.  Y"ou 
say  you  come  from  a  friend.  From  whom? ' 

'From  one  whom  I  am  proud  to  call  by  that  title,'  I  an- 
swered with  what  patience  I  might. 

'His  name! ' 

I  answered  firmly  that  I  could  not  give  it.  And  I  eyed 
her  steadily  as  I  did  so. 

This  for  the  moment  seemed  to  baffle  and  confuse  her, 
but  after  a  pause  she  continued:  'Where  do  you  propose  to 
take  me,  sir? ' 

'To  Blois;  to  the  lodging  of  a  friend  of  my  friend.' 

'You  speak  bravely,'  she  replied  with  a  faint  sneer. 
'You  have  made  some  great  friends  lately  it  seems!  But 
you  bring  me  some  letter,  no  doubt;  at  least  some  sign, 
some  token,  some  warranty,  that  you  are  the  person  you 
pretend  to  be,  M.  de  Marsac? ' 

'The  truth  is,  mademoiselle,'  I  stammered,  'I  must  ex- 
plain. I  should  tell  you ' 

'Nay,  sir,'  she  cried  impetuously,  'there  is  no  need  of 
telling.  If  you  have  what  I  say,  show  it  me!  It  is  you 
who  lose  time.  Let  us  have  no  more  words !  ' 

I  had  used  very  few  words,  and,  God  knows,  was  not  in 
the  mind  to  use  many;  but,  being  in  the  wrong,  I  had  no 
answer  to  make  except  the  truth,  and  that  humbly.  'I  had 
such  a  token  as  you  mention,  mademoiselle,'  I  said,  'no 
farther  back  than  this  afternoon,  in  the  shape  of  half  a  gold 
coin,  entrusted  to  me  by  my  friend.  But,  to  my  shame  I 
say  it,  it  was  stolen  from  me  a  few  hours  back.' 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  LA    VIRE  49 

'Stolen  from  you! '  she  exclaimed. 

'Yes,  mademoiselle;  and  for  that  reason  I  cannot  show 
it,'  I  answered. 

'You  cannot  show  it?  And  you  dare  to  come  to  me  with- 
out it! '  she  cried,  speaking  with  a  vehemence  which  fairly 
startled  me,  prepared  as  I  was  for  reproaches.  'You  come 
to  me !  You ! '  she  continued.  And  with  that,  scarcely 
stopping  to  take  breath,  she  loaded  me  with  abuse;  calling 
me  impertinent,  a  meddler,  and  a  hundred  other  things, 
which  I  now  blush  to  recall,  and  displaying  in  all  a  passion 
which  even  in  her  attendant  would  have  surprised  me,  but 
in  one  so  slight  and  seemingly  delicate,  overwhelmed  and 
confounded  me.  In  fault  as  I  was,  I  could  not  understand 
the  peculiar  bitterness  she  displayed,  or  the  contemptuous 
force  of  her  language,  and  I  stared  at  her  in  silent  wonder 
until,  of  her  own  accord,  she  supplied  the  key  to  her  feel- 
ings. In  a  fresh  outburst  of  rage  she  snatched  off  her  mask, 
and  to  my  astonishment  I  saw  before  me  the  young  maid 
of  honour  whom  I  had  encountered  in  the  King  of  Navarre's 
ante-chamber,  and  whom  I  had  been  so  unfortunate  as  to 
expose  to  the  raillery  of  Mathurine. 

'Who  has  paid  you,  sir,'  she  continued,  clenching  her 
small  hands  and  speaking  with  tears  of  anger  in  her  eyes, 
'to  make  me  the  laughing-stock  of  the  Court?  It  was  bad 
enough  when  I  thought  you  the  proper  agent  of  those  to 
whom  I  have  a  right  to  look  for  aid!  It  was  bad  enough 
when  I  thought  myself  forced,  through  their  inconsiderate 
choice,  to  decide  between  an  odious  imprisonment  and  the 
ridicule  to  which  your  intervention  must  expose  me!  But 
that  you  should  have  dared,  of  your  own  notion,  to  follow 
me,  you,  the  butt  of  the  Court ' 

'Mademoiselle! '  I  cried. 

'A  needy,  out-at-elbows  adventurer!'  she  persisted, 
triumphing  in  her  cruelty.  'It  exceeds  all  bearing!  It  is 
not  to  be  suffered !  It ' 

'Nay,  mademoiselle;  you  shall  hear  me! '  I  cried,  with  a 
sternness  which  at  last  stopped  her.  'Granted  I  am  poor, 


So  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

I  am  still  a  gentleman;  yes,  mademoiselle,'  I  continued, 
firmly,  'a  gentleman,  and  the  last  of  a  family  which  has 
spoken  with  yours  on  equal  terms.  And  1  claim  to  be 
heard.  I  swear  that  when  I  came  here  to-night  I  believed 
you  to  be  a  perfect  stranger!  I  was  unaware  that  I  had 
ever  seen  you,  unaware  that  I  had  ever  met  you  before.' 

'Then  why  did  you  come? '  she  said  viciously. 

'I  was  engaged  to  come  by  those  whom  you  have  men- 
tioned, and  there,  and  there  only  am  I  in  fault.  They 
entrusted  to  me  a  token  which  I  have  lost.  For  that  I 
crave  your  pardon.' 

'You  have  need  to,'  she  answered  bitterly,  yet  with  a 
changed  countenance,  or  I  was  mistaken,  'if  your  story  be 
true,  sir.' 

'Ay,  that  you  have!'  the  woman  beside  her  echoed. 
'Hoity  toity,  indeed!  Here  is  a  fuss  about  nothing.  You 
call  yourself  a  gentleman,  and  wear  such  a  doublet  as ' 

'Peace,  Fanchette!'  mademoiselle  said  imperiously. 
And  then  for  a  moment  she  stood  silent,  eyeing  me  intently, 
her  lips  trembling  with  excitement  and  two  red  spots  burn- 
ing in  her  cheeks.  It  was  clear  from  her  dress  and  other 
things  that  she  had  made  up  her  mind  to  fly  had  the  token 
been  forthcoming;  and  seeing  this,  and  knowing  how  un- 
willing a  young  girl  is  to  forego  her  own  way,  I  still  had 
some  hopes  that  she  might  not  persevere  in  her  distrust 
and  refusal.  And  so  it  turned  out. 

Her  manner  had  changed  to  one  of  quiet  scorn  when  she 
next  spoke.  'You  defend  yourself  skilfully,  sir,'  she  said, 
drumming  with  her  fingers  on  the  table  and  eyeing  me 
steadfastly.  'But  can  you  give  me  any  reason  for  the  per- 
son you  name  making  choice  of  such  a  messenger? ' 

'Yes, '  I  answered,  boldly.  'That  he  may  not  be  suspected 
of  conniving  at  your  escape. ' 

'  Oh ! '  she  cried,  with  a  spark  of  her  former  passion. 
'Then  it  is  to  be  put  about  that  Mademoiselle  de  la  Vire 
had  fled  from  Chize  with  M.  de  Marsac,  is  it?  I  thought 
that! ' 


MADEMOISELLE  DE  LA    VI RE  51 

'Through  the  assistance  of  M.  de  Marsac,'  I  retorted, 
correcting  her  coldly.  'It  is  for  you,  mademoiselle,'  I  con- 
tinued, 'to  weigh  that  disadvantage  against  the  unpleasant- 
ness of  remaining  here.  It  only  remains  for  me  to  ask  you 
to  decide  quickly.  Time  presses,  and  I  have  stayed  here 
too  long  already.' 

The  words  had  barely  passed  my  lips  when  they  received 
unwelcome  confirmation  in  the  shape  of  a  distant  soiind 
— the  noisy  closing  of  a  door,  which,  clanging  through  the 
house  at  such  an  hour — I  judged  it  to  be  after  three  o'clock 
— could  scarcely  mean  anything  but  mischief.  This  noise 
was  followed  immediately,  even  while  we  stood  listening 
with  raised  fingers,  by  other  sounds — a  muffled  cry,  and 
the  tramp  of  heavy  footsteps  in  a  distant  passage.  Made- 
moiselle looked  at  me,  and  I  at  her  woman.  'The  door! '  I 
muttered.  'Is  it  locked? ' 

'And  bolted! '  Fanchette  answered;  'and  a  great  chest  set 
against  it.  Let  them  ramp;  they  will  do  no  harm  for  a  bit.' 

'Then  you  have  still  time,  mademoiselle,'  I  whispered, 
retreating  a  step  and  laying  my  hand  on  the  curtain  before 
the  window.  Perhaps  I  affected  greater  coolness  than  I 
felt.  'It  is  not  too  late.  If  you  choose  to  remain,  well 
and  good.  I  cannot  help  it.  If,  on  the  other  hand,  you 
decide  to  trust  yourself  to  me,  I  swear,  on  the  honour  of 
a  gentleman,  to  be  worthy  of  the  trust — to  serve  you  truly 
and  protect  you  to  the  last!  I  can  say  no  more.' 

She  trembled,  looking  from  me  to  the  door,  on  which 
some  one  had  just  begun  to  knock  loudly.  That  seemed  to 
decide  her.  Her  lips  apart,  her  eyes  full  of  excitement, 
she  turned  hastity  to  Fanchette. 

'Ay,  go  if  you  like,'  the  woman  answered  doggedly, 
reading  the  meaning  of  her  look.  'There  cannot  be  a 
greater  villain  than  the  one  we  know  of.  But  once  started, 
heaven  help  us,  for  if  he  overtakes  us  we'll  pay  dearly 
for  it!' 

The  girl  did  not  speak  herself,  bur  it  was  enough. 
The  noise  at  the  door  increased  each  second,  and  began  to 

£2 


52  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

be  mingled  with  angry  appeals  to  Fanchette  to  open,  and 
with  threats  in  casa  she  delayed.  I  cut  the  matter  short 
by  snatching  up  one  of  the  saddle-bags — the  other  we  left 
behind — and  flung  back  the  curtain  which  covered  the  win- 
dow. At  the  same  time  the  woman  dashed  out  the  light — 
a  timely  precaution — and  throwing  open  the  casement  I 
stepped  on  to  the  balcony,  the  others  following  me  closely. 

The  moon  had  risen  high,  and  flooding  with  light  the 
small  open  space  about  the  house  enabled  me  to  see  clearly 
all  round  the  foot  of  the  ladder.  To  my  surprise  Fresnoy 
was  not  at  his  post,  nor  was  he  to  be  seen  anywhere;  but 
as,  at  the  moment  I  observed  this,  an  outcry  away  to  my 
left,  at  the  rear  of  the  chateau,  came  to  my  ears,  and  an- 
nounced that  the  danger  was  no  longer  confined  to  the  inte- 
rior of  the  house,  I  concluded  that  he  had  gone  that  way  to 
intercept  the  attack.  Without  more,  therefore,  I  began  to 
descend  as  quickly  as  I  could,  my  sword  under  one  arm  and 
the  bag  under  the  other. 

I  was  half-way  down,  and  mademoiselle  was  already 
stepping  on  to  the  ladder  to  follow,  when  I  heard  footsteps 
below,  and  saw  him  run  up,  his  sword  in  his  hand. 

'Quick,  Fresnoy! '  I  cried.  'To  the  horses  and  unfasten 
them !  Quick ! ' 

I  slid  down  the  rest  of  the  way,  thinking  he  had  gone  to 
do  my  bidding.  But  my  feet  were  scarcely  on  the  ground 
when  a  tremendous  blow  in  the  side  sent  me  staggering 
three  paces  from  the  ladder.  The  attack  was  so  sudden, 
so  unexpected,  that  but  for  the  sight  of  Fresnoy's  scowling 
face,  wild  with  rage,  at  my  shoulder,  and  the  sound  of  his 
iierce  breathing  as  he  strove  to  release  his  sword,  which  had 
passed  through  my  saddle-bag,  I  might  never  have  known 
who  struck  the  blow,  or  how  narrow  had  been  my  escape. 

Fortunately  the  knowledge  did  come  to  me  in  time,  and 
before  he  freed  his  blade;  and  it  nerved  my  hand.  To 
draw  my  blade  at  such  close  quarters  was  impossible,  but, 
dropping  the  bag  which  had  saved  my  life,  I  dashed  my 
hilt  twice  in  his  face  with  such  violence  that  he  fell  back' 


THE  ROAD  TO  BLO1S  53 

wards  and  lay  on  the  turf,  a  dark  stain  growing  and  spread- 
ing on  his  upturned  face. 

It  was  scarcely  done  before  the  women  reached  the  foot 
of  the  ladder  and  stood  beside  me.  'Quick!'  I  cried  to 
them,  'or  they  will  be  upon  us.'  Seizing  mademoiselle's 
hand,  just  as  half-a-dozen  men  came  running  round  the 
corner  of  the  house,  I  jumped  with  her  down  the  haha,  and, 
urging  her  to  her  utmost  speed,  dashed  across  the  open 
ground  which  lay  between  us  and  the  belt  of  trees.  Once 
in  the  shelter  of  the  latter,  where  our  movements  were 
hidden  from  view,  I  had  still  to  free  the  horses  and  mount 
mademoiselle  arid  her  woman,  and  this  in  haste.  But  my 
companions'  admirable  coolness  and  presence  of  mind,  and 
the  objection  which  our  pursuers,  who  did  not  know  our 
numbers,  felt  to  leaving  the  open  ground,  enabled  us  to  do 
all  with  comparative  ease.  I  sprang  on  the  Cid  (it  has 
always  been  my  habit  to  teach  my  horse  to  stand  for  me, 
nor  do  I  know  any  accomplishment  more  serviceable  at  a 
pinch),  and  giving  Fresnoy's  grey  a  cut  over  the  flanks 
which  despatched  it  ahead,  led  the  way  down  the  ride  by 
which  I  had  gained  the  chateau  in  the  afternoon.  I  knew 
it  to  be  level  and  clear  of  trees,  and  the  fact  that  we  chose 
it  might  throw  our  pursuers  off  the  track  for  a  time,  by 
leading  them  to  think  we  had  taken  the  south  road  instead 
of  that  through  the  village. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE    ROAD    TO    BLOIS. 

WE  gained  the  road  without  let  or  hindrance,  whence  a 
sharp  burst  in  the  moonlight  soon  brought  us  to  the  village. 
Through  this  we  swept  on  to  the  inn,  almost  running  over 
the  four  evangelists,  whom  we  found  standing  at  the  door 
ready  for  the  saddle.  I  bade  them,  in  a  quick  peremptory 


54  A    GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

tone,  to  get  to  horse,  and  was  overjoyed  to  see  them  obey 
without  demur  or  word  of  Fresnoy.  In  another  minute, 
with  a  great  clatter  of  hoofs,  we  sprang  clear  of  the  hamlet, 
and  were  well  on  the  road  to  Melle,  with  Poitiers  some 
thirteen  leagues  before  us.  I  looked  back,  and  thought  I 
discerned  lights  moving  in  the  direction  of  the  chateau; 
but  the  dawn  was  still  two  hours  off,  and  the  moonlight  left 
me  in  doubt  whether  these  were  real  or  the  creatures  of  my 
own  fearful  fancy. 

I  remember,  three  years  before  this  time,  on  the  occasion 
of  the  famous  retreat  from  Angers — when  the  Prince  of 
Conde  had  involved  his  army  beyond  the  Loire,  and  saw 
himself,  in  the  impossibility  of  recrossing  the  river,  com- 
pelled to  take  ship  for  England,  leaving  every  one  to  shift 
for  himself — I  well  remember  on  that  occasion  riding, 
alone  and  pistol  in  hand,  through  more  than  thirty  miles 
of  the  enemy's  country  without  drawing  rein.  But  my 
anxieties  were  then  confined  to  the  four  shoes  of  my  horse. 
The  dangers  to  which  I  was  exposed  at  every  ford  and  cross 
road  were  such  as  are  inseparable  from  a  campaign,  and 
breed  in  generous  hearts  only  a  fierce  pleasure,  rarely  to 
be  otherwise  enjoyed.  And  though  I  then  rode  warily,  and 
where  I  could  not  carry  terror,  had  all  to  fear  myself,  there 
was  nothing  secret  or  underhand  in  my  business. 

It  was  very  different  now.  During  the  first  few  hours  of 
our  flight  from  Chize  I  experienced  a  painful  excitement, 
an  alarm,  a  feverish  anxiety  to  get  forward,  which  was  new 
to  me;  which  oppressed  my  spirits  to  the  very  ground; 
which  led  me  to  take  every  sound  borne  to  us  on  the  wind 
for  the  sound  of  pursuit,  transforming  the  clang  of  a  ham- 
mer on  the  anvil  into  the  ring  of  swords,  and  the  voices  of 
my  own  men  into  those  of  the  pursuers.  It  was  in  vain 
mademoiselle  rode  with  a  free  hand,  and  leaping  such 
obstacles  as  lay  in  our  way,  gave  promise  of  courage  and 
endurance  beyond  my  expectations.  I  could  think  of  noth- 
ing but  the  three  long  days  before  us,  with  twenty-four 
hours  to  every  day,  and  each  hour  fraught  with  a  hundred 
chances  of  disaster  and  ruin. 


THE  ROAD   TO  tfLOIS  55 

In  fact,  the  longer  I  considered  our  position — and  as  we 
pounded  along,  now  splashing  through  a  founderous  hollow, 
now  stumbling  as  we  wound  over  a  stony  shoulder,  I  had 
ample  time  to  reflect  upon  it — the  greater  seemed  the  diffi- 
culties before  us.  The  loss  of  Fresnoy,  while  it  freed  me 
from  some  embarrassment,  meant  also  the  loss  of  a  good 
sword,  and  we  had  mustered  only  too  few  before.  The 
country  which  lay  between  us  and  the  Loire,  being  the 
borderland  between  our  party  and  the  League,  had  been 
laid  desolate  so  often  as  to  be  abandoned  to  pillage  and  dis- 
order of  every  kind.  The  peasants  had  flocked  into  the 
towns.  Their  places  had  been  taken  by  bands  of  robbers 
and  deserters  from  both  parties,  who  haunted  the  ruined 
villages  about  Poitiers,  and  preyed  upon  all  who  dared  to 
pass.  To  add  to  our  perils,  the  royal  army  under  the  Duke 
of  Nevers  was  reported  to  be  moving  slowly  southward,  not 
very  far  to  the  left  of  our  road;  while  a  Huguenot  expedi- 
tion against  Niort  was  also  in  progress  within  a  few 
leagues  of  us. 

With  four  staunch  and  trustworthy  comrades  at  my  back, 
I  might  have  faced  even  this  situation  with  a  smile  and  a 
light  heart;  but  the  knowledge  that  my  four  knaves  might 
mutiny  at  any  moment,  or,  worse  still,  rid  themselves  of 
me  and  all  restraint  by  a  single  treacherous  blow  such  as 
Fresnoy  had  aimed  at  me,  filled  me  with  an  ever-present 
dread;  which  it  taxed  my  utmost  energies  to  hide  from 
them,  and  which  I  strove  in  vain  to  conceal  from  mademoi- 
selle's keener  vision. 

Whether  it  was  this  had  an  effect  upon  her,  giving  her  a 
meaner  opinion  of  me  than  that  which  I  had  for  a  while 
hoped  she  entertained,  or  that  she  began,  now  it  was  too 
late,  to  regret  her  flight  and  resent  my  part  in  it,  I  scarcely 
know;  but  from  daybreak  onwards  she  assumed  an  attitude 
of  cold  suspicion  towards  me,  which  was  only  less  unpleas- 
ant than  the  scornful  distance  of  her  manner  when  she 
deigned,  which  was  seldom,  to  address  me. 

Not  once  did  she  allow  me  to  forget  that  I  was  in  ier 


56  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

eyes  a  needy  adventurer,  paid  by  her  friends  to  escort  laer 
to  a  place  of  safety,  but  without  any  claim  to  the  smallest 
privilege  of  intimacy  or  equality.  When  I  would  have 
adjusted  her  saddle,  she  bade  her  woman  come  and  hold  up 
her  skirt,  that  my  hands  might  not  touch  its  hem  even  by 
accident.  And  when  I  would  have  brought  wine  to  her  at 
Melle,  where  we  stayed  for  twenty  minutes,  she  called 
Fanchette  to  hand  it  to  her.  She  rode  for  the  most  part  in 
her  mask ;  and  with  her  woman.  One  good  effect  only  her 
pride  and  reserve  had;  they  impressed  our  men  with  a 
strong  sense  of  her  importance,  and  the  danger  to  which 
any  interference  with  her  might  expose  them. 

The  two  men  whom  Fresnoy  had  enlisted  I  directed  to 
ride  a  score  of  paces  in  advance.  Luke  and  John  I  placed 
in  the  rear.  In  this  manner  I  thought  to  keep  them  some- 
what apart.  For  myself,  I  proposed  to  ride  abreast  of 
mademoiselle,  but  she  made  it  so  clear  that  my  neighbour- 
hood displeased  her  that  I  fell  back,  leaving  her  to  ride 
with  Fanchette;  and  contented  myself  with  plodding  at 
their  heels,  and  striving  to  attach  the  later  evangelists  to 
my  interests. 

We  were  so  fortunate,  despite  my  fears,  as  to  find  the 
road  nearly  deserted — as,  alas,  was  much  of  the  country  on 
either  side — and  to  meet  none  but  small  parties  travelling 
along  it ;  who  were  glad  enough,  seeing  the  villainous  looks 
of  our  outriders,  to  give  us  a  wide  berth,  and  be  quit  of  us 
for  the  fright.  We  skirted  Lusignan,  shunning  the  streets,  • 
but  passing  near  enough  for  me  to  point  out  to  mademoi- 
selle the  site  of  the  famous  tower  built,  according  to  tradi- 
tion, by  the  fairy  Melusina,  and  rased  thirteen  years  back 
by  the  Leaguers.  She  received  my  information  so  frigidly, 
however,  that  I  offered  no  more,  but  fell  back  shrugging 
my  shoulders,  and  rode  in  silence,  until,  some  two  hours 
after  noon,  the  city  of  Poitiers  came  into  sight,  lying  with- 
in its  circle  of  walls  and  towers  on  a  low  hill  in  the  middle 
of  a  country  clothed  in  summer  with  rich  vineyards,  but 
now  brown  and  bare  and  cheerless  to  the  eye. 


THE  ROAD   TO  BLOfS  57 

Fanchette  turned  and  asked  me  abruptly  if  that  were 
Poitiers. 

I  answered  that  it  was,  but  added  that  for  certain  reasons 
I  proposed  not  to  halt,  but  to  lie  at  a  village  a  league  be- 
yond the  city,  where  there  was  a  tolerable  inn. 

'We  shall  do  very  well  here,'  the  woman  answered  rudely. 
'Any  way,  my  lady  will  go  no  farther.  She  is  tired  and 
cold,  and  wet  besides,  and  has  gone  far  enough.' 

'Still,'  I  answered,  nettled  by  the  woman's  familiarity, 
'I  think  mademoiselle  will  change  her  mind  when  she  hears 
my  reasons  for  going  farther.' 

'Mademoiselle  does  not  wish  to  hear  them,  sir,'  the  lady 
replied  herself,  and  very  sharply. 

'Nevertheless,  I  think  you  had  better  hear  them,'  I  per- 
sisted, turning  to  her  respectfully.  'You  see,  mademoi- 
selle  ' 

'I  see  only  one  thing,  sir,'  she  exclaimed,  snatching  off 
her  mask  and  displaying  a  countenance  beautiful  indeed, 
but  flushed  for  the  moment  with  anger  and  impatience, 
'that,  whatever  betides,  I  stay  at  Poitiers  to-night.' 

'If  it  would  content  you  to  rest  an  hour?'  I  suggested 
gently. 

'It  will  not  content  me! '  she  rejoined  with  spirit.  'And 
let  me  tell  you,  sir,'  she  went  on  impetuously,  'once  for 
all,  that  you  take  too  much  upon  yourself.  You  are  here 
to  escort  me,  and  to  give  orders  to  these  ragamuffins,  for 
they  are  nothing  better,  with  whom  you  have  thought  fit  to 
disgrace  our  company;  but  not  to  give  orders  to  me  or  to 
control  my  movements.  Confine  yourself  for  the  future, 
sir,  to  your  duties,  if  you  please.' 

'I  desire  only  to  obey  you,'  I  answered,  suppressing  the 
angry  feelings  which  rose  in  my  breast,  and  speaking  as 
coolly  as  lay  in  my  power.  'But,  as  the  first  of  my  duties 
is  to  provide  for  your  safety,  I  am  determined  to  omit 
nothing  whidh  can  conduce  to  that  end.  You  have  not  con- 
sidered that,  if  a  party  in  pursuit  of  us  reaches  Poitiers 
to-night,  search  will  be  made  for  us  in  the  city,  and  we 


58  A   GENTLEMAN-  OF  FRANCE 

shall  be  taken.  If,  on  the  other  hand,  we  are  known  to 
have  passed  through,  the  hunt  may  go  no  farther ;  certainly 
will  go  no  farther  to-night.  Therefore  we  must  not,  made- 
moiselle, '  I  added  firmly,  'lie  in  Poitiers  to-night.' 

'Si ','  she  exclaimed,  looking  at  me,  her  face  crimson 
with  wonder  and  indignation,  'do  you  dare  to ?' 

'I  dare  do  my  duty,  mademoiselle,'  I  answered,  plucking 
up  a  spirit,  though  my  heart  was  sore.  'I  am  a  man  old 
enough  to  be  your  father,  and  with  little  to  lose,  or  I  had 
not  been  here.  I  care  nothing  what  you  think  or  what 
you  say  of  me,  provided  I  can  do  what  I  have  undertaken 
to  do  and  place  you  safely  in  the  hands  of  your  friends. 
But  enough,  mademoiselle,  we  are  at  the  gate.  If  you  will 
permit  me,  I  will  ride  through  the  streets  beside  you.  We 
shall  so  attract  less  attention.' 

Without  waiting  for  a  permission  which  she  was  very 
unlikely  to  give,  I  pushed  my  horse  forward,  and  took  my 
place  beside  her,  signing  to  Fanchette  to  fall  back.  The 
maid  obeyed,  speechless  with  indignation;  while  mademoi- 
selle flashed  a  scathing  glance  at  me  and  looked  round  in 
helpless  anger,  as  though  it  was  in  her  mind  to  appeal 
against  me  even  to  the  passers-by.  But  she  thought  better 
of  it,  and  contenting  herself  with  muttering  the  word  'Im- 
pertinent '  put  on  her  mask  with  fingers  which  trembled,  I 
fancy,  not  a  little. 

A  small  rain  was  falling  and  the  afternoon  was  well 
advanced  when  we  entered  the  town,  but  I  noticed  that, 
notwithstanding  this,  the  streets  presented  a  busy  and  ani- 
mated appearance,  being  full  of  knots  of  people  engaged  in 
earnest  talk.  A  bell  was  tolling  somewhere,  and  near  the 
cathedral  a  crowd  of  no  little  size  was  standing,  listening 
to  a  man  who  seemed  to  be  reading  a  placard  or  manifesto 
attached  to  the  wall.  In  another  place  a  soldier,  wearing 
the  crimson  colours  of  the  League,  but  splashed  and  stained 
as  with  recent  travel,  was  holding  forth  to  a  breathless 
circle  who  seemed  to  hang  upon  his  lips.  A  neighbouring 
corner  sheltered  a  handful  of  priests  who  whispered  to- 


THE  ROAD   TO  BLO1S  59 

gether  with  gloomy  faces.  Many  stared  at  us  as  we  passed, 
and  some  would  have  spoken;  but  I  rode  steadily  on,  in- 
viting no  converse.  Nevertheless  at  the  north  gate  I  got 
a  rare  fright ;  for,  though  it  wanted  a  full  half-hour  of  sun- 
set, the  porter  was  in  the  act  of  closing  it.  Seeing  us,  he 
waited  grumbling  until  we  came  up,  and  then  muttered,  in 
answer  to  my  remonstrance,  something  about  queer  times 
and  wilful  people  having  their  way.  I  took  little  notice 
of  what  he  said,  however,  being  anxious  only  to  get 
through  the  gate  and  leave  as  few  traces  of  our  passage 
as  might  be. 

As  soon  as  we  were  outside  the  town  I  fell  back,  permit 
ting  Fanchette  to  take  my  place.  For  another  league, 
a  long  and  dreary  one,  we  plodded  on  in  silence,  horses  and 
men  alike  jaded  and  sullen,  and  the  women  scarcely  able 
to  keep  their  saddles  for  fatigue.  At  last,  much  to  my 
relief,  seeing  that  I  began  to  fear  I  had  taxed  mademoi- 
selle's strength  too  far,  the  long  low  buildings  of  the  inn 
at  which  I  proposed  to  stay  came  in  sight,  at  the  crossing 
of  the  road  and  river.  The  place  looked  blank  and  cheer- 
less, for  the  dusk  was  thickening;  but  as  we  trailed  one  by 
one  into  the  courtyard  a  stream  of  firelight  burst  on  us 
from  doors  and  windows,  and  a  dozen  sounds  of  life  and 
comfort  greeted  our  ears. 

Noticing  that  mademoiselle  was  benumbed  and  cramped 
with  long  sitting,  I  would  have  helped  her  to  dismount; 
but  she  fiercely  rejected  my  aid,  and  I  had  to  content  my- 
self with  requesting  the  landlord  to  assign  the  best  accom- 
modation he  had  to  the  lady  and  her  attendant,  and  secure 
as  much  privacy  for  them  as  possible.  The  man  assented 
very  civilly  and  said  all  should  be  done;  but  I  noticed  that 
his  eyes  wandered  while  I  talked,  and  that  he  seemed  to 
have  something  on  his  mind.  When  he  returned,  after 
disposing  of  them,  it  came  out. 

'Did  you  ever  happen  to  see  him,  sir?'  he  asked  with  a 
sigh;  yet  was  there  a  smug  air  of  pleasure  mingled  with 
his  melancholy. 


60  A   GENTLEMAN.  OF  FRANCE 

'See  whom?'  I  answered,  staring  at  him,  for  neither  of 
us  had  mentioned  any  one. 

'The  Duke,  sir.' 

I  stared  again  between  wonder  and  suspicion.  'The  Duke 
of  Nevers  is  not  in  this  part,  is  he? '  I  said  slowly.  'I  heard 
he  was  on  the  Brittany  border,  away  to  the  westward.' 

'Mon  Dieu!'  my  host  exclaimed,  raising  his  hands  in 
astonishment.  'You  have  not  heard,  sir?  ' 

'I  have  heard  nothing,'  I  answered  impatiently. 

'You  have  not  heard,  sir,  that  the  most  puissant  and 
illustrious  lord  the  Duke  of  Guise  is  dead?' 

'M.  de  Guise  dead?     It  is  not  true! '  I  cried  astonished. 

He  nodded,  however,  several  times  with  an  air  of  great 
importance,  and  seemed  as  if  he  would  have  gone  on  to 
give  me  some  particulars.  But,  remembering,  as  I  fancied, 
that  he  spoke  in  the  hearing  of  half-a-dozen  guests  who  sat 
about  the  great  fire  behind  me,  and  had  both  eyes  and  ears 
open,  he  contented  himself  with  shifting  his  towel  to  his 
other  arm  and  adding  only,  'Yes,  sir,  dead  as  any  nail. 
The  news  came  through  here  yesterday,  and  made  a  pretty 
stir.  It  happened  at  Blois  the  day  but  one  before  Christ- 
mas, if  all  be  true.' 

I  was  thunderstruck.  This  was  news  which  might  change 
the  face  of  France.  'How  did  it  happen? '  I  asked. 

My  host  covered  his  mouth  with  his  hand  and  coughed, 
and,  privily  twitching  my  sleeve,  gave  me  to  understand 
with  some  shamefacedness  that  he  could  not  say  more  in 
public.  I  was  about  to  make  some  excuse  to  retire  with 
him,  when  a  harsh  voice,  addressed  apparently  to  me, 
caused  me  to  turn  sharply.  I  found  at  my  "elbow  a  tall 
thin-faced  monk  in  the  habit  of  the  Jacobin  order.  He  had 
risen  from  his  seat  beside  the  fire,  and  seemed  to  be  labour- 
ing under  great  excitement. 

'Who  asked  how  it  happened?'  he  cried,  rolling  his  eyes 
in  a  kind  of  frenzy,  while  still  observant,  or  I  was  much 
mistaken,  of  his  listeners.  Is  there  a  man  J''\  France  to 
whom  the  tale  has  not  been  told?  Is  there?' 


THE  ROAD   TO  BLOIS  61 

'I  will  answer  for  one,'  I  replied,  regarding  him  with 
little  favour.  'I  have  heard  nothing.5 

'Then  you  shall!  Listen!'  he  exclaimed,  raising  his  right 
hand  and  brandishing  it  as  though  he  denounced  a  person  then 
present.  'Hear  my  accusation,  made  in  the  name  of  Mother 
Church  and  the  saints  against  the  arch  hypocrite,  the  per- 
jurer and  assassin  sitting  in  high  places !  He  shall_be  An- 
athema Maranatha,  for  he  has  shed  the  blood  of  the  holy 
and  the  pure,  the  chosen  of  Heaven !  He  shall  go  down  to 
the  pit,  and  that  soon.  The  blood  that  he  has  shed  shall 
be  required  of  him,  and  that  before  he  is  one  year  older.' 

'Tut-tut.  All  that  sounds  very  fine,  good  father/  I  said, 
taxing  impatient,  and  a  little  scornful;  for  I  saw  that  he 
was  one  of  those  wandering  and  often  crazy  monks  in 
whom  the  League  found  their  most  useful  emissaries.  'But 
I  should  profit  more  by  your  gentle  words,  if  I  knew  whom 
you  were  cursing.' 

'The  man  of  blood!'  he  cried;  'through  whom  the  last 
but  not  the  least  of  God's  saints  and  martyrs  entered  into 
glory  on  the  Friday  before  Christmas.' 

Moved  by  such  profanity,  and  judging  him,  notwithstand- 
ing the  extravagance  of  his  words  and  gestures,  to  be  less 
mad  than  he  seemed,  and  at  least  as  much  knave  as  ft  )\,  I 
bade  Lira  sternly  have  done  with  his  cursing,  and  proceed 
to  his  story  if  he  had  one. 

He  glowered  at  me  for  a  moment,  as  though  he  were 
minded  to  launch  his  spiritual  weapons  at  my  head;  but 
as  I  returned  his  glare  with  an  unmoved  eye — and  my  four 
rascals,  who  were  as  impatient  as  myself  to  learn  the  news, 
and  had  scarce  more  reverence  for  a  shaven  crown,  began 
to  murmur — he  thought  better  of  it,  and  cooling  as  sud- 
denly as  he  had  flamed  up,  lost  no  more  time  in  satisfying 
our  curiosity. 

It  would  ill  become  me,  however,  to  set  down  the  ex- 
travagant and  often  blasphemous  harangue  in  which,  styl- 
ing M.  de  Guise  the  martyr  of  God,  he  told  the  story  now 
so  familiar — the  story  of  that  dark  wintry  morning  at  Blois, 


62  A    GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

when  the  king's  messenger,  knocking  early  at  the  duke's 
door,  bade  him  hurry,  for  the  king  wanted  him.  The  story 
is  trite  enough  now.  When  I  heard  it  first  in  the  inn  on 
the  Clain,  it  was  all  new  and  all  marvellous. 

The  monk,  too,  telling  the  story  as  if  he  had  seen  the 
events  with  his  own  eyes,  omitted  nothing  which  might 
impress  his  hearers.  He  told  us  hqw  the  duke  received 
warning  after  warning,  and  answered  in  the  very  ante- 
chamber, 'He  dare  not! '  How  his  blood,  mysteriously 
advised  of  coming  dissolution,  grew  chill,  and  his  eye, 
wounded  at  Chateau  Thierry,  began  to  run,  so  that  he  had 
to  send  for  the  handkerchief  he  had  forgotten  to  bring.  He 
told  us,  even,  how  the  duke  drew  his  assassins  up  and  down 
the  chamber,  how  he  cried  for  mercy,  and  how  he  died  at 
last  at  the  foot  of  the  king's  bed,  and  how  the  king,  who  had 
never  dared  to  face  him  living,  came  and  spurned  him  dead ! 

There  were  pale  faces  round  the  fire  when  he  ceased,  and 
bent  brows  and  lips  hard  pressed  together.  When  he  stood 
and  cursed  the  King  of  France — cursing  him  openly  by  the 
name  of  Henry  of  Valois,  a  thing  I  had  never  looked  to 
hear  in  France — though  no  one  said  'Amen/  and  all  glanced 
over  their  shoulders,  and  our  host  pattered  from  the  room 
as  if  he  had  seen  a  ghost,  it  seemed  to  be  no  man's  duty  to 
gainsay  him. 

For  myself,  I  was  full  of  thoughts  which  it  would  have 
been  unsafe  to  utter  in  that  company  or  so  near  the  Loire. 
I  looked  back  sixteen  years.  Who  but  Henry  of  Guise 
had  spurned  the  corpse  of  Coligny?  And  who  but  Henry 
of  Valois  had  backed  him  in  the  act?  Who  but  Henry  of 
Guise  had  drenched  Paris  with  blood,  and  who  but  Henry 
of  Valois  had  ridden  by  his  side?  One  23rd  of  the  month 
— a  day  never  to  be  erased  from  France's  annals — had  pur- 
chased for  him  a  term  of  greatness.  A  second  23rd  saw 
him  pay  the  price — saw  his  ashes  cast  secretly  and  by  night 
no  man  knows  where ! 

Moved  by  such  thoughts,  and  observing  that  the  priest 
was  going  the  round  of  the  company  collecting  money  for 


THE  ROAD   TO  BLOIS  63 

masses  for  the  duke's  soul,  to  which  object  I  could  neither 
give  with  a  good  conscience  nor  refuse  without  exciting 
suspicion,  I  slipped  out ;  and  finding  a  man  of  decent  ap- 
pearance talking  with  the  landlord  in  a  small  room  beside 
the  kitchen,  I  called  for  a  flask  of  the  best  wine,  and  by 
means  of  that  introduction  obtained  my  supper  in  their 
company. 

The  stranger  was  a  Norman  horsedealer,  returning  home 
after  disposing  of  his  string.  He  seemed  to  be  in  a  large 
way  of  business,  and  being  of  a  bluff,  independent  spirit, 
as  many  of  those  Norman  townsmen  are,  was  inclined  at 
first  to  treat  me  with  more  familiarity  than  respect;  the 
fact  of  my  nag,  for  which  he  would  have  chaffered,  excel- 
ling my  coat  in  quality,  leading  him  to  set  me  down  as  a 
steward  or  intendant.  The  pursuit  of  his  trade,  however, 
had  brought  him  into  connection  with  all  classes  of  men, 
and  he  quickly  perceived  his  mistake;  and  as  he  knew  the 
provinces  between  the  Seine  and  Loire  to  perfection,  and 
made  it  part  of  his  business  to  foresee  the  chances  of  peace 
and  war,  I  obtained  a  great  amount  of  information  from 
him,  and  indeed  conceived  no  little  liking  for  him.  He 
believed  that  the  assassination  of  M.  de  Guise  would  alien- 
ate so  much  of  France  from  the  king  that  his  majesty  would 
have  little  left  save  the  towns  on  the  Loire,  and  some  other 
places  lying  within  easy  reach  of  his  court  at  Blois. 

'But,'  I  said,  'things  seem  quiet  now.  Here,  for  in- 
stance.' 

'It  is  the  calm  before  the  storm,'  he  answered.  'There 
is  a  monk  in  there.  Have  you  heard  him? ' 

I  nodded. 

:He  is  only  one  among  a  hundred — a  thousand,'  the 
horsedealer  continued,  looking  at  me  and  nodding  with 
meaning.  He  was  a  brown-haired  man  with  shrewd  grey 
eyes,  such  as  many  Normans  have.  'They  will  get  their 
way  too,  you  will  see,'  he  went  on.  'Well,  horses  will  go 
up,  so  I  have  no  cause  to  grumble;  but,  if  I  were  on  my 
way  to  Blois  with  women  or  gear  of  that  kind,  I  should 


64  A    GENTLEMAN-  OF  FRANCE 

not  choose  this  time  for  picking  posies  on  the  road.  I 
should  see  the  inside  of  the  gates  as  soon  as  possible.' 

I  thought  there  was  much  in  what  he  said;  and  when  he 
went  on  to  maintain  that  the  king  would  find  himself  be- 
tween the  hammer  and  the  anvil — between  the  League  hold- 
ing all  the  north  and  the  Huguenots  holding  all  the  south 
— and  must  needs  in  time  come  to  terms  with  the  latter, 
seeing  that  the  former  would  rest  content  with  nothing 
short  of  his  deposition,  I  began  to  agree  with  him  that  we 
should  shortly  see  great  changes  and  very  stirring  times. 

'Still  if  they  depose  the  king,'  I  said,  'the  King  of  Na- 
varre must  succeed  him.  He  is  the  heir  of  France.' 

'Bah!  '  my  companion  replied  somewhat  contemptuously. 
'The  League  will  see  to  that.  He  goes  with  the  other.' 

'Then  the  kings  are  in  one  cry,  and  you  are  right,'  I  said 
with  conviction.  'They  must  unite.' 

'So  they  will.     It  is  only  a  question  of  time,'  he  said. 

In  the  morning,  having  only  one  man  with  him,  and,  as 
I  guessed,  a  considerable  sum  of  money,  he  volunteered  to 
join  our  party  as  far  as  Blois.  I  assented  gladly,  and  he 
did  so,  this  addition  to  our  numbers  ridding  me  at  once  of 
the  greater  part  of  my  fears.  I  did  not  expect  any  oppo- 
sition on  the  part  of  mademoiselle,  who  would  gain  in  con- 
sequence as  well  as  in  safety.  Nor  did  she  offer  any.  She 
was  content,  I  think,  to  welcome  any  addition  to  our  party 
which  would  save  her  from  the  necessity  of  riding  in  the 
company  of  my  old  cloak. 


CHAPTER  VI. 
MY  MOTHER'S  LODGING. 


TRAVELLING  by  way  of  Chatelherault  and  Tours,  we 
reached  the  neighbourhood  of  Blois  a  little  after  noon  on 
the  third  day  without  misadventure  or  any  intimation  of 


MY  MOTHER'S  LODGING  65 

pursuit.  The  Norman  proved  himself  a  cheerful  compan- 
ion on  the  road,  as  I  already  knew  him  to  be  a  man  of  sense 
and  shrewdness;  while  his  presence  rendered  the  task  of 
keeping  my  men  in  order  an  easy  one.  I  began  to  consider 
the  adventure  as  practically  achieved;  and  regarding  Mad- 
emoiselle de  la  Vire  as  already  in  effect  transferred  to  the 
care  of  M.  de  Rosny,  I  ventured  to  turn  my  thoughts  to  the 
development  of  my  own  plans  and  the  choice  of  a  haven  in 
which  I  might  rest  secure  from  the  vengeance  of  M.  de 
Turenne. 

For  the  moment  I  had  evaded  his  pursuit,  and,  assisted 
by  the  confusion  caused  everywhere  by  the  death  of  Guise, 
had  succeeded  in  thwarting  his  plans  and  affronting  his 
authority  with  seeming  ease.  But  I  knew  too  much  of 
his  power  and  had  heard  too  many  instances  of  his  fierce 
temper  and  resolute  will  to  presume  on  short  impunity  or 
to  expect  the  future  with  anything  but  diffidence  and 
dismay. 

The  exclamations  of  my  companions  on  coming  within 
sight  of  Blois  aroused  me  from  these  reflections.  I  joined 
them,  and  fully  shared  their  emotion  as  I  gazed  on  the 
stately  towers  which  had  witnessed  so  many  royal  festivi- 
ties, and,  alas!  one  royal  tragedy;  which  had  sheltered 
Louis  the  Well-beloved  and  Francis  the  Great,  and  rung 
with  the  laughter  of  Diana  of  Poitiers  and  the  second 
Henry.  The  play  of  fancy  wreathed  the  sombre  building 
with  a  hundred  memories  grave  and  gay.  But,  though  the 
rich  plain  of  the  Loire  still  swelled  upward  as  of  old  in 
gentle  homage  at  the  feet  of  the  gillant  town,  the  shadow 
of  crime  seemed  to  darken  all,  and  dim  even  the  glories  of 
the  royal  standard  which  hung  idly  in  the  air. 

We  had  heard  so  many  reports  of  the  fear  and  suspicion 
which  reigned  in  the  city  and  of  the  strict  supervision  which 
was  exercised  over  all  who  entered — the  king  dreading  a 
repetition  of  the  day  of  the  Barricades — that  we  halted  at  a 
little  inn  a  mile  short  of  the  gate  and  broke  up  our  com- 
pany. I  parted  from  my  Norman  friend  with  mutual  ex- 


66  A    GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

pressions  of  esteem,  and  from  my  own  men,  whom  I  had 
paid  off  in  the  morning,  complimenting  each  of  them  with 
a  handsome  present,  with  a  feeling  of  relief  equally  sin- 
cere. I  hoped — but  the  hope  was  not  fated  to  be  gratified 
— that  I  might  never  see  the  knaves  again. 

It  wanted  less  than  an  hour  of  sunset  when  I  rode  up  to 
the  gate,  a  few  paces  in  front  of  mademoiselle  and  her 
woman ;  as  if  I  had  really  been  the  intendant  for  whom  the 
horse-dealer  had  mistaken  me.  We  found  the  guardhouse 
lined  with  soldiers,  who  scanned  us  very  narrowly  as  we 
approached,  and  whose  stern  features  and  ordered  weapons 
showed  that  they  were  not  there  for  mere  effect.  The  fact, 
however,  that  we  came  from  Tours,  a  city  still  in  the  king's 
hands,  served  to  allay  suspicion,  and  we  passed  without 
accident. 

Once  in  the  streets,  and  riding  in  single  file  between  the 
houses,  to  the  windows  of  which  the  townsfolk  seemed  to 
be  attracted  by  the  slightest  commotion,  so  full  of  terror 
was  the  air,  I  experienced  a  moment  of  huge  relief.  This 
was  Blois — Blois  at  last.  We  were  within  a  few  score 
yards  of  the  Bleeding  Heart.  In  a  few  minutes  I  should 
receive  a  quittance,  and  be  free  to  think  only  of  myself. 
ISTor  was  my  pleasure  much  lessened  by  the  fact  that  I  was 
so  soon  to  part  from  Mademoiselle  de  la  Vire.  Frankly, 
I  was  far  from  liking  her.  Exposure  to  the  air  of  a  court 
had  spoiled,  it  seemed  to  me,  whatever  graces  of  disposi- 
tion the  young  lady  had  ever  possessed.  She  still  main- 
tained, and  had  maintained  throughout  the  journey,  the 
cold  and  suspicious  attitude  assumed  at  starting;  nor  had 
she  ever  expressed  the  least  solicitude  on  my  behalf,  or  the 
slightest  sense  that  we  were  incurring  danger  in  her  ser- 
vice. She  had  not  scrupled  constantly  to  prefer  her  whims 
to  the  common  advantage,  and  even  safety ;  while  her  sense 
of  self-importance  had  come  to  be  so  great,  that  she  seemed 
to  hold  herself  exempt  from  the  duty  of  thanking  any 
human  creature.  I  could  not  deny  that  she  was  beautiful 
— indeed,  I  often  thought,  when  watching  her,  of  the  day 


MY  MOTHER'S  LODGING  67 

when  I  had  seen  her  in  the  King  of  ^Navarre's  antechamber 
in  all  the  glory  of  her  charms.  But  I  felt  none  the  less 
that  I  could  turn  my  back  on  her — leaving  her  in  safety — 
without  regret;  and  be  thankful  that  her  path  would  never 
again  cross  mine. 

With  such  thoughts  in  my  breast  I  turned  the  corner  of 
the  Rue  de  St.  Denys  and  came  at  once  upon  the  Bleeding 
Heart,  a  small  but  decent-looking  hostelry  situate  near  the 
end  of  the  street  and  opposite  a  church.  A  bluff,  grey- 
haired  man,  who  was  standing  in  the  doorway,  came  for- 
ward as  we  halted,  and  looking  curiously  at  mademoiselle 
asked  what  I  lacked;  adding  civilly  that  the  house  was 
full  and  they  had  no  sleeping  room,  the  late  events  having 
drawn  a  great  assemblage  to  Blois. 

'I  want  only  an  address,'  I  answered,  leaning  from  the 
saddle  and  speaking  in  a  low  voice  that  I  might  not  be 
overheard  by  the  passers-by.  'The  Baron  de  Rosny  is  in 
Blois,  is  he  not? ' 

The  man  started  at  the  name  of  the  Huguenot  leader, 
and  looked  round  him  nervously.  But,  seeing  that  no  one 
was  very  near  us,  he  answered:  'He  was,  sir;  but  he  left 
town  a  week  ago  and  more.  There  have  been  strange 
doings  here,  and  M.  de  Rosny  thought  that  the  climate 
suited  him  ill.' 

He  said  this  with  so  much  meaning,  as  well  as  concern 
that  he  should  not  be  overheard,  that,  though  I  was  taken 
aback  and  bitterly  disappointed,  I  succeeded  in  restraining 
all  exclamations  and  even  show  of  feeling.  After  a  pause 
of  dismay,  I  asked  whither  M.  de  Eosny  had  gone. 

'To  Rosny,'  was  the  answer. 

'And  Rosny? ' 

'Is  beyond  Chartres,  pretty  well  all  the  way  to  Mantes/ 
the  man  answered,  stroking  my  horse's  neck.  'Say  thirty 
leagues. ' 

I  turned  my  horse,  and  hurriedly  communicated  what  he 
said  to  mademoiselle,  who  was  waiting  a  few  paces  away. 
Unwelcome  to  me,  the  news  was  still  less  welcome  to  her. 

F2 


68  A    GENTLEMAN"  OF  FRANCE 

Her  chagrin  and  indignation  knew  no  bounds.  For  a 
moment  words  failed  her,  but  her  flashing  eyes  said  more 
than  her  tongue  as  she  cried  to  me:  'Well,  sir,  and  what 
now?  Is  this  the  end  of  your  fine  promises?  Where  is 
your  Rosny,  if  all  be  not  a  lying  invention  of  your  own?' 

Feeling  that  she  had  some  excuse  I  suppressed  my 
choler,  and  humbly  repeating  that  Kosny  was  at  his  house, 
two  days  farther  on,  and  that  I  could  see  nothing  for  it  but 
to  go  to  him,  I  asked  the  landlord  where  we  could  find  a 
lodging  for  the  night. 

'Indeed,  sir,  that  is  more  than  I  can  say,'  he  answered, 
looking  curiously  at  us,  and  thinking,  I  doubt  not,  that 
with  my  shabby  cloak  and  fine  horse,  and  mademoiselle's 
mask  and  spattered  riding-coat,  we  were  an  odd  couple. 
'There  is  not  an  inn  which  is  not  full  to  the  garrets — nay, 
and  the  stables ;  and,  what  is  more,  people  are  chary  of 
taking  strangers  in.  These  are  strange  times.  They  say,' 
he  continued  in  a  lower  tone,  'that  the  old  queen  is  dying 
up  there,  and  will  not  last  the  night.' 

I  nodded.     'We  must  go  somewhere,'  I  said. 

'I  would  help  you  if  I  could,'  he  answered,  shrug- 
ging his  shoulders.  'But  there  it  is!  Blois  is  full  from 
the  tiles  to  the  cellars.' 

My  horse  shivered  under  me,  and  mademoiselle,  whose 
patience  was  gone,  cried  harshly  to  me  to  do  something. 
'  We  cannot  spend  the  night  in  the  streets, '  she  said  fiercely. 

I  saw  that  she  was  worn  out  and  scarcely  mistress  of  her- 
selt'.  The  light  was  falling,  and  with  it  some  rain.  The 
reek  of  the  kennels  and  the  close  air  from  the  houses  seemed 
to  stifle  us.  The  bell  at  the  church  behind  us  was  jangling 
out  vespers.  A  few  people,  attracted  by  the  sight  of  our 
horses  standing  before  the  inn,  had  gathered  round  and 
were  watching  us. 

Something  I  saw  must  be  done,  and  done  quickly.  In 
despair,  and  seeing  no  other  resort,  I  broached  a  proposal 
of  which  I  had  not  hitherto  even  dreamed.  'Mademoiselle,' 
I  said  bluntly,  'I  must  take  you  to  my  mother's.' 


69 

'To  your  mother's,  sir?'  she  cried,  rousing  herself.  Her 
voice  rang  with  haughty  surprise. 

'Yes,'  I  replied  brusquely;  'since,  as  you  say,  we  cannot 
spend  the  night  in  the  streets,  and  I  do  not  know  where 
else  I  can  dispose  of  you.  From  the  last  advices  I  had  I 
believe  her  to  have  followed  the  court  hither.  My  friend,' 
I  continued,  turning  to  the  landlord,  'do  you  know  by  name 
a  Madame  de  Bonne,  who  should  be  in  Blois? ' 

'A  Madame  de Bonne?'  he  muttered,  reflecting.  'I  have 
heard  the  name  lately.  Wait  a  moment.'  Disappearing 
into  the  house,  he  returned  almost  immediately,  followed 
by  a  lanky  pale-faced  youth  wearing  a  tattered  black  sou- 
tane. 'Yes,'  he  said  nodding,  'there  is  a  worthy  lady  of 
that  name  lodging  in  the  next  street,  I  am  told.  As  it 
happens,  this  young  man  lives  in  the  same  house,  and  will 
guide  you,  if  you  like.' 

I  assented,  and,  thanking  him  for  his  information,  turned 
my  horse  and  requested  the  youth  to  lead  the  way.  We 
had  scarcely  passed  the  corner  of  the  street,  however,  and 
entered  one  somewhat  more  narrow  and  less  frequented, 
when  mademoiselle,  vho  was  riding  behind  me,  stopped  and 
railed  jo  jne.  I  drew  rein,  and,  turning,  asked  what  it  was. 

'I  am  not  coming,'  she  said,  her  voice  trembling  slightly, 
but  whether  with  alarm  or  anger  I  could  not  determine.  'I 
know  nothing  of  you,  and  I — I  demand  to  be  taken  to  M. 
de  Rosnj7.' 

'  If  you  cry  that  name  aloud  in  the  streets  of  Blois,  made- 
moiselle,' I  retorted,  'you  are  like  enough  to  be  taken 
whither  you  will  not  care  to  go!  As  for  M.  de  Eosny,  I 
have  told  you  that  he  is  not  here.  He  has  gone  to  his  seat 
at  Mantes.' 

'  Then  take  me  to  him ! ' 

'At  this  hour  of  the  night? '  I  said  drily.  'It  is  two 
days'  journey  from  here.' 

'Then  I  will  go  to  an  inn,'  she  replied  sullenly. 

'You  have  heard  that  there  is  no  room  in  the  inns,'  1  re- 
joined with  what  patience  I  could.  'And  to  go  from  inn  to 


70  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

inn  at  this  hour  might  lead  us  into  trouble.  I  can  assure 
you  that  I  am  as  much  taken  aback  by  M.  de  Rosny's  ab- 
sence as  you  are.  For  the  present,  we  are  close  to  my 
mother's  lodging,  and ' 

'I  know  nothing  of  your  mother! '  she  exclaimed  passion- 
ately, her  voice  raised.  'You  have  enticed  me  hither  by 
false  pretences,  sir,  and  I  will  endure  it  no  longer.  I 
will ' 

'What  you  will  do,  I  do  not  know  then,  mademoiselle,'  I 
replied,  quite  at  my  Avits'  end;  for  what  with  the  rain  and 
the  darkness,  the  unknown  streets — in  which  our  tarrying 
might  at  any  moment  collect  a  crowd — and  this  stubborn 
girl's  opposition,  I  knew  not  whither  to  turn.  'For  my 
part  I  can  suggest  nothing  else.  It  does  not  become  me  to 
speak  of  my  mother,'  I  continued,  'or  I  might  say  that  even 
Mademoiselle  de  la  Vire  need  not  be  ashamed  to  accept  the 
hospitality  of  Madame  de  Bonne.  Nor  are  my  mother's 
circumstances,'  I  added  proudly,  'though  narrow,  so  mean 
as  to  deprive  her  of  the  privileges  of  her  birth.' 

My  last  words  appeared  to  make  some  impression  upon 
my  companion.  She  turned  and  spoke  to  her  woman,  who 
replied  in  a  low  voice,  tossing  her  head  the  while  and  glar- 
ing at  me  in  speechless  indignation.  Had  there  been  any- 
thing else  for  it,  they  would  doubtless  have  flouted  my  offer 
still;  but  apparently  Fanchette  could  suggest  nothing,  and 
presently  mademoiselle,  with  a  sullen  air,  bade  me  lead  on. 

Taking  this  for  permission,  the  lanky  youth  in  the  black 
soutane,  who  had  remained  at  my  bridle  throughout  the  dis- 
cussion, now  listening  and  now  staring,  nodded  and  resumed 
his  way;  and  I  followed.  After  proceeding  a  little  more 
than  fifty  yards  he  stopped  before  a  mean-looking  doorway, 
flanked  by  grated  windows,  and  fronted  by  a  lofty  wall 
which  I  took  to  be  the  back  of  some  nobleman's  garden. 
The  street  at  this  point  was  unlighted,  and  little  better 
than  an  alley;  nor  was  the  appearance  of  the  house,  which 
was  narrow  and  ill-looking,  though  lofty,  calculated,  as  far 
as  I  could  make  it  out  in  the  darkness,  to  allay  mademoi- 


MY  MOTHER'S  LODGING  71 

selle's  suspicions.  Knowing,  however,  that  people  of  posi- 
tion are  often  obliged  in  towns  to  lodge  in  poor  houses,  I 
thought  nothing  of  this,  and  only  strove  to  get  mademoiselle 
dismounted  as  quickly  as  possible.  The  lad  groped  about 
and  found  two  rings  beside  the  door,  and  to  these  I  tied  up 
the  horses.  Then,  bidding  him  lead  the  way,  and  begging 
mademoiselle  to  follow,  I  plunged  into  the  darkness  of  the 
passage  and  felt  my  way  to  the  foot  of  the  staircase,  which 
was  entirely  unlighted,  and  smelled  close  and  unpleasant. 

'Which  floor? '  I  asked  my  guide. 

'The  fourth,'  he  answered  quietly. 

'Morbleu! '  I  muttered,  as  I  began  to  ascend,  my  hand 
on  the  wall.  'What  is  the  meaning  of  this? ' 

For  I  was  perplexed.  The  revenues  of  Marsac,  though 
small,  should  have  kept  my  mother,  whom  I  had  last  seen 
in  Paris  before  the  Nemours  edict,  in  tolerable  comfort — 
such  modest  comfort,  at  any  rate,  as  could  scarcely  be 
looked  for  in  such  a  house  as  this — obscure,  ill-tended,  un- 
lighted. To  my  perplexity  was  added,  before  I  reached 
the  top  of  the  stairs,  disquietude — disquietude  on  her 
account  as  well  as  on  mademoiselle's.  I  felt  that  some- 
thing was  wrong,  and  would  have  given  much  to  recall  the 
invitation  I  had  pressed  on  the  latter. 

What  the  young  lady  thought  herself  I  could  pretty  well 
guess,  as  I  listened  to  her  hurried  breathing  at  my  shoulder. 
With  every  step  I  expected  her  to  refuse  to  go  farther. 
But,  having  once  made  up  her  mind,  she  followed  me  stub- 
bornly, though  the  darkness  was  such  that  involuntarily  I 
loosened  my  dagger,  and  prepared  to  defend  myself  should 
this  turn  out  to  be  a  trap. 

We  reached  the  top,  however,  without  accident.  Our 
guide  knocked  softly  at  a  door  and  immediately  opened  it 
without  waiting  for  an  answer.  A  feeble  light  shone  out 
on  the  stair-head,  and  bending  my  head,  for  the  lintel  was 
low,  I  stepped  into  the  room. 

I  advanced  two  paces  and  stood  looking  about  me  in 
angry  bewilderment.  The  bareness  of  extreme  poveny 


72  A    GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

marked  everything  on  which  my  eyes  rested.  A  cracked 
earthenware  lamp  smoked  and  sputtered  on  a  stool  in  the 
middle  of  the  rotting  floor.  An  old  black  cloak  nailed  to 
the  wall,  and  flapping  to  and  fro  in  the  draught  like  some 
dead  gallowsbird,  hung  in  front  of  the  unglazed  window. 
A  jar  in  a  corner  caught  the  drippings  from  a  hole  in  the 
roof.  An  iron  pot  and  a  second  stool — the  latter  casting  a 
long  shadow  across  the  floor — stood  beside  the  handful  of 
wood  ashes,  which  smouldered  on  the  hearth.  And  that 
was  all  the  furniture  I  saAV,  except  a  bed  which  filled  the 
farther  end  of  the  long  narrow  room,  and  was  curtained  off 
so  as  to  form  a  kind  of  miserable  alcove. 

A  glance  sufficed  to  show  me  all  this,  and  that  the  room 
was  empty,  or  apparently  empty.  Yet  I  looked  again  and 
again,  stupefied.  At  last  finding  my  voice,  I  turned  to  the 
young  man  who  had  brought  us  hither,  and  with  a  fierce 
oath  demanded  of  him  what  he  meant. 

He  shrank  back  behind  the  open  door,  and  yet  answered 
with  a  kind  of  sullen  surprise  that  I  had  asked  for  Madame 
de  Bonne's,  and  this  was  it. 

'Madame  de  Bonne's!'  I  muttered.  'This  Madame  de 
Bonne's! ' 

He  nodded. 

'Of  course  it  is!  And  you  know  it!'  mademoiselle 
hissed  in  my  ear,  her  voice,  as  she  interposed,  hoarse  with 
passion.  'Don't  think  that  you  can  deceive  us  any  longer. 
We  know  all!  This,'  she  continued,  looking  round,  her 
cheeks  scarlet,  her  eyes  ablaze  with  scorn,  'is  your 
mother's,  is  it!  Your  mother  who  has  followed  the  court 
hither — whose  means  are  narrow,  but  not  so  small  as  to 
deprive  her  of  the  privileges  of  her  rank!  This  is  your 
mother's  hospitality,  is  it?  You  are  a  cheat,  sir!  and  a 
detected  cheat!  Let  us  begone!  Let  me  go,  sir,  I  say! ' 

Twice  I  had  tried  to  stop  the  current  of  her  words;  but 
in  vain.  Now  with  anger  which  surpassed  hers  a  hundred- 
fold— for  who,  being  a  man,  would  hear  himself  misnamed 
before  his  mother? — I  succeeded.  'Silence,  mademoiselle ! ' 


SIMON  FLEIX  73 

I  cried,  my  grasp  on  her  wrist.     '  Silence,  I  say !     This  is 
my  mother ! ' 

And  running  forward  to  the  bed,  I  fell  on  my  knees 
beside  it.  A  feeble  hand  had  half  withdrawn  the  curtain, 
and  through  the  gap  my  mother's  stricken  face  looked  out, 
a  great  fear  stamped  upon  it. 


CHAPTER   VII. 

SIMON    FLEIX. 

FOK  some  minutes  I  forgot  mademoiselle  in  paying  those 
assiduous  attentions  to  my  mother  which  her  state  and  my 
duty  demanded ;  and  which  I  offered  the  more  anxiously 
that  I  recognised,  with  a  sinking  heart,  the  changes  which 
age  and  illness  had  made  in  her  since  my  last  visit.  The 
shock  of  mademoiselle's  words  had  thrown  her  into  a  syn- 
cope, from  which  she  did  not  recover  for  some  time  ;  and 
then  rather  through  the  assistance  of  our  strange  guide, 
who  seemed  well  aware  what  to  do,  than  through  my 
efforts.  Anxious  as  I  was  to  learn  what  had  reduced  her 
to  such  straits  and  such  a  place,  this  was  not  the  time  to 
satisfy  my  curiosity,  and  I  prepared  myself  instead  for  the 
task  of  effacing  the  painful  impression  which  mademoiselle's 
words  had  made  on  her  mind. 

On  first  coming  to  herself  she  did  not  remember  them, 
but,  content  to  find  me  by  her  side — for  there  is  something 
so  alchemic  in  a  mother's  love  that  I  doubt  not  my  presence 
changed  her  garret  to  a  palace — she  spent  herself  in  feeble 
caresses  and  broken  words.  Presently,  however,  her  eye  fall- 
ing on  mademoiselle  and  her  maid,  who  remained  standing 
by  the  hearth,  looking  darkly  at  us  from  time  to  time,  she 
recalled,  first  the  shock  which  had  prostrated  her,  and  then 
its  cause,  and  raising  herself  on  her  elbow,  looked  about 
her  wildly.  '  Gaston ! '  she  cried,  clutching  my  hand  with 


74  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

her  thin  fingers,  *  what  was  it  I  heard  ?  It  was  of  you 
someone  spoke — a  woman !  She  called  you — or  did  I  dream 
it?— a  cheat !  You  ! ' 

'  Madame,  madame,'  I  said,  striving  to  speak  carelessly, 
though  the  sight  of  her  grey  hair,  straggling  and  dishev- 
elled, moved  me  strangely,  '  was  it  likely  ?  Would  anyone 
dare  to  use  such  expressions  of  me  in  your  presence  ? 
You  must  indeed  have  dreamed  it ! ' 

The  words,  however,  returning  more  and  more  vividly  to 
her  mind,  she  looked  at  me  very  pitifully,  and  in  great  agi- 
tation laid  her  arm  on  my  neck,  as  though  she  would  shelter 
me  with  the  puny  strength  which  just  enabled  her  to  rise 
in  bed.  'But  someone,'  she  muttered,  her  eyes  on  the 
strangers,  'said  it,  Gaston  ?  I  heard  it.  What  did  it 
mean  ? ' 

'  What  you  heard,  madame,'  I  answered,  with  an  attempt 
at  gaiety,  though  the  tears  stood  in  my  eyes,  *  was,  doubt- 
less, mademoiselle  here  scolding  our  guide  from  Tours,  who 
demanded  three  times  the  proper  pourboire.  The  impudent 
rascal  deserved  all  that  was  said  to  him,  I  assure  you.' 

'  Was  that  it  ? '  she  murmured  doubtfully. 

'That  must  have  been  what  you  heard,  madame,'  I  an- 
swered, as  if  I  felt  no  doubt. 

She  fell  back  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  and  a  little  colour 
came  into  her  wan  face.  But  her  eyes  still  dwelt  curiously, 
and  with  apprehension,  on  mademoiselle,  who  stood  looking 
sullenly  into  the  fire ;  and  seeing  this  my  heart  misgave  me 
sorely  that  I  had  done  a  foolish  thing  in  bringing  the  girl 
there.  I  foresaw  a  hundred  questions  which  would  be 
asked,  and  a  hundred  complications  which  must  ensue, 
and  felt  already  the  blush  of  shame  mounting  to  my 
cheek. 

'  Who  is  that  ? '  my  mother  asked  softly.  '  I  am  ill. 
She  must  excuse  me.'  She  pointed  with  her  fragile  finger 
to  my  companions. 

I  rose,  and  still  keeping  her  hand  in  mine,  turned  so  as 
to  face  the  hearth.  '  This,  madame/  I  answered  formally, 


SIMON  FLEIX  75 

'  is  Mademoiselle ,  but  her  name  I  will  commit  to  you 

later,  and  in  private.  Suffice  it  to  say  that  she  is  a  lady 
of  rank,  who  has  been  committed  to  my  charge  by  a  high 
personage.' 

'  A  high  personage  ?  '  my  mother  repeated  gently,  glanc- 
ing at  me  with  a  smile  of  gratification. 

'  One  of  the  highest,'  I  said.  '  Such  a  charge  being  a 
great  honour  to  me,  I  felt  that  I  could  not  better  execute 
it,  madame,  since  we  must  lie  in  Blois  one  night,  than  by 
requesting  your  hospitality  on  her  behalf.' 

I  dared  mademoiselle  as  I  spoke — I  dared  her  with  my 
eye  to  contradict  or  interrupt  me.  For  answer,  she  looked 
at  me  once,  inclining  her  head  a  little,  and  gazing  at  us 
from  under  her  long  eyelashes.  Then  she  turned  back  to 
the  fire,  and  her  foot  resumed  its  angry  tapping  on  the  floor. 

'  I  regret  that  I  cannot  receive  her  better,'  my  mother 
answered  feebly.  '  I  have  had  losses  of  late.  I — but  I 
will  speak  of  that  at  another  time.  Mademoiselle  doubt- 
less knows,'  she  continued  with  dignity,  'you  and  your 
position  in  the  South  too  well  to  think  ill  of  the  momentary 
straits  to  which  she  finds  me  reduced.' 

I  saw  mademoiselle  start,  and  I  writhed  under  the  glance 
of  covert  scorn,  of  amazed  indignation,  which  she  shot  at 
me.  But  my  mother  gently  patting  my  hand,  I  answered 
patiently,  '  Mademoiselle  will  think  only  what  is  kind, 
madame — of  that  I  am  assured.  And  lodgings  are  scarce 
to-night  in  Blois.' 

'  But  tell  me  of  yourself,  Gaston,'  my  mother  cried 
eagerly;  and  I  had  not  the  heart,  with  her  touch  on  my 
hand,  her  eyes  on  my  face,  to  tear  myself  away,  much  as 
I  dreaded  what  was  coming,  and  longed  to  end  the  scene. 
'  Tell  me  of  yourself.  You  are  still  in  favour  with  the  king 
of I  will  not  name  him  here  ? ' 

'  Still,  madame,'  I  answered,  looking  steadily  at  made- 
moiselle, though  my  face  burned. 

1  You  are  still — he  consults  you,  Gaston  ?  " 

*  Still,  madame.' 


76  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

My  mother  heaved  a  happy  sigh,  and  sank  lower  in  the 
bed.  'And  your  employments  ?  '  she  murmured,  her  voice 
trembling  with  gratification.  '  They  have  not  been  re- 
duced ?  You  still  retain  them,  Gaston  ?  " 

f  Still,  madame,'  I  answered,  the  perspiration  standing  on 
my  brow,  my  shame  almost  more  than  I  could  bear. 

1  Twelve  thousand  livres  a  year,  I  think  ?  ' 

'  The  same,  madame.' 

'  And  your  establishment  ?  How  many  do  you  keep 
now  ?  Your  valet,  of  course  ?  And  lackeys — how  many 
at  present  ?  '  She  glanced,  with  an  eye  of  pride,  while  she 
waited  for  my  answer,  first  at  the  two  silent  figures  by  the 
fire,  then  at  the  poverty-stricken  room ;  as  if  the  sight  of 
its  bareness  heightened  for  her  the  joy  of  my  prosperity. 

She  had  no  suspicion  of  my  trouble,  my  misery,  or  that 
the  last  question  almost  filled  the  cup  too  full.  Hitherto 
all  had  been  easy,  but  this  seemed  to  choke  me.  I  stam- 
mered and  lost  my  voice.  Mademoiselle,  her  head  bowed, 
was  gazing  into  the  fire.  Fanchette  was  staring  at  me,  her 
black  eyes  round  as  saucers,  her  mouth  half-open.  '  Well, 
madame,'  I  muttered  at  length,  '  to  tell  you  the  truth,  at 
present,  you  must  understand,  I  have  been  forced  to ' 

'  What,  Gaston  ?  '  Madame  de  Bonne  half  rose  in  bed. 
Her  voice  was  sharp  with  disappointment  and  apprehen- 
sion ;  the  grasp  of  her  fingers  on  my  hand  grew  closer. 

I  could  not  resist  that  appeal.  I  flung  away  the  last  rag 
of  shame.  '  To  reduce  my  establishment  somewhat,'  I  an- 
swered, looking  a  miserable  defiance  at  mademoiselle's 
averted  figure.  She  had  called  me  a  liar  and  a  cheat — here 
in  the  room !  I  must  stand  before  her  a  liar  and  a  cheat 
confessed.  '  I  keep  but  three  lackeys  now,  madame.' 

'  Still  it  is  creditable,'  my  mother  muttered  thoughtfully, 
her  eyes  shining.  '  Your  dress,  however,  Gaston — only  my 
eyes  are  weak — seems  to  me ' 

'  Tut,  tut !     It  is  but  a  disguise,'  I  answered  quickly. 

'  I  might  have  known  that,'  she  rejoined,  sinking  back 
with  a  smile  and  a  sigh  of  content.  f  But  when  I  first  saw 


SIMON  FLEIX  77 

you  I  was  almost  afraid  that  something  had  happened  to 
you.  And  I  have  been  uneasy  lately,'  she  went  on,  releas- 
ing my  hand,  and  beginning  to  play  with  the  coverlet,  as 
though  the  remembrance  troubled  her.  '  There  was  a  man 
here  a  while  ago — a  friend  of  Simon  Meix  there — who  had 
been  south  to  Pau  and  Nerac,  and  he  said  there  was  no 
M.  de  Marsac  about  the  Court.' 

'  He  probably  knew  less  of  the  Court  than  the  wine- 
tavern,'  I  answered  with  a  ghastly  smile. 

'  That  was  just  what  I  told  him,'  my  mother  responded 
quickly  and  eagerly.  '  I  warrant  you  I  sent  him  away  ill- 
satisfied.' 

'  Of  course,'  I  said ;  '  there  will  always  be  people  of  that 
kind.  But  now,  if  you  will  permit  me,  madame,  I  will 
make  such  arrangements  for  mademoiselle  as  are  necessary.' 

Begging  her  accordingly  to  lie  down  and  compose  her- 
self— for  even  so  short  a  conversation,  following  on  the 
excitement  of  our  arrival,  had  exhausted  her  to  a  painful 
degree — I  took  the  youth,  who  had  just  returned  from 
stabling  our  horses,  a  little  aside,  and  learning  that  he 
lodged  in  a  smaller  chamber  on  the  farther  side  of  the 
landing,  secured  it  for  the  use  of  mademoiselle  and  her 
woman.  In  spite  of  a  certain  excitability  which  marked 
him  at  times,  he  seemed  to  be  a  quick,  ready  fellow,  and  he 
willingly  undertook  to  go  out,  late  as  it  was,  and  procure 
some  provisions  and  a  few  other  things  which  were  sadly 
needed,  as  well  for  my  mother's  comfort  as  for  our  own. 
I  directed  Fanchette  to  aid  him  in  the  preparation  of  the 
other  chamber,  and  thus  for  a  while  I  was  left  alone  with 
mademoiselle.  She  had  taken  one  of  the  stools,  and  sat 
cowering  over  the  fire,  the  hood  of  her  cloak  drawn  about 
her  head ;  in  such  a  manner  that  even  when  she  looked  at 
me,  which  she  did  from  time  to  time,  I  saw  little  more  than 
her  eyes,  bright  with  contemptuous  anger. 

'  So,  sir,'  she  presently  began,  speaking  in  a  low  voice, 
and  turning  slightly  towards  me,  'you  practise  lying  even 
here  ? ' 


78  A    GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

I  felt  so  strongly  the  futility  of  denial  or  explanation  that 
I  shrugged  my  shoulders  and  remained  silent  under  the 
sneer.  Two  more  days — two  more  days  would  take  us  to 
Rosny,  and  my  task  would  be  done,  and  mademoiselle  and 
I  would  part  for  good  and  all.  What  would  it  matter  then 
what  she  thought  of  me  ?  What  did  it  matter  now  ? 

For  the  first  time  in  our  intercourse  my  silence  seemed  to 
disconcert  and  displease  her.  'Have  you  nothing  to  say  for 
yourself  ? '  she  muttered  sharply,  crushing  a  fragment  of 
charcoal  under  her  foot,  and  stooping  to  peer  at  the  ashes. 
'  Have  you  not  another  lie  in  your  quiver,  M.  de  Marsac  ? 
De  Marsac ! '  And  she  repeated  the  title,  with  a  scornful 
laugh,  as  if  she  put  no  faith  in  my  claim  to  it. 

But  I  would  answer  nothing — nothing ;  and  we  remained 
silent  until  Fanchette,  coming  in  to  say  that  the  chamber 
was  ready,  held  the  light  for  her  mistress  to  pass  out.  I 
told  the  woman  to  come  back  and  fetch  mademoiselle's  sup- 
per, and  then,  being  left  alone  with  my  mother,  who  had 
fallen  asleep,  with  a  smile  on  her  thin,  worn  face,  I  began 
to  wonder  what  had  happened  to  reduce  her  to  such  dire 
poverty. 

I  feared  to  agitate  her  by  referring  to  it ;  but  later  in  the 
evening,  when  her  curtains  were  drawn  and  Simon  Fleix  and 
I  were  left  together,  eyeing  one  another  across  the  embers 
like  dogs  of  different  breeds — with  a  certain  strangeness 
and  suspicion — my  thoughts  recurred  to  the  question ;  and 
determining  first  to  learn  something  about  my  companion, 
whose  pale,  eager  face  and  tattered,  black  dress  gave  him 
a  certain  individuality,  I  asked  him  whether  he  had  come 
from  Paris  with  Madame  de  Bonne. 

He  nodded  without  speaking. 

I  asked  him  if  he  had  known  her  long. 

*  Twelve  months,'  he  answered.  '  I  lodged  on  the  fifth, 
madame  on  the  second,  floor  of  the  same  house  in  Paris.' 

I  leaned  forward  and  plucked  the  hem  of  his  black  robe. 
'What  is  this?'  I  said,  with  a  little  contempt.  'You  are 
not  a  priest,  man.' 


SIMON  FLEIX  79 

'  No,'  he  answered,  fingering  the  stuff  himself,  and  gazing 
at  me  in  a  curious,  vacant  fashion.  '  I  am  a  student  of  the 
Sorbonne.' 

I  drew  off  from  him  with  a  muttered  oath,  wondering — 
while  I  looked  at  him  with  suspicious  eyes — how  he  came 
to  be  here,  and  particularly  how  he  came  to  be  in  attendance 
on  my  mother,  who  had  been  educated  from  childhood  in 
the  Eeligion,  and  had  professed  it  in  private  all  her  life.  I 
could  think  of  no  one  who,  in  old  days,  would  have  been 
less  welcome  in  her  house  than  a  Sorbonnist,  and  began 
to  fancy  that  here  should  lie  the  secret  of  her  miserable 
condition. 

'You  don't  like  the  Sorbonne?'  he  said,  reading  my 
thoughts ;  which  were,  indeed,  plain  enough. 

'  No  more  than  I  love  the  devil ! '  I  said  bluntly. 

He  leaned  forward  and,  stretching  out  a  thin,  nervous 
hand,  laid  it  on  my  knee.  'What  if  they  are  right,  though  ?' 
he  muttered,  his  voice  hoarse.  'What  if  they  are  right,  M. 
de  Marsac?' 

'  Who  right  ? '  I  asked  roughly,  drawing  back  afresh. 

'The  Sorbonue,'  he  repeated,  his  face  red  with  excite- 
ment, his  eyes  peering  uncannily  into  mine.  '  Don't  you 
see,'  he  continued,  pinching  my  knee  in  his  earnestness,  and 
thrusting  his  face  nearer  and  nearer  to  mine,  '  it  all  turns 
on  that?  It  all  turns  on  that — salvation  or  damnation! 
Are  they  right  ?  Are  you  right  ?  You  say  yes  to  this,  no 
to  that,  you  white-coats;  and  you  say  it  lightly,  but  are  you 
right  ?  Are  you  right  ?  Mon  Dieu ! '  he  continued,  draw- 
ing back  abruptly  and  clawing  the  air  with  impatience,  '  I 
have  read,  read,  read !  I  have  listened  to  sermons,  theses, 
disputations,  and  I  know  nothing.  I  know  no  more  than 
when  I  began.' 

He  sprang  up  and  began  to  pace  the  floor,  while  I  gazed 
at  him  with  a  feeling  of  pity.  A  very  learned  person  once 
told  me  that  the  troubles  of  these  times  bred  four  kinds  of 
men,  who  were  much  to  be  compassionated :  fanatics  on  the 
one  side  or  the  other,  who  lost  sight  of  all  else  in  the 


80  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

intensity  of  their  faith ;  men  who,  like  Simon  Fleix,  sought 
desperately  after  something  to  believe,  and  found  it  not; 
and  lastly,  scoffers,  who,  believing  in  nothing,  looked  on  all 
religion  as  a  mockery. 

He  presently  stopped  walking — in  his  utmost  excitement 
I  remarked  that  he  never  forgot  my  mother,  but  trod  more 
lightly  when  he  drew  near  the  alcove — and  spoke  again. 

'  You  are  a  Huguenot  ? '  he  said. 

'Yes/  I  replied. 

'So  is  she,'  he  rejoined,  pointing  towards  the  bed.  'But 
do  you  feel  no  doubts  ?  ' 

'  None,'  I  said  quietly. 

*  Nor  does  she,'  he  answered  again,  stopping  opposite  me. 
You  made  up  your  mind — how  ? ' 

'  I  was  born  in  the  Religion,'  I  said. 

'And  you  have  never  questioned  it  ?' 

'Never.' 

'Nor  thought  much  about  it?J 

'  Not  a  great  deal,'  I  answered. 

'Saint  Gris  !'  he  exclaimed  in  a  low  tone.  '  And  do  you 
never  think  of  hell-fire — of  the  worm  which  dieth  not,  and 
the  fire  which  shall  not  be  quenched  ?  Do  you  never  think 
of  that,  M.  de  Marsac  ? ' 

'No,  my  friend,  never!'  I  answered,  rising  impatiently ; 
for  at  that  hour,  and  in  that  silent,  gloomy  room  I  found 
his  conversation  dispiriting.  'I  believe  what  I  was  taught 
to  believe,  and  I  strive  to  hurt  no  one  but  the  enemy.  I 
think  little  ;  and  if  I  were  you  I  would  think  less.  '  I  would 
do  something,  man — fight,  play,  work,  anything  but  think ! 
Leave  that  to  clerks.' 

'  I  am  a  clerk,'  he  answered. 

'A  poor  one,  it  seems,'  I  retorted,  with  a  little  scorn 
in  my  tone.  '  Leave  it,  man.  Work  !  Fight !  Do  some- 
thing ! ' 

'  Fight  ? '  he  said,  as  if  the  idea  were  a  novel  one. 
'  Fight  ?  But  there,  I  might  be  kill  ed ;  and  then  hell-fire- 
you  see ! ' 


SIMON  FLEIX  8 1 

*  Zounds,  man  ! '  I  cried,  out  of  patience  with  a  folly 
which,  to  tell  the  truth,  the  lamp  burning  low,  and  the 
rain  pattering  on  the  roof,  made  the  skin  of  my  back  feel 
cold  and  creepy.  'Enough  of  this!  Keep  your  doubts 
and  your  tire  to  yourself  !  And  answer  me/  I  continued, 
sternly.  'How  came  Madame  de  Bonne  so  poor?  How 
did  she  come  down  to  this  place  ? ' 

He  sat  down  on  his  stool,  the  excitement  dying  quickly 
out  of  his  fare.  '  She  gave  away  all  her  money,'  he  said 
slowly  and  reluctantly.  It  may  be  imagined  that  this 
answer  surprised  me.  '  Gave  it  away?  '  I  exclaimed.  'To 
•whom  ?  And  when  ?' 

He  moved  uneasily  on  his  seat  and  avoided  my  eye,  his 
altered  manner  tilling  me  with  saspicions  which  the  insight 
I  had  just  obtained  into  his  character  did  not  altogether 
preclude.  At  last  he  said,  '  I  had  nothing  to  do  with  it,  if 
you  mean  that ;  nothing.  On  the  contrary,  I  have  done  all 
I  could  to  make  it  up  to  her.  I  followed  her  here.  I  swear 
that  is  so,  M.  de  Marsac/ 

'You  have  not  told  me  yet  to  whom  she  gave  it/  I  said 
sternly. 

'  She  gave  it,'  he  muttered,  '  to  a  priest.3 

'To  what  priest?' 

'  I  do  not  know  his  name.     He  is  a  Jacobin.' 

'And  why?'  I  asked,  gazing  incredulously  at  the  stu- 
dent. '  Why  did  she  give  it  to  him  ?  Come,  come  !  have 
a  care.  Let  me  have  none  of  your  Sorbonne  inventions  ! ' 

He  hesitated  a  moment,  looking  at  me  timidly,  and  then 
seemed  to  make  up  his  mind  to  tell  me.  '  He  found  out — 
it  was  when  we  lived  in  Paris,  you  understand,  last  June — 
that  she  was  a  Huguenot.  It  was  about  the  time  they 
burned  the  Foucards,  and  he  frightened  her  with  that,  and 
made  her  pay  him  money,  a  little  at  first,  and  then  more 
and  more,  to  keep  her  secret.  When  the  king  came  to  Blois 
she  followed  his  Majesty,  thinking  to  be  safer  here;  but 
the  priest  came  too,  and  got  more  money,  and  more,  until 
he  left  her — this.' 


82  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

'  This ! '  I  said.     And  I  set  my  teeth  together. 

Simon  Fleix  nodded. 

I  looked  round  the  wretched  garret  to  which  my  mother 
had  been  reduced,  and  pictured  the  days  and  hours  of  fear 
and  suspense  through  which  she  had  lived ;  through  which 
she  must  have  lived  with  that  caitiff's  threat  hanging  over 
her  grey  head !  I  thought  of  her  birth  and  her  humiliation , 
of  her  frail  form  and  patient,  undying  love  for  me ;  and  sol- 
emnly, and  before  heaven,  I  swore  that  night  to  punish  the 
man.  My  anger  was  too  great  for  words,  and  for  tears  I 
was  too  old.  I  asked  Simon  Fleix  no  more  questions,  save 
when  the  priest  might  be  looked  for  again — which  he  could 
not  tell  me — and  whether  he  would  know  him  again — to 
which  he  answered,  'Yes.'  But,  wrapping  myself  in  my 
cloak,  I  lay  down  by  the  fire  and  pondered  long  and  sadly. 

So,  while  I  had  been  pinching  there,  my  mother  had  been 
starving  here.  She  had  deceived  me,  and  I  her.  The  lamp 
flickered,  throwing  uncertain  shadows  as  the  draught  tossed 
the  strange  window-curtain  to  and  fro.  The  leakage  from 
the  roof  fell  drop  by  drop,  and  now  and  again  the  wind 
shook  the  crazy  building,  as  though  it  would  lift  it  up 
bodily  and  carry  it  away. 


CHAPTER  VIIL 

AN   EMPTY    KOOM. 

DESIRING  to  start  as  early  as  possible,  that  we  might 
reach  Rosny  on  the  second  evening,  I  roused  Simon  Fleix 
before  it  was  light,  and  learning  from  him  where  the  horses 
were  stabled,  went  out  to  attend  to  them ;  preferring  to  do 
this  myself,  that  I  might  have  an  opportunity  of  seeking 
out  a  tailor,  and  providing  myself  with  clothes  better  suited 
to  my  rank  than  those  to  which  I  had  been  reduced  of  late. 
I  found  that  I  still  had  ninety  crowns  left  of  the  sum  which 


AN  EMPTY  ROOM  83 

the  King  of  Navarre  had  given  me,  and  twelve  of  these  I 
laid  out  on  a  doublet  of  black  cloth  with  russet  points  and 
ribands,  a  dark  cloak  lined  with  the  same  sober  colour,  and 
a  new  cap  and  feather.  The  tradesman  would  fain  have 
provided  me  with  a  new  scabbard  also,  seeing  my  old  one 
was  worn-out  at  the  heel;  but  this  I  declined,  having  a 
fancy  to  go  with  my  point  bare  until  I  should  have  pun- 
ished the  scoundrel  who  had  made  my  mother's  failing  days 
a  misery  to  her ;  a  business  which,  the  King  of  Navarre's 
once  done,  I  promised  myself  to  pursue  with  energy  and  at 
all  costs. 

The  choice  of  my  clothes,  and  a  few  alterations  which  it 
was  necessary  to  make  in  them,  detained  me  some  time,  so 
that  it  was  later  than  I  could  have  wished  when  I  turned 
my  face  towards  the  house  again,  bent  on  getting  my  party 
to  horse  as  speedily  as  possible.  The  morning,  I  remember, 
was  bright,  frosty,  and  cold;  the  kennels  were  dry,  the 
streets  comparatively  clean.  Here  and  there  a  ray  of  early 
sunshine,  darting  between  the  overhanging  eaves,  gave 
promise  of  glorious  travelling-weather.  But  the  faces,  I 
remarked  in  my  walk,  did  not  reflect  the  surrounding  cheer- 
fulness. Moody  looks  met  me  everywhere  and  on  every 
side  ;  and  while  courier  after  courier  galloped  by  me  bound 
for  the  castle,  the  townsfolk  stood  aloof  in  doorways  listless 
and  inactive,  or,  gathering  in  groups  in  corners,  talked  what 
I  took  to  be  treason  under  the  breath.  The  queen-mother 
still  lived,  but  Orleans  had  revolted,  and  Sens  and  Mans, 
Chartres  and  Melun.  Rouen  was  said  to  be  wavering,  Lyons 
in  arms,  while  Paris  had  deposed  her  king,  and  cursed  him 
daily  from  a  hundred  altars.  In  fine,  the  great  rebellion 
which  followed  the  death  of  Guise,  and  lasted  so  many 
years,  was  already  in  progress ;  so  that  on  this  first  day  of 
the  new  year  the  king's  writ  scarce  ran  farther  than  he  could 
see,  peering  anxiously  out  from  the  towers  above  my  head. 

Beaching  the  house,  I  climbed  the  long  staircase  hastily, 
abusing  its  darkness  and  foulness,  and  planning  as  I  went 
how  my  mother  might  most  easily  and  quickly  be  moved  to 

o2 


84  A    GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

a  better  lodging.  Gaining  the  top  of  the  last  flight,  I  saw 
that  mademoiselle's  door  on  the  left  of  the  landing  was 
open,  and  concluding  from  this  that  she  was  up,  and  ready 
to  start,  I  entered  my  mother's  room  with  a  brisk  step  and 
spirits  reinforced  by  the  crisp  morning  air. 

But  on  the  threshold.  I  stopped,  and  stood  silent  and 
•amazed.  At  first  I  thought  the  room  was  empty.  Then, 
at  a  second  glance,  I  saw  the  student.  He  was  on  his  knees 
beside  the  bed  in  the  alcove,  from  which  the  curtain  had 
been  partially  dragged  away.  The  curtain  before  the  win- 
dow had  been  torn  down  also,  and  the  cold  light  of  day, 
pouring  in  on  the  unsightly  bareness  of  the  room,  struck  a 
chill  to  rny  heart.  A  stool  lay  overturned  by  the  fire,  and 
above  it  a  grey  cat,  which  I  had  not  hitherto  noticed, 
crouched  on  a  beam  and  eyed  me  with  stealthy  fierceness. 
Mademoiselle  was  not  to  be  seen,  nor  was  Fanchette,  and 
Simon  Fleix  did  not  hear  me.  He  was  doing  something  at 
the  bed — for  my  mother  it  seemed. 

*  What  is  it,  man  ? '  I  cried  softly,  advancing  on  tiptoe 
to  the  bedside.  'Where  are  the  others  ?' 

The  student  looked  round  and  saw  me.  His  face  was 
pale  and  gloomy.  His  eyes  burned,  and  yet  there  were 
tears  in  them,  and  on  his  cheeks.  He  did  not  speak,  but 
the  chilliness,  the  bareness,  the  emptiness  of  the  room 
spoke  for  him,  and  my  heart  sank. 

I  took  him  by  the  shoulders.  '  Find  your  tongue,  man ! ' 
I  said  angrily.  '  Where  are  they  ?  ' 

He  rose  from  his  knees  and  stood  staring  at  me.  '  They 
are  gone  !  *  he  said  stupidly. 

( Gone  ?}  I  exclaimed.  *  Impossible !  When  ?    Whither  ?' 

'  Half  an  hour  ago.     Whither — I  do  not  know.' 

Confounded  and  amazed,  I  glared  at  him  between  fear 
and  rage.  '  You  do  not  know  ? 3  I  cried.  '  They  are  gone, 
and  you  do  not  know  ?  ' 

He  turned  suddenly  on  me  and  gripped  my  arm.  'No,  I 
do  not  know  !  I  do  not  know ! '  he  cried,  with  a  complete 
change  of  manner  and  in  a  tone  of  fierce  excitement. 


AN  EMPTY  ROOM  85 

*Only,  may  the  fiend  go  with  them !  But  I  do  know  this. 
I  know  this,  M.  de  Marsac,  with  whom  they  went,  these 
friends  of  yours  I  A  fop  came,  a  dolt,  a  fine  spark,  and 
gave  them  line  words  and  fine  speeches  and  a  gold  token, 
and,  hey  presto  !  they  went,  and  forgot  yon ! ' 

1  What ! '  I  cri&d,  beginning  to  understand,  and  snatching 
fiercely  at  the  one  clue  in  his  speech.  '  A  gold  token  ?  They 
have  been  decoyed  away  then !  There  is  no  time  to  be  lost. 
I  must  follow.* 

'No,  for  that  is  not  all!*  he  replied,  interrupting  me 
sternly,  while  his  grasp  on  my  arm  grew  tighter  and  his 
eyes  flashed  as  they  looked  into  mine.  'You  have  not 
heard  all.  They  have  gone  with  one  who  called  you  an 
impostor,  and  a  thief,  and  a  beggar,  and  that  to  your 
mother's  face — and  killed  her !  Killed  her  as  surely  as 
if  he  had  taken  a  sword  to  her,  M.  de  Marsac  1  Will  you, 
after  that,  leave  her  for  them  ?  ' 

He  spoke  plainly.  And  yet>  God  forgive  me,  it  was  some 
time  before  I  understood  him  :  before  I  took  in  the  meaning 
of  his  words,  or  could  transfer  my  thoughts  from  the  absent 
to  my  mother  lying  on  the  bed  before  me.  When  I  did  do  so, 
and  turned  to  her,  and  saw  her  still  face  and  thin  hair  strag- 
gling over  the  coarse  pillow,  then,  indeed,  the  sight  over- 
came me.  I  thought  no  more  of  others — for  I  thought  her 
dead ;  and  with  a  great  and  bitter  cry  I  fell  on  my  knees 
beside  her  and  hid  my  face.  What,  after  all,  was  this  head- 
strong girl  to  me  ?  what  were  even  kings  and  king's  com- 
missions to  me  beside  her — beside  the  one  human  being  who 
loved  me  still,  the  one  being  of  my  blood  and  name  left,  the 
one  ever-patient,  ever-constant  heart  which  for  years  had 
beaten  only  for  me  ?  For  a  while,  for  a  few  moments,  I 
was  worthy  of  her-  for  I  forgot  all  others. 

Simon  Fleix  roused  me  at  last  from  iny  stupor,  making 
me  understand  that  she  was  not  dead,  but  in  a  deep  swoon, 
the  result  of  the  shock  she  had  undergone.  A  leech,  for 
whom  he  had  despatched  a  neighbour,  came  in  as  I  rose, 
and  taking  my  place,  presently  restored  her  to  conscious- 


86  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

ness.  But  her  extreme  feebleness  warned  me  not  to  hope 
for  more  than  a  temporary  recovery ;  nor  had  I  sat  by  her 
long  before  I  discerned  that  this  last  blow,  following  on  so 
many  fears  and  privations,  had  reached  a  vital  part,  and  that 
she  was  even  now  dying. 

She  lay  for  a  while  with  her  hand  in  mine  and  her  eyes 
closed,  but  about  noon,  the  student,  contriving  to  give  her 
some  broth,  she  revived,  and,  recognising  me,  lay  for  more 
than  an  hour  gazing  at  me  with  unspeakable  content  and 
satisfaction.  At  the  end  of  that  time,  and  when  I  thought 
she  was  past  speaking,  she  signed  to  me  to  bend  over  her, 
and  whispered  something,  which  at  first  I  could  not  catch. 
Presently  I  made  it  out  to  be,  i  She  is  gone — The  girl  you 
brought  ? ' 

Much  troubled,  I  answered  yes,  begging  her  not  to  think 
about  the  matter.  I  need  not  have  feared,  however,  for 
when  she  spoke  again  she  did  so  without  emotion,  and 
rather  as  one  seeing  clearly  something  before  her. 

'  When  you  find  her,  Gaston,'  she  murmured,  '  do  not  be 
angry  with  her.  It  was  not  her  fault.  She — he  deceived 
her.  See  ! ' 

I  followed  the  direction  rather  of  her  eyes  than  her  hand, 
and  found  beneath  the  pillow  a  length  of  gold  chain.  '  She 
left  that  ? '  I  murmured,  a  strange  tumult  of  emotions  in  my 
breast. 

'  She  laid  it  there,'  my  mother  whispered.  '  And  she 
would  have  stopped  him  saying  what  he  did ' — a  shudder 
ran  through  my  mother's  frame  at  the  remembrance  of  the 
man's  words,  though  her  eyes  still  gazed  into  mine  with 
faith  and  confidence — '  she  would  have  stopped  him,  but  she 
could  not,  Gaston.  And  then  he  hurried  her  away.' 

'  He  showed  her  a  token,  madame,  did  he  not  ? '  I  could 
not  for  my  life  repress  the  question,  so  much  seemed  to 
turn  on  the  point. 

1 A  bit  of  gold,'  my  mother  whispered,  smiling  faintly. 
'Now  let  me  sleep.'  And,  clinging  always  to  my  hand, 
she  closed  her  eyes. 


AN  EMPTY  ROOM  87 

The  student  came  back  soon  afterwards  with  some  com- 
forts for  which  I  had  despatched  him,  and  we  sat  by  her 
until  the  evening  fell,  and  far  into  the  night.  It  was  a 
relief  to  me  to  learn  from  the  leech  that  she  had  been  ailing 
for  some  time,  and  that  in  any  case  the  end  must  have  come 
soon.  She  suffered  no  pain  and  felt  no  fears,  but  meeting 
my  eyes  whenever  she  opened  her  own,  or  came  out  of  the 
drowsiness  which  possessed  her,  thanked  God,  I  think,  and 
was  content.  As  for  me,  I  remember  that  room  became, 
for  the  time,  the  world.  Its  stillness  swallowed  up  all  the 
tumults  which  filled  the  cities  of  France,  and  its  one  inter- 
est— the  coming  and  going  of  a  feeble  breath — eclipsed  the 
ambitions  and  hopes  of  a  lifetime. 

Before  it  grew  light  Simon  Fleix  stole  out  to  attend  to 
the  horses.  When  he  returned  he  came  to  me  and  whis- 
pered in  my  ear  that  he  had  something  to  tell  me  ;  and  my 
mother  lying  in  a  quiet  sleep  at  the  time,  I  disengaged  my 
hand,  and,  rising  softly,  went  with  him  to  the  hearth. 

Instead  of  speaking,  he  held  his  fist  before  me  and  sud- 
denly unclosed  the  fingers.  '  Do  you  know  it  ? '  he  said, 
glancing  at  me  abruptly. 

I  took  what  he  held,  and  looking  at  it,  nodded.  It  was  a 
knot  of  velvet  of  a  peculiar  dark  red  colour,  and  had  formed, 
as  I  knew  the  moment  I  set  eyes  on  it,  part  of  the  fastening 
of  mademoiselle's  mask.  '  Where  did  you  find  it  ?  '  I  mut- 
tered, supposing  that  he  had  picked  it  up  on  the  stairs. 

'  Look  at  it !  '  he  answered  impatiently.  '  You  have  not 
looked.' 

I  turned  it  over,  and  then  saw  something  which  had 
escaped  me  at  first — that  the  wider  part  of  the  velvet  was 
disfigured  by  a  fantastic  stitching,  done  very  roughly  and 
rudely  with  a  thread  of  white  silk.  The  stitches  formed 
letters,  the  letters  words.  With  a  start  I  read,  '  A  moi  I ' 
and  saw  in  a  corner,  in  smaller  stitches,  the  initials 
<  C.  d.  1.  V.' 

I  looked  eagerly  at  the  student.  f  Where  did  you  find 
this  ? '  I  said. 


88  A    GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

'I  picked  it  up  in  the  street/  he  answered  quietly,  'not 
three  hundred  paces  from  here.' 

I  thought  a  moment.  '  In  the  gutter,  or  near  the  wall  ? ' 
I  asked. 

'  Near  the  wall,  to  be  sure,' 

'  Under  a  window  ? ' 

1  Precisely,'  he  said.  '  You  may  be  easy ;  I  am  not  a  fooL 
I  marked  the  place,  M.  de  Marsac,  and  shall  not  forget  it.' 

Even  the  sorrow  and  solicitude  I  felt  on  my  mother's  be- 
half— feelings  which  had  seemed  a  minute  before  to  secure 
me  against  all  other  cares  or  anxieties  whatever — were  not 
proof  against  this  discovery.  For  I  found  myself  placed 
in  a  strait  so  cruel  I  must  suffer  either  way.  On  the  one 
hand,  I  could  not  leave  my  mother ;  I  were  a  heartless 
ingrate  to  do  that.  On  the  other,  I  could  not,  without 
grievous  pain,  stand  still  and  inactive  while  Mademoiselle 
de  la  Vire,  whom  I  had  sworn  to  protect,  and  who  was  now 
suffering  through  my  laches  and  mischance,  appealed  to  me 
for  help.  For  I  could  not  doubt  that  this  was  what  the 
bow  of  velvet  meant ;  still  less  that  it  was  intended  for  me, 
since  few  save  myself  would  be  likely  to  recognise  it,  and  she 
would  naturally  expect  me  to  make  some  attempt  at  pursuit. 

And  I  could  not  think  little  of  the  sign.  Remembering 
mademoiselle's  proud  and  fearless  spirit,  and  the  light  in 
which  she  had  always  regarded  me,  I  augured  the  worst 
from  it.  I  felt  assured  that  no  imaginary  danger  and  no 
emergency  save  the  last  would  have  induced  her  to  stoop  so 
low ;  and  this  consideration,  taken  with  the  fear  I  felt  that 
she  had  fallen  into  the  hands  of  Fresnoy,  whom  I  believed 
to  be  the  person  who  had  robbed  me  of  the  gold  coin,  filled 
me  with  a  horrible  doubt  which  way  my  duty  lay.  I  was 
pulled,  as  it  were,  both  ways.  I  felt  my  honour  engaged 
both  to  go  and  to  stay,  and  while  my  hand  went  to  my  hilt, 
and  my  feet  trembled  to  be  gone,  my  eyes  sought  my 
mother,  and  my  ears  listened  for  her  gentle  breathing. 

Perplexed  and  distracted,  I  looked  at  the  student,  and  he 
at  me.  '  You  saw  the  man  who  took  her  away/  I  muttered. 


Afi  EMPTY  ROOM  89 

Hitherto,  in  my  absorption  on  my  mother's  account,  I  had 
put  few  questions,  and  let  the  matter  pass  as  though  it 
moved  me  little  and  concerned  me  less.  '  What  was  he 
like  ?  Was  he  a  big,  bloated  man,  Simon,  with  his  head 
bandaged,  or  perhaps  a  wound  on  his  face  ? ' 

'The  gentleman  who  went  away  with  mademoiselle,  do 
you  mean  ? '  he  asked. 

'  Yes,  yes,  gentleman  if  you  like  ! ' 

c  Not  at  all,'  the  student  answered.  e  He  was  a  tall  young 
gallant,  very  gaily  dressed,  dark-haired,  and  with  a  rich 
complexion.  I  heard  him  tell  her  that  he  came  from  a 
friend  of  hers  too  high  to  be  named  in  public  or  in  Blois. 
He  added  that  he  brought  a  token  from  him ;  and  when 
mademoiselle  mentioned  you — she  had  just  entered  ma- 
dame's  room  with  her  woman  when  he  appeared ' 

<  He  had  watched  me  out,  of  course.' 

( Just  so.  Well,  when  she  mentioned  you,  he  swore  you 
were  an  adventurer,  and  a  beggarly  impostor,  and  what  not, 
and  bade  her  say  whether  she  thought  it  likely  that  her 
friend  would  have  entrusted  such  a  mission,  to  such  a  man.' 

'  And  then  she  went  with  him  ?  ' 

The  student  nodded. 

'  Readily  ?     Of  her  own  free-will  ?  ' 

'  Certainly,'  he  answered.  '  It  seemed  so  to  me.  She 
tried  to  prevent  him  speaking  before  your  mother,  but  that 
was  all.' 

On  the  impulse  of  the  moment  I  took  a  step  towards  the 
door ;  recollecting  my  position,  I  turned  back  with  a  groan. 
Almost  beside  myself,  and  longing  for  any  vent  for  my 
feelings,  I  caught  the  lad  by  the  shoulder,  where  he  stood 
on  the  hearth,  and  sJiook  him  to  and  fro. 

'  Tell  me,  man,  what  am  I  to  do  ?'  I  said  between  my 
teeth.  'Speak!  think!  invent  something !' 

But  he  shook  his  head. 

I  let  him  go  with  a  muttered  oath,  and  sat  down  on  a 
stool  by  the  bed  and  took  my  head  between  my  hands*  At 
that  very  moment,  however,  relief  came — came  from  an  un- 


90  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

expected  quarter.  The  door  opened  and  the  leech  entered. 
He  was  a  skilful  man,  and,  though  much  employed  about 
the  Court,  a  Huguenot — a  fact  which  had  emboldened 
Simon  Fleix  to  apply  to  him  through  the  landlord  of  the 
'  Bleeding  Heart/  the  secret  rendezvous  of  the  Religion  in 
Blois.  When  he  had  made  his  examination  he  was  for 
leaving,  being  a  grave  and  silent  man,  and  full  of  business, 
but  at  the  door  I  stopped  him. 

'  Well,  sir  ? '  I  said  in  a  low  tone,  my  hand  on  his  cloak. 

'  She  has  rallied,  and  may  live  three  days,'  he  answered 
quietly.  'Four,  it  may  be,  and  as  many  more  as  God 
wills.' 

Pressing  two  crowns  into  his  hand,  I  begged  him  to  call 
daily,  which  he  promised  to  do ;  and  then  he  went.  My 
mother  was  still  dozing  peacefully,  and  I  turned  to  Simon 
Fleix,  my  doubts  resolved  and  my  mind  made  up. 

'Listen,'  I  said,  'and  answer  me  shortly.  We  cannot 
both  leave  ;  that  is  certain.  Yet  I  must  go,  and  at  once,  to 
the  place  where  you  found  the  velvet  knot.  Do  you  describe 
the  spot  exactly,  so  that  I  may  find  it,  and  make  no 
mistake.' 

He  nodded,  and  after  a  moment's  reflection  answered, 

'  You  know  the  Rue  St.  Denys,  M.  de  Mar  sac  ?  Well,  go 
down  it,  keeping  the  "Bleeding  Heart"  on  your  left.  Take 
the  second  turning  on  the  same  side  after  passing  the  inn. 
The  third  house  from  the  corner,  on  the  left  again,  consists 
of  a  gateway  leading  to  the  Hospital  of  the  Holy  Cross. 
Above  the  gateway  are  two  windows  in  the  lower  story,  and 
above  them  two  more.  The  knot  lay  below  the  first  win- 
dow you  come  to.  Do  you  understand  ?  ' 

'Perfectly,'  I  said.  'It  is  something  to  be  a  clerk, 
Simon.' 

He  looked  at  me  thoughtfully,  but  added  nothing ;  and  I 
was  busy  tightening  my  sword-hilt,  and  disposing  my  cloak 
about  the  lower  part  of  my  face.  When  I  had  arranged 
this  to  my  satisfaction,  I  took  out  and  counted  over  the 
sum  of  thirty -five  crowns,  which  I  gave  to  him,  impressing 


AN  EMPTY  ROOM  91 

on  him  the  necessity  of  staying  beside  my  mother  should  I 
not  return ;  for  though  I  proposed  to  reconnoitre  only,  and 
learn  if  possible  whether  mademoiselle  was  still  in  Blois, 
the  future  was  uncertain,  and  whereas  I  was  known  to  my 
enemies,  they  were  strangers  to  me. 

Having  enjoined  this  duty  upon  him,  I  bade  my  mother  a 
silent  farewell,  and,  leaving  the  room,  went  slowly  down 
the  stairs,  the  picture  of  her  worn  and  patient  face  going 
with  me,  and  seeming,  I  remember,  to  hallow  the  purpose  I 
had  in  my  mind. 

The  clocks  were  striking  the  hour  before  noon  as  I 
stepped  from  the  doorway,  and,  standing  a  moment  in  the 
lane,  looked  this  way  and  that  for  any  sign  of  espionage. 
I  could  detect  none,  however.  The  lane  was  deserted ;  and 
feeling  assured  that  any  attempt  to  mislead  my  opponents, 
who  probably  knew  Blois  better  than  I  did,  must  fail,  I 
made  none,  but  deliberately  took  my  way  towards  the 
'Bleeding  Heart,'  in  the  Eue  St.  Denys.  The  streets  pre- 
sented the  same  appearance  of  gloomy  suspense  which  I 
had  noticed  on  the  previous  day.  The  same  groups  stood 
about  in  the  same  corners,  the  same  suspicious  glances 
met  me  in  common  with  all  other  strangers  who  showed 
themselves;  the  same  listless  inaction  characterised  the 
townsfolk,  the  same  anxious  hurry  those  who  came  and 
went  with  news.  I  saw  that  even  here,  under  the  walls  of 
the  palace,  the  bonds  of  law  and  order  were  strained  almost 
to  bursting,  and  judged  that  if  there  ever  was  a  time  in 
France  when  right  counted  for  little,  and  the  strong  hand 
for  much,  it  was  this.  Such  a  state  of  things  was  not 
unfavourable  to  my  present  design,  and  caring  little  for 
suspicious  looks,  I  went  resolutely  on  my  way. 

I  had  no  difficulty  in  finding  the  gateway  of  which  Simon 
had  spoken,  or  in  identifying  the  window  beneath  which 
he  had  picked  up  the  velvet  knot.  An  alley  opening  almost 
opposite,  I  took  advantage  of  this  to  examine  the  house  at 
my  leisure,  and  remarked  at  once,  that  whereas  the  lower 
window  was  guarded  only  by  strong  shutters,  now  open, 


92  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

that  in  the  story  above  was  heavily  barred.  Naturally  1 
concentrated  my  attention  on  the  latter.  The  house,  an 
old  building  of  stone,  seemed  sufficiently  reputable,  nor 
could  I  discern  anything  about  it  which  would  have  aroused 
my  distrust  had  the  knot  been  found  elsewhere.  It  bore 
the  arms  of  a  religious  brotherhood,  and  had  probably  at 
one  time  formed  the  principal  entrance  to  the  hospital, 
which  still  stood  behind  it,  but  it  had  now  come,  as  I 
judged,  to  be  used  as  a  dwelling  of  the  better  class. 
Whether  the  two  floors  were  separately  inhabited  or  not  I 
failed  to  decide. 

After  watching  it  for  some  time  without  seeing  anyone 
pass  in  or  out,  or  anything  occurring  to  enlighten  me  one 
way  or  the  other,  I  resolved  to  venture  in,  the  street  being 
quiet  and  the  house  giving  no  sign  of  being  strongly  garri- 
soned. The  entrance  lay  under  the  archway,  through  a 
door  on  the  right  side.  I  judged  from  what  I  saw  that 
the  porter  was  probably  absent,  busying  himself  with  his 
gossips  in  matters  of  State. 

And  this  proved  to  be  the  case,  for  when  I  had  made  the 
passage  of  the  street  with  success,  and  slipped  quietly  in 
through  the  half-open  door,  I  found  only  his  staff  and 
charcoal-pan  there  to  represent  him.  A  single  look  satisfied 
me  on  that  point;  forthwith,  without  hesitation,  I  turned  to 
the  stairs  and  began  to  mount,  assured  that  if  I  would 
effect  anything  single-handed  I  must  trust  to  audacity  and 
surprise  rather  than  to  caution  or  forethought. 

The  staircase  was  poorly  lighted  by  loopholes  looking 
towards  the  rear,  but  it  was  clean  and  well-kept.  Silence, 
broken  only  by  the  sound  of  my  footsteps,  prevailed  through- 
out the  house,,  and  all  seemed  so  regular  and  decent  and 
orderly  that  the  higher  I  rose  the  lower  fell  my  hopes  of 
success.  Still,  I  held  resolutely  on  until  I  reached  the  -eefr- 
ond  floor  and  stood  before  a  closed  door.  The  moment  had 
come  to  put  all  to  the  touch.  I  listened  for  a  few  seconds, 
but  hearing  nothing,  cautiously  lifted  the  latch.  Somewhat 
to  my  surprise  the  door  yielded  to  my  hand,  and  I  entered. 


AN  EMPTY  ROOM  93 

A  high  settle  stood  inside,  interrupting  my  view  of  the 
room,  which  seemed  to  be  spacious  and  full  of  rich  stuffs 
and  furniture,  but  low  in  the  roof,  and  somewhat  dimly 
lighted  by  two  windows  rather  wide  than  high.  The  warm 
glow  of  a  fire  shone  on  the  woodwork  of  the  ceiling,  and  as 
I  softly  closed  the  door  a  log  on  the  hearth  gave  way,  with 
a  crackling  of  sparks,  which  pleasantly  broke  the  luxurious 
silence.  The  next  moment  a  low,  sweet  voice  asked,  '  Al- 
phonse,  is  that  you  ? ' 

I  walked  round  the  settle  and  came  face  to  face  with  a 
beautiful  woman  reclining  on  a  couch.  On  hearing  the  door 
open  she  had  raised  herself  on  her  elbow.  Now,  seeing  a 
stranger  before  her,  she  sprang  up  with  a  low  cry,  and  stood 
gazing  at  me,  her  face  expressing  both  astonishment  and 
anger.  She  was  of  middling  height,  her  features  regular 
though  somewhat  childlike,  her  complexion  singularly  fair. 
A  profusion  of  golden  hair  hung  in  disorder  about  her  neck, 
and  matched  the  deep  blue  of  her  eyes,  wherein  it  seemed 
to  me,  there  lurked  more  spirit  and  fire  than  the  general  cast 
of  her  features  led  one  to  expect. 

After  a  moment's  silence,  during  which  she  scanned  me 
from  head  to  foot  with  great  haughtiness — and  I  her  with 
curiosity  and  wonder — she  spoke,  <  Sir ! '  she  said  slowly, 
'to  what  am  I  to  attribute  this — visit  ?' 

For  the  moment  I  was  so  taken  aback  by  her  appearance 
and  extraordinary  beauty,  as  well  as  by  the  absence  of  any 
sign  of  those  I  sought,  that  I  could  not  gather  my  thoughts 
to  reply,  but  stood  looking  vaguely  at  her.  I  had  expected, 
when  I  entered  the  room,  something  so  different  from  this  ! 

'  Well,  sir?  '  she  said  again,  speaking  sharply,  and  tapping 
her  foot  on  the  floor. 

1  This  visit,  madame  ? '  I  stammered. 

'  Call  it  intrusion,  sir,  if  you  please ! '  she  cried  imperi- 
ously. *  Only  explain  it,  or  begone.' 

*I  crave  leave  to  do  both,  madame,'  I  answered,  collecting 
myself  by  an  effort.  '  I  ascended  these  stairs  and  opened 
your  door  in  error — that  is  the  simple  fact — hoping  to  find 


94  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

a  friend  of  mine  here.  I  was  mistaken,  it  seems,  and  it  only 
remains  for  me  to  withdraw,  offering  at  the  same  time  the 
humblest  apologies.'  And  as  I  spoke  I  bowed  low  and  pre- 
pared to  retire. 

1  One  moment,  sir ! '  she  said  quickly,  and  in  an  altered 
tone.  { You  are,  perhaps,  a  friend  of  M.  de  Bruhl — of  my 
husband.  In  that  case,  if  you  desire  to  leave  any  message 
I  will — I  shall  be  glad  to  deliver  it.' 

She  looked  so  charming  that,  despite  the  tumult  of  my 
feelings,  I  could  not  but  regard  her  with  admiration.  'Alas ! 
madame,  I  cannot  plead  that  excuse,'  I  answered.  'I  regret 
that  I  have  not  the  honour  of  his  acquaintance.' 

She  eyed  me  with  some  surprise.  '  Yet  still,  sir,'  she 
answered,  smiling  a  little,  and  toying  with  a  gold  brooch 
which  clasped  her  habit,  '  you  must  have  had  some  ground, 
some  reason,  for  supposing  you  would  find  a  friend  here  ?' 

'  True,  madame,'  I  answered,  '  but  I  was  mistaken.' 

I  saw  her  colour  suddenly.  With  a  smile  and  a  faint 
twinkle  of  the  eye  she  said,  '  It  is  not  possible,  sir,  I  sup- 
pose— you  have  not  come  here,  I  mean,  out  of  any  reason 
connected  with  a — a  knot  of  velvet,  for  instance  ? ' 

I  started,  and  involuntarily  advanced  a  step  towards  her. 
'  A  knot  of  velvet ! '  I  exclaimed,  with  emotion.  '  Mon  Dieu ! 
Then  I  was  not  mistaken !  I  have  come  to  the  right  house, 
and  you — you  know  something  of  this !  Madame,'  I  con- 
tinued impulsively,  '  that  knot  of  velvet  ?  Tell  me  what  it 
means,  I  implore  you  ! ' 

She  seemed  alarmed  by  my  violence,  retreating  a  step  or 
two,  and  looking  at  me  haughtily,  yet  with  a  kind  of  shame- 
facedness.  'Believe  me,  it  means  nothing,'  she  said  hur- 
riedly. '  I  beg  you  to  understand  that,  sir.  It  was  a  foolish 
jest.' 

'A  jest?'  I  said.     'It  fell  from  this  window.' 

'  It  was  a  jest,  sir/  she  answered  stubbornly.  But  I  could 
see  that,  with  all  her  pride,  she  was  alarmed;  her  face  was 
troubled,  and  there  were  tears  in  her  eyes.  And  this  ren- 
dered me  under  the  circumstances  only  the  more  persistent. 


AN  EMPTY  ROOM  95 

'I  have  the  velvet  here,  madame,'  I  said.  '  You  must  tell 
me  more  about  it.' 

She  looked  at  me  with  a  weightier  imp  ulse  of  anger  than 
she  had  yet  exhibited.  '  I  do  not  think  3  ou  know  to  whom 
you  are  speaking,'  she  said,  breathing  fast.  'Leave  the 
room,  sir,  and  at  once  !  I  have  told  you  it  was  a  jest.  If 
you  are  a  gentleman  you  will  believe  me,  and  go.'  And  she 
pointed  to  the  door. 

But  I  held  my  ground,  with  an  obstinate  determination 
to  pierce  the  mystery.  'I  am  a  gentleman,  madame,'  I 
said,  '  and  yet  I  must  know  more.  Until  I  know  more  I 
cannot  go.' 

'  Oh,  this  is  insufferable  ! '  she  cried,  looking  round  as  if 
for  a  way  of  escape ;  but;  I  was  between  her  and  the  only 
door.  '  This  is  unbearable  !  The  knot  was  never  intended 
for  you,  sir.  And  what  is  more,  if  M.  de  Bruhl  come  and 
find  you  here,  you  will  repent  it  bitterly.' 

I  saw  that  she  was  at  least  as  much  concerned  on  her 
own  account  as  on  mine,  and  thought  myself  justified  under 
the  circumstances  in  taking  advantage  of  her  fears.  I 
deliberately  laid  my  cap  on  the  table  which  stood  beside 
me.  'I  will  go,  madame,'  I  said,  looking  at  her  fixedly, 
'  when  I  know  all  that  you  know  about  this  knot  I  hold, 
and  not  before.  If  you  are  unwilling  to  tell  me,  I  must 
wait  for  M.  de  Bruhl,  and  ask  him.' 

She  cried  out  '  Insolent ! '  and  looked  at  me  as  if  in  her 
rage  and  dismay  she  would  gladly  have  killed  me ;  being,  I 
could  see,  a  passionate  woman.  But  I  held  my  ground, 
and  after  a  moment  she  spoke.  'What  do  you  want  to 
know  ? '  she  said,  frowning  darkly. 

'  This  knot — how  did  it  come  to  lie  in  the  street  below 
your  window  ?  I  want  to  know  that  first.' 

'I  dropped  it,'  she  answered  sullenly. 

'Why?'  I  said. 

'  Because '  And  then  she  stopped  and  looked  at  me, 

and  then  again  looked  down,  her  face  crimson.  '  Because, 
if  you  must  know,'  she  continued  hurriedly,  tracing  a 


96  A   GENTLEMAN-  OF  FRANCE 

pattern  on  the  table  with  her  finger,  'I  saw  it  bore  the 
words  "A  moi."  I  have  been  married  only  two  months, 
and  I  thought  my  husband  might  find  it — and  bring  it  to 
me.  It  was  a  silly  fancy/ 

'  But  where  did  you  get  it  ?  *  I  asked,  and  I  stared  at  her 
in  growing  wonder  and  perplexity.  For  the  more  questions 
I  put,  the  further,  it  seemed  to  me,  I  strayed  from  my  object. 

'I  picked  it  up  in  the  Ruelle  d'Arcy,'  she  answeredj 
lapping  her  foot  on  the  floor  resentfully.  '  It  was  the  silly 
thing  put  it  into  my  head  to — to  do  what  I  did.  And  now, 
have  you  any  more  questions,  sir  ?  ' 

'One  only,'  I  said,  seeing  it  all  clearly  enough.  'Will 
you  tell  me,  please,  exactly  where  you  found  it  ? ' 

'  I  have  told  you.  In  the  Ruelle  d'Arcy,  ten  paces  from 
the  Rue  de  Valois.  Now,  sir,  will  you  go  ?  ' 

'One  word,  madam e.     Did ' 

But  she  cried,  '  Go,  sir,  go  I  go  ! '  so  violently,  that  after 
making  one  more  attempt  to  express  my  thanks,  I  thought 
it  better  to  obey  her.  I  had  learned  all  she  knew ;  I  had 
solved  the  puzzle.  But,  solving  it,  I  found  myself  no 
nearer  to  the  end  I  had  in  view,  no  nearer  to  mademoiselle. 
I  closed  the  door  with  a  silent  bow,  and  began  to  descend 
the  stairs,  my  mind  full  of  anxious  doubts  and  calculations. 
The  velvet  knot  was  the  only  clue  I  possessed,  but  was  I 
right  in  placing  any  dependence  on  it  ?  I  knew  now  that, 
wherever  it  had  originally  lain,  it  had  been  removed  once. 
If  once,  why  not  twice  ?  why  not  three  times  ? 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE   HOUSE   IW    THE   RTJELLE 


I  HAD  not  gone  down  half  a  dozen  steps  before  I  heard 
a  man  enter  the  staircase  from  the  street,  and  begin  to 
ascend.  It  struck  me  at  once  that  this  might  be  M.  de 


THE  HOUSE  IN  THE  RUELLE  D^ARCY  97 

Bruhl ;  and  I  realised  that.  I  had  not  left  madame's  apart- 
ment a  moment  too  soon.  The  last  thing  I  desired,  having 
so  much  on  my  hands,  was  to  embroil  myself  with  a 
stranger,  and  accordingly  I  quickened  my  pace,  hoping  to 
meet  him  so  near  the  foot  of  the  stairs  as  to  leave  him  in 
doubt  whether  I  had  been  visiting  the  upper  or  lower  part 
of  the  house.  The  staircase  was  dark,  however,  and  being 
familiar  with  it,  he  had  the  advantage  over  me.  He  came 
leaping  up  two  steps  at  a  time,  and  turning  the  angle 
abruptly,  surprised  me  before  I  was  clear  of  the  upper  flight. 

On  seeing  ine,  he  stopped  short  and  stared ;  thinking  at 
first,  I  fancy,  that  he  ought  to  recognise  me.  When  he  did 
not,  he  stood  back  a  pace.  '  Umph ! '  he  said.  '  Have  you 
been — have  you  any  message  for  me,  sir  ?  ' 

'No/  I  said,  <I  have  not.' 

He  frowned.     *  I  am  M.  de  Bruhl,'  he  said. 

'  Indeed  ? '  I  muttered,  not  knowing  what  else  to  say. 

{ You  have  been ' 

'  Up  your  stairs,  sir  ?  Yes.    In  error,'  I  answered  bluntly. 

He  gave  a  kind  of  grunt  at  that,  and  stood  aside,  incred- 
ulous and  dissatisfied,  yet  uncertain  how  to  proceed.  I  met 
his  black  looks  with  a  steady  countenance,  and  passed  by 
him,  becoming  aware,  however,  as  I  went  on  down  the  stairs 
that  he  had  turned  and  was  looking  after  me.  He  was  a  tall, 
handsome  man,  dark,  and  somewhat  ruddy  of  complexion, 
and  was  dressed  in  the  extreme  of  Court  fashion,  in  a  suit 
of  myrtle-green  trimmed  with  sable.  He  carried  also  a 
cloak  lined  with  the  same  on  his  arm.  Beyond  looking 
back  when  I  reached  the  street,  to  see  that  he  did  not  fol- 
low me,  I  thought  no  more  of  him.  But  we  were  to  meet 
again,  and  often.  Nay,  had  I  then  known  all  that  was  to 

be  known  I  would  have  gone  back  and But  of  that  in 

another  place. 

The  Eue  de  Valois,  to  which  a  tradesman,  who  was  peer- 
ing cautiously  out  of  his  shop,  directed  ine,  proved  to  be 
one  of  the  main  streets  of  the  city,  narrow  and  dirty,  and 
darkened  by  overhanging  eaves  and  signboards,  but  full  of 


98  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

noise  and  bustle.  One  end  of  it  opened  on  the  parvis  of 
the  Cathedral ;  the  other  and  quieter  end  appeared  to  abut 
on  the  west  gate  of  the  town.  Feeling  the  importance  of 
avoiding  notice  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the  house  I  sought, 
I  strolled  into  the  open  space  in  front  of  the  Cathedral,  and 
accosting  two  men  who  stood  talking  there,  learned  that  the 
Euelle  d'Arcy  was  the  third  lane  on  the  right  of  the  Rue 
de  Valois,  and  some  little  distance  along  it.  Armed  with 
this  information  I  left  them,  and  with  my  head  bent  down, 
and  my  cloak  drawn  about  the  lowor  part  of  my  face,  as  if 
I  felt  the  east  wind,  I  proceeded  down  the  street  until  I 
reached  the  opening  of  the  lane.  Without  looking  up  I 
turned  briskly  into  it. 

When  I  had  gone  ten  paces  past  the  turning,  however,  I 
stopped  and,  gazing  about  me,  began  to  take  in  my  sur- 
roundings as  fast  as  I  could.  The  lane,  which  seemed  little 
frequented,  was  eight  or  nine  feet  wide,  unpaved,  and  full 
of  ruts.  The  high  blank  wall  of  a  garden  rose  on  one  side 
of  it,  on  the  other  the  still  higher  wall  of  a  house ;  and 
both  were  completely  devoid  of  windows,  a  feature  which  I 
recognised  with  the  utmost  dismay.  For  it  completely 
upset  all  my  calculations.  In  vain  '.[  measured  with  my  eye 
the  ten  paces  I  had  come  ;  in  vain  I  looked  up,  looked  this 
way  and  that.  I  was  nonplussed.  No  window  opened  on 
the  lane  at  that  point,  nor,  indeed,  throughout  its  length. 
For  it  was  bounded  to  the  end,  as  far  as  I  could  see,  by 
dead-walls  as  of  gardens. 

Recognising,  with  a  sinking  heart,  what  this  meant,  I  saw 
in  a  moment  that  all  the  hopes  I  had  raised  on  Simon  Fleix's 
discovery  were  baseless.  Mademoiselle  had  dropped  the 
velvet  bow,  no  doubt,  but  not  from  a  window.  It  was  still 
a  clue,  but  one  so  slight  and  vague  as  to  be  virtually  useless, 
proving  only  that  she  was  in  trouble  and  in  need  of  help  ; 
perhaps  that  she  had  passed  through  this  lane  on  her  way 
from  one  place  of  confinement  to  another. 

Thoroughly  baffled  and  dispirited,  I  leant  for  awhile 
against  the  wall,  brooding  over  the  ill-luck  which  seemed 


THE  HOUSE  IN  THE  RUELLE  D^ARCY  99 

to  attend  me  in  this,  as  in  so  many  previous  adventures. 
Nor  was  the  low  voice  of  conscience,  suggesting  that  such 
failures  arose  from  mismanagement  rather  than  from  ill- 
luck,  slow  to  make  itself  heard.  I  reflected  that  if  I  had 
not  allowed  myself  to  be  robbed  of  the  gold  token,  made- 
moiselle would  have  trusted  me  ;  that  if  I  had  not  brought 
her  to  so  poor  an  abode  as  my  mother's,  she  would  not  have 
been  cajoled  into  following  a  stranger;  finally,  that  if  I 
had  remained  with  her,  and  sent  Simon  to  attend  to  the 
horses  in  my  place,  no  stranger  would  have  gained  access 
to  her. 

But  it  has  never  been  my  way  to  accept  defeat  at  the 
first  offer,  and  though  I  felt  these  self-reproaches  to  be  well 
deserved,  a  moment's  reflection  persuaded  me  that  in  the 
singular  and  especial  providence  which  had  brought  the 
velvet  knot  safe  to  my  hands  I  ought  to  find  encour- 
agement. Had  Madame  de  Bruhl  not  picked  it  up  it  would 
have  continued  to  lie  in  this  by-path,  through  which  neither 
I  nor  Simon  Fleix  would  have  been  likely  to  pass.  Again, 
had  madame  not  dropped  it  in  her  turn,  we  should  have 
sought  in  vain  for  any,  even  the  slightest,  clue  to  Made- 
moiselle de  la  Vire's  fate  or  position. 

Cheered  afresh  by  this  thought,  I  determined  to  walk  to 
the  end  of  the  lane ;  and  forthwith  did  so,  looking  sharply 
about  me  as  I  went,  but  meeting  no  one.  The  bare  upper 
branches  of  a  tree  rose  here  and  there  above  the  walls, 
which  were  pierced  at  intervals  by  low,  strong  doors.  These 
doors  I  carefully  examined,  but  without  making  any  dis- 
covery ;  all  were  securely  fastened,  and  many  seemed  to 
have  been  rarely  opened.  Emerging  at  last  and  without 
result  on  the  inner  side  of  the  city  ramparts,  I  turned,  and 
moodily  retraced  my  steps  through  the  lane,  proceeding  more 
slowly  as  I  drew  near  to  the  Rue  de  Valois.  This  time, 
being  a  little  farther  from  the  street,  I  made  a  discovery. 

The  corner  house,  which  had  its  front  on  the  Rue  Valois, 
presented,  as  I  have  said,  a  dead,  windowless  wall  to  the 
lane  ;  but  from  my  present  standpoint  I  could  see  the  upper 

H    2 


ioo  A   GENTLEMAN'  OF  FRANCE 

part  of  the  back  of  this  house — that  part  of  the  back,  I  mean, 
which  rose  above  the  lower  garden-wall  that  abutted  on  it 
— and  in  this  there  were  several  windows.  The  whole  of 
two  and  a  part  of  a  third  were  within  the  range  of  my  eyes ; 
and  suddenly  in  one  of  these  I  discovered  something  which 
made  iny  heart  beat  high  with  hope  and  expectation.  The 
window  in  question  was  heavily  grated ;  that  which  I  saw 
was  tied  to  one  of  the  bars.  It  was  a  small  knot  of  some 
white  stuff — linen  apparently — and  it  seemed  a  trifle  to  the 
eye ;  but  it  was  looped,  as  far  as  I  could  see  from  a  dis- 
tance, after  the  same  fashion  as  the  scrap  of  velvet  I  had  in 
my  pouch. 

The  conclusion  was  obvious,  at  the  same  time  that  it  in- 
spired me  with  the  liveliest  admiration  of  mademoiselle's 
wit  and  resources.  She  was  confined  in  that  room;  the 
odds  were  that  she  was  behind  those  bars.  A  bow  dropped 
thence  would  fall,  the  wind  being  favourable,  into  the  lane, 
not  ten,  but  twenty  paces  from  the  street.  I  ought  to  have 
been  prepared  for  a  slight  inaccuracy  in  a  woman's  estimate 
of  distance. 

It  may  be  imagined  with  what  eagerness  I  now  scanned 
the  house,  with  what  minuteness  I  sought  for  a  weak  place. 
The  longer  I  looked,  however,  the  less  comfort  I  derived 
from  my  inspection.  I  saw  before  me  a  gloomy  stronghold 
of  brick,  four-square,  and  built  in  the  old  Italian  manner, 
with  battlements  at  the  top,  and  a  small  machicolation, 
little  more  than  a  string-course,  above  each  story ;  this 
serving  at  once  to  lessen  the  monotony  of  the  dead-walls, 
and  to  add  to  the  frowning  weight  of  the  upper  part.  The 
windows  were  few  and  small,  and  the  house  looked  damp 
and  mouldy ;  lichens  clotted  the  bricks,  and  moss  filled  the 
string-courses.  A  low  door  opening  from  the  lane  into  the 
garden  naturally  attracted  my  attention  -;  but  it  proved  to  be 
of  abnormal  strength,  and  bolted  both  at  the  top  and  bottom. 

Assured  that  nothing  could  be  done  on  that  side,  and 
being  unwilling  to  remain  longer  in  the  neighbourhood,  lest 
I  should  attract  attention,  I  returned  to  the  street,  and 


THE  HOUSE  IN  THE  RUELLE  D^ARCY         101 

twice  walked  past  the  front  of  the  house,  seeing  all  I  could 
with  as  little  appearance  of  seeing  anything  as  I  could 
compass.  The  front  retreated,  somewhat  from  the  line  of 
the  street,  and  was  flanked  on  the  farther  side  by  stables. 
Only  one  chimney  smoked,  and  that  sparely.  Three  steps 
led  up  to  imposing  double  doors,  which  stood  half  open,  and 
afforded  a  glimpse  of  a  spacious  hall  and  a  state  staircase. 
Two  men,  apparently  servants,  lounged  on  the  steps,  eating 
chestnuts,  and  jesting  with  one  another;  and  above  the 
door  were  three  shields  blazoned  in  colours.  I  saw  with 
satisfaction,  as  I  passed  the  second  time,  that  the  middle 
coat  was  that  of  Turenne  impaling  one  which  I  could  not 
read — which  thoroughly  satisfied  me  that  the  bow  of  velvet 
had  not  lied;  so  that,  without  more  ado,  I  turned  home- 
wards, formulating  my  plans  as  I  went. 

I  found  all  as  I  had  left  it ;  and  my  mother  still  lying  in 
a  half-conscious  state,  I  was  spared  the  pain  of  making 
excuses  for  past  absence,  or  explaining  that  which  I  de- 
signed. I  communicated  the  plan  I  had  formed  to  Simon 
Fleix,  who  saw  no  difficulty  in  procuring  a  respectable 
person  to  stay  with  Madame  de  Bonne.  But  for  some 
time  he  would  come  no  farther  into  the  business.  He 
listened,  his  mouth  open  and  his  eyes  glittering,  to  my  plan 
until  I  came  to  his  share  in  it ;  and  then  he  fell  into  a 
violent  fit  of  trembling. 

<  You  want  me  to  fight,  monsieur,'  he  cried  reproachfully, 
shaking  all  over  like  one  in  the  palsy.  'You  said  so  the 
other  night.  You  want  to  get  me  killed !  That's  it.' 

'  Nonsense ! '  I  answered  sharply.  '  I  want  you  to  hold 
the  horses  1 ' 

He  looked  at  me  wildly,  with  a  kind  of  resentment  in  his 
face,  and  yet  as  if  he  were  fascinated. 

*  You  will  drag  me  into  it ! '  he  persisted.     '  You  will ! ' 

'  I  won't,'  I  said. 

'You  will!  You  will!  And  the  end  I  know.  I  shall 
have  no  chance.  I  am  a  clerk,  and  not  bred  to  fighting. 
You  want  to  be  the  death  of  me ! '  he  cried  excitedly. 


102  A   GENTLEMAN-  OF  FRANCE 

'I  don't  want  you  to  fight,'  I  answered  with  some  con- 
tempt. 'I  would  rather  that  you  kept  out  of  it  for  my 
mother's  sake.  I  only  want  you  to  stay  in  the  lane  and 
hold  the  horses.  You  will  run  little  more  risk  than  you  do 
sitting  by  the  hearth  here.' 

And  in  the  end  I  persuaded  him  to  do  what  I  wished ; 
though  still,  whenever  he  thought  of  what  was  in  front  of 
him,  he  fell  a-trembling  again,  and  many  times  during  the 
afternoon  got  up  and  walked  to  and  fro  between  the  window 
and  the  hearth,  his  face  working  and  his  hands  clenched 
like  those  of  a  man  in  a  fever.  1  put  this  down  at  first  to 
sheer  chicken-heartedness,  and  thought  it  augured  ill  for 
my  enterprise ;  but  presently  remarking  that  he  made  no 
attempt  to  draw  back,  and  that  though  the  sweat  stood  on 
his  brow  he  set  about  such  preparations  as  were  necessary 
— remembering  also  how  long  and  kindly,  and  without  pay 
or  guerdon,  he  had  served  my  mother,  I  began  to  see  that 
here  was  something  phenomenal ;  a  man  strange  and  beyond 
the  ordinary,  of  whom  it  was  impossible  to  predicate  what 
he  would  do  when  he  came  to  be  tried. 

For  myself,  I  passed  the  afternoon  in  a  state  almost  of 
apathy.  I  thought  it  my  duty  to  make  this  attempt  to  free 
mademoiselle,  and  to  make  it  at  once,  since  it  was  impossi- 
ble to  say  what  harm  might  come  of  delay,  were  she  in  such 
hands  as  Fresnoy's ;  but  I  had  so  little  hope  of  success  that 
I  regarded  the  enterprise  as  desperate.  The  certain  loss  of 
my  mother,  however,  and  the  low  ebb  of  my  fortunes,  with 
the  ever-present  sense  of  failure,  contributed  to  render  me 
indifferent  to  r-sks ;  and  even  when  we  were  on  our  way, 
through  by-streets  known  to  Simon,  to  the  farther  end  of 
the  Kuelle  d'Arcy,  and  the  red  and  frosty  sunset  shone  in 
our  faces,  and  gilded  for  a  moment  the  dull  eaves  and  grey 
towers  above  us,  I  felt  no  softening.  Whatever  the  end, 
there  was  but  one  in  the  world  whom  I  should  regret,  or 
who  would  regret  me ;  and  she  hung,  herself,  on  the  verge 
of  eternity. 

So  that  I  was  able  to  give  Simon  Fleix  his  last  directions 


THE  HOUSE.  IN  THE  RUELLE  D^ARCY         103 

with  as  much  coolness  as  I  ever  felt  in  my  life.  I  stationed 
him  with  the  three  horses  in  the  lane — which  seemed  as 
quiet  and  little  frequented  as  in  the  morning — near  the  end 
of  it,  and  about  a  hundred  paces  or  more  from  the  house. 

'  Turn  their  heads  towards  the  ramparts/  I  said,  wheeling 
them  round  myself,  '  and  then  they  will  be  ready  to  start. 
They  are  all  quiet  enough.  You  can  let  the  Cid  loose.  And 
now  listen  to  me,  Simon,'  I  continued.  '  Wait  here  until  you 
see  me  return,  or  until  you  see  you  are  going  to  be  attacked. 
In  the  first  case,  stay  for  me,  of  course ;  in  the  second,  save 
yourself  as  you  please.  Lastly,  if  neither  event  occurs  be- 
fore half-past  five — you  will  hear  the  convent-bell  yonder 
ring  at  ,the  half-hour — begone,  and  take  the  horses ;  they 
are  yours.  And  one  word  more,'  I  added  hurriedly.  'If 
you  can  only  get  away  with  one  horse,  Simon,  take  the  Cid. 
It  is  worth  more  than  most  men,  and  will  not  fail  you  at  a 
pinch.' 

As  I  turned  away,  I  gave  him  one  look  to  see  if  he  under- 
stood. It  was  not  without  hesitation  that  after  that  look  I 
left  him.  The  lad's  face  was  flushed,  he  was  breathing  hard, 
his  eyes  seemed  to  be  almost  starting  from  his  head.  He 
sat  his  horse  shaking  in  every  limb,  and  had  all  the  air  of  a 
man  in  a  fit.  I  expected  him  to  call  me  back ;  but  he  did 
not,  and  reflecting  that  I  must  trust  him,  or  give  up  the  at- 
tempt, I  went  up  the  lane  with  my  sword  under  my  arm, 
and  my  cloak  loose  on  my  shoulders.  I  met  a  man  driving 
a  donkey  laden  with  faggots.  I  saw  no  one  else.  It  was 
already  dusk  between  the  walls,  though  light  enough  in  the 
open  country ;  but  that  was  in  my  favour,  my  only  regret 
being  that  as  the  town  gates  closed  shortly  after  half-past 
five,  I  could  not  defer  my  attempt  until  a  still  later  hour. 

Pausing  in  the  shadow  of  the  house  while  a  man  might 
count  ten,  I  impressed  on  my  memory  the  position  of  the 
particular  window  which  bore  the  knot ;  then  I  passed 
quickly  into  the  street,  which  was  still  full  of  movement, 
and  for  a  second,  feeling  myself  safe  from  observation  in 
the  crowd,  I  stood  looking  at  the  front  of  the  house.  The 


104  A    GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

door  was  shut.  My  heart  sank  when  I  saw  this,  for  I  had 
looked  to  find  it  still  open. 

The  feeling,  however,  that  I  could  not  wait,  though  time 
might  present  more  than  one  opportunity,  spurred  me  on. 
What  I  could  do  I  must  do  now,  at  once.  The  sense  that 
this  was  so  being  heavy  upon  me,  I  saw  nothing  for  it  but 
to  use  the  knocker  and  gain  admission,  by  fraud  if  I  could, 
and  if  not,  by  force.  Accordingly  I  stepped  briskly  across 
the  kennel,  and  made  for  the  entrance. 

When  I  was  within  two  paces  of  the  steps,  however, 
someone  abruptly  threw  the  door  open  and  stepped  out. 
The  man  did  not  notice  me,  and  I  stood  quickly  aside,  hoping 
that  at  the  last  minute  my  chance  had  come.  Two  men, 
who  had  apparently  attended  this  first  person  downstairs, 
stood  respectfully  behind  him,  holding  lights.  He  paused 
a  moment  on  the  steps  to  adjust  his  cioak,  and  with  more 
than  a  little  surprise  I  recognised  my  acquaintance  of  the 
morning,  M.  de  Bruhl. 

I  had  scarcely  time  to  identify  him  before  he  walked 
down  the  steps  swinging  his  cane,  brushed  carelessly  past 
me,  and  was  gone.  The  two  men  looked  after  him.  awhile, 
shading  their  lights  from  the  wind,  and  one  saying  some- 
thing, the  other  laughed  coarsely.  The  next  moment  they 
threw  the  door  to  and  went,  as  I  saw  by  the  passage  of 
their  light,  into  the  room  on  the  left  of  the  hall. 

Now  was  my  time.  I  could  have  hoped  for,  prayed  for,, 
expected  no  better  fortune  than  this.  The  door  had  re- 
bounded slightly  from  the  jamb,  and  stood  open  an  inch  or 
more.  In  a  second  I  pushed  it  from  me  gently,  slid  into  the 
hall,  and  closed  it  behind  me. 

The  door  of  the  room  on  the  left  was  wide  open,  and  the 
light  which  shone  through  the  doorway — otherwise  the  hall 
was  dark — as  well  as  the  voices  of  the  two  men  I  had  seen, 
warned  me  to  be  careful.  I  stood,  scarcely  daring  to  breathe, 
and  looked  about  me.  There  was  no  matting  on  the  floor, 
no  fire  on  the  hearth.  The  hall  felt  cold,  damp,  and  unin- 
habited. The  state  staircase  rose  in  front  of  me,  and  pres- 


THE  HOUSE  IN  THE  RUELLE  D^ARCY         105 

ently  bifurcating,  formed  a  gallery  round  the  place.  I 
looked  up,  and  up,  and  far  above  me,  in  the  dim  heights  of  the 
second  floor,  I  espied  a  faint  light — perhaps,  the  reflection 
of  a  light. 

A  movement  in  the  room  on  my  left  warned  me  that  I 
had  no  time  to  lose,  if  I  meant  to  act.  At  any  minute  one 
of  the  men  might  come  out  and  discover  me.  With  the 
utmost  care  I  started  on  my  journey.  I  stole  across  the 
stone  floor  of  the  hall  easily  and  quietly  enough,  but  I 
found  the  real  difficulty  begin  when  I  came  to  the  stairs. 
They  were  of  wood,  and  creaked  and  groaned  under  me  to 
such  an  extent  that,  with  each  step  I  trod,  I  expected  the 
men  to  take  the  alarm.  Fortunately  all  went  well  until  I 
passed  the  first  corner — I  chose,  of  course,  the  left-hand 
flight — then  a  board  jumped  under  my  foot  with  a  crack 
which  sounded  in  the  empty  hall,  and  to  my  excited  ears, 
as  loud  as  a  pistol-shot.  I  was  in  two  minds  whether  I 
should  not  on  the  instant  make  a  rush  for  it,  but  happily 
I  stood  still.  One  of  the  men  came  out  and  listened,  and  I 
heard  the  other  ask,  with  an  oath,  what  it  was.  I  leant 
against  the  wall,  holding  my  breath. 

<  Only  that  wench  in  one  of  her  tantrums  ! '  the  man  who 
had  come  out  answered,  applying  an  epithet  to  her  which 
I  will  not  set  down,  but  which  I  carried  to  his  account  in 
the  event  of  our  coming  face  to  face  presently.  '  She  is 
quiet  now.  She  may  hammer  and  hammer,  but ' 

The  rest  I  lost,  as  he  passed  through  the  doorway  and 
went  back  to  his  place  by  the  fire.  But  in  one  way  his 
words  were  of  advantage  to  me.  I  concluded  that  I  need 
not  be  so  very  cautious  now,  seeing  that  they  would  set 
down  anything  they  heard  to  the  same  cause  ;  and  I  sped 
on  more  quickly.  I  had  just  gained  the  second  floor  land- 
ing when  a  loud  noise  below — the  opening  of  the  street 
door  and  the  heavy  tread  of  feet  in  the  hall — brought  me 
to  a  temporary  standstill.  I  looked  cautiously  over  the 
balustrade,  and  saw  two  men  go  across  to  the  room  on  the 
left.  One  of  them  spoke  as  he  entered,  chiding  the  other 


io6  A  GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

knaves,  I  fancied,  for  leaving  the  door  unbarred ;  and  the 
tone,  though  not  the  words,  echoing  sullenly  up  the  stair- 
case, struck  a  familiar  chord  in  my  memory.  The  voice  was 
Fresnoy's  1 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE   FIGHT    ON   THE    STAIKS. 

THE  certainty,  which  this  sound  gave  me,  that  I  was  in 
the  right  house,  and  that  it  held  also  the  villain  to  whom 
I  owed  all  my  misfortunes — for  who  but  Fresnoy  could 
have  furnished  the  broken  coin  which  had  deceived  made- 
moiselle ? — had  a  singularly  inspiriting  effect  upon  me. 
I  felt  every  muscle  in  my  body  grow  on  the  instant  hard  as 
steel,  my  eyes  more  keen,  my  ears  sharper — all  my  senses 
more  apt  and  vigorous.  I  stole  off  like  a  cat  from  the 
balustrade,  over  which  I  had  been  looking,  and  without  a 
second's  delay  began  the  search  for  mademoiselle's  room ; 
reflecting  that  though  the  garrison  now  amounted  to  four, 
I  had  no  need  to  despair.  If  I  could  release  the  prisoners 
without  noise — which  would  be  easy  were  the  key  in  the 
lock — we  might  hope  to  pass  through  the  hall  by  a  tour  de 
force  of  one  kind  or  another.  And  a  church-clock  at  this 
moment  striking  Five,  and  reminding  me  that  we  had  only 
half  an  hour  in  which  to  do  all  and  reach  the  horses,  I  was 
the  more  inclined  to  risk  something. 

The  light  which  I  had  seen  from  below  hung  in  a  flat- 
bottomed  lantern  just  beyond  the  head  of  the  stairs,  and 
outside  the  entrance  to  one  of  two  passages  which  appeared 
to  lead  to  the  back  part  of  the  house.  Suspecting  that 
M.  de  Bruhl's  business  had  lain  with  mademoiselle,  I 
guessed  that  the  light  had  been  placed  for  his  convenience. 
With  this  clue  and  the  position  of  the  window  to  guide  me, 
I  fixed  on  a  door  on  the  right  of  this  passage,  and  scarcely 
four  paces  from  the  head  of  the  stairs.  Before  I  made  any 


THE  FIGHT  ON  THE  STAIRS  107 

sign,  however,  I  knelt  down  and  ascertained  that  there  was 
a  light  in  the  room,  and  also  that  the  key  was  not  in  the 
lock. 

So  far  satisfied,  I  scratched  011  the  door  with  my  finger- 
nails, at  first  softly,  then  with  greater  force,  and  presently 
I  heard  someone  in  the  room  rise.  I  felt  sure  that  the  per- 
son, whoever  it  was,  had  taken  the  alarm  and  was  listening, 
and  putting  my  lips  to  the  keyhole  I  whispered  made- 
moiselle's name. 

A  footstep  crossed  the  room  sharply,  and  I  heard  mut- 
tering just  within  the  door.  I  thought  I  detected  two 
voices.  But  I  was  impatient,  and,  getting  no  answer,  whis- 
pered in  the  same  manner  as  before,  <  Mademoiselle  de  la 
Vire,  are  you  there  ?  ' 

Still  no  answer.  The  muttering,  too,  had  stopped,  and 
all  was  still — in  the  room,  and  in  the  silent  house.  I  tried 
again.  '  It  is  I,  Gaston  de  Marsac,'  I  said.  '  Do  you  hear  ? 
I  am  come  to  release  you.'  I  spoke  as  loudly  as  I  dared, 
but  most  of  the  sound  seemed  to  come  back  on  me  and 
wander  in  suspicious  murmurings  down  the  staircase. 

This  time,  however,  an  exclamation  of  surprise  rewarded 
me,  and  a  voice,  which  I  recognised  at  once  as  made- 
moiselle's, answered  softly: 

'  What  is  it  ?    Who  is  there  ? ' 

'  Gaston  de  Marsac/  I  answered.  *  Do  you  need  my 
help  ? ' 

The  very  brevity  of  her  reply ;  the  joyful  sob  which 
accompanied  it,  and  which  I  detected  even  through  the 
door:  the  wild  cry  of  thankfulness — almost  an  oath — of 
her  companion — all  these  assured  me  at  once  that  I  was 
welcome — welcome  as  I  had  never  been  before — and,  so 
assuring  me,  braced  me  to  the  height  of  any  occasion  which 
might  befall. 

'  Can  you  open  the  door  ?  '  I  muttered.  All  the  time  I 
was  on  my  knees,  my  attention  divided  between  the  inside 
of  the  room  and  the  stray  sounds  which  now  and  then  came 
up  to  me  from  the  hall  below.  '  Have  you  the  key  ? ' 


jo8  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

'  No  ;  we  are  locked  in,'  mademoiselle  answered. 

I  expected  this.  '  If  the  door  is  bolted  inside,'  I  whis- 
pered, '  unfasten  it,  if  you  please.' 

They  answered  that  it  was  not,  so  bidding  them  stand 
back  a  little  from  it,  I  rose  and  set  my  shoulder  against  it. 
I  hoped  to  be  able  to  burst  it  in  with  only  one  crash,  which 
by  itself,  a  single  sound,  might  not  alarm  the  men  down- 
stairs. But  my  weight  made  no  impression  upon  the  lock, 
and  the  opposite  wall  being  too  far  distant  to  allow  me  to 
get  any  purchase  for  my  feet,  I  presently  desisted.  The 
closeness  of  the  door  to  the  jambs  warned  me  that  an 
attempt  to  prise  it  open  would  be  equally  futile ;  and  for 
a  moment  I  stood  gazing  in  perplexity  at  the  solid  planks, 
which  bid  fair  to  baffle  me  to  the  end. 

The  position  was,  indeed,  one  of  great  difficulty,  nor  can 
I  now  think  of  any  way  out  of  it  better  or  other  than  that 
which  I  adopted.  Against  the  wall  near  the  head  of  the 
stairs  I  had  noticed,  as  I  came  up,  a  stout  wooden  stool. 
I  stole  out  and  fetched  this,  and  setting  it  against  the 
opposite  wall,  endeavoured  in  this  way  to  get  sufficient 
purchase  for  my  feet.  The  lock  still  held ;  but,  as  I  threw 
my  whole  weight  on  the  door,  the  panel  against  which 
I  leaned  gave  way  and  broke  inwards  Avith  a  loud,  crashing 
sound,  which  echoed  through  the  empty  house,  and  might 
almost  have  been  heard  in  the  street  outside. 

It  reached  the  ears,  at  any  rate,  of  the  men  sitting  below, 
and  I  heard  them  troop  noisily  out  and  stand  in  the  hall, 
now  talking  loudly,  and  now  listening.  A  minute  of  breath- 
less suspense  followed — it  seemed  a  long  minute  ;  and  then, 
to  my  relief,  they  tramped  back  again,  and  I  was  free  to 
return  to  my  task.  Another  thrust,  directed  a  little  lower, 
would,  I  hoped,  do  the  business ;  but  to  make  this  the  more 
certain  I  knelt  down  and  secured  the  stool  firmly  against 
the  wall.  As  I  rose  after  settling  it,  something  else,  with- 
out sound  or  warning,  rose  also,  taking  me  completely  by 
surprise — a  man's  head  above  the  top  stair,  which,  as  it 
happened,  faced  me.  His  eyes  met  mine,  and  I  knew  I  was 
discovered. 


THE  FIGHT  ON  THE  STAIRS  109 

He  turned  and  bundled  downstairs  again  with  a  scared 
face,  going  so  quickly  that  I  could  not  have  caught  him  if 
I  would,  or  had  had  the  wit  to  try.  Of  silence  there  was 
no  longer  need.  In  a  few  seconds  the  alarm  would  be 
raised.  I  had  small  time  for  thought.  Laying  myself 
bodily  against  the  door,  I  heaved  and  pressed  with  all  my 
strength ;  but  whether  I  was  careless  in  my  haste,  or  the 
cause  was  other,  the  lock  did  not  give.  Instead  the  stool 
slipped,  and  I  fell  with  a  crash  on  the  floor  at  the  very 
moment  the  alarm  reached  the  men  below. 

I  remember  that  the  crash  of  my  unlucky  fall  seemed  to 
release  all  the  prisoned  noises  of  the  house.  A  faint  scream 
within  the  room  was  but  a  prelude,  lost  the  next  moment 
in  the  roar  of  dismay,  the  clatter  of  weapons,  and  volley  of 
oaths  and  cries  and  curses  which,  rolling  up  from  below, 
echoed  hollowly  about  me,  as  the  startled  knaves  rushed  to 
their  weapons,  and  charged  across  the  flags  and  up  the  stair- 
case. I  had  space  for  one  desperate  effort.  Picking  my- 
self up,  I  seized  the  stool  by  two  of  its  legs  and  dashed  it 
twice  against  the  door,  driving  in  the  panel  I  had  before 
splintered.  But  that  was  all.  The  lock  held,  and  I  had 
no  time  for  a  third  blow.  The  men  were  already  halfway 
up  the  stairs.  In  a  breath  almost  they  would  be  upon  me. 
I  flung  down  the  useless  stool  and  snatched  up  my  sword, 
which  lay  unsheathed  beside  me.  So  far  the  matter  had 
gone  against  us,  but  it  was  time  for  a  change  of  weapons 
now,  and  the  end  was  not  yet.  I  sprang  to  the  head  of  the 
stairs  and  stood  there,  my  arm  by  my  side  and  my  point 
resting  on  the  floor,  in  such  an  attitude  of  preparedness  as 
I  could  compass  at  the  moment. 

For  I  had  not  been  in  the  house  all  this  time,  as  may 
well  be  supposed,  without  deciding  what  I  would  do  in 
ease  of  surprise,  and  exactly  where  I  could  best  stand  on 
the  defensive.  The  flat  bottom  of  the  lamp  which  hung 
outside  the  passage  threw  a  deep  shadow  on  the  spot  im- 
mediately below  it,  while  the  light  fell  brightly  on  the  steps 
beyond.  Standing  in  the  shadow  I  could  reach  the  edge  of 


1 10  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

the  stairs  with  my  point,  and  swing  the  blade  freely,  with- 
out fear  of  the  balustrade ;  and  here  I  posted  myself  with  a 
certain  grim  satisfaction  as  Fresnoy,  with  his  three  com- 
rades behind  him,  came  bounding  up  the  last  flight. 

They  were  four  to  one,  but  I  laughed  to  see  how,  not 
abruptly,  but  shamefacedly  and  by  degrees,  they  came  to  a 
stand  halfway  up  the  flight,  and  looked  at  me,  measuring 
the  steps  and  the  advantage  which  the  light  shining  in 
their  eyes  gave  me.  Fresnoy's  ugly  face  was  rendered 
uglier  by  a  great  strip  of  plaister  which  marked  the  place 
where  the  hilt  of  my  sword  had  struck  him  in  our  last  en- 
counter at  Chize ;  and  this  and  the  hatred  he  bore  to  me 
gave  a  peculiar  malevolence  to  his  look.  The  deaf  man, 
Matthew,  whose  savage  stolidity  had  more  than  once  ex- 
cited my  anger  on  our  journey,  came  next  to  him.  the  two 
strangers  whom  I  had  seen  in  the  hall  bringing  up  the 
rear.  Of  the  four,  these  last  seemed  the  most  anxious  to 
come  to  blows,  and  had  Fresnoy  not  barred  the  way  with 
his  hand  we  should  have  crossed  swords  without  parley. 

'  Halt,  will  you ! '  iie  cried,  with  an  oath,  thrusting  one  of 
them  back.  And  then  to  me  he  said,  '  So,  so,  my  friend ! 
It  is  you,  is  it  ? ' 

I  looked  at  him  in  silence,  with  a  scorn  which  knew  no 
bounds,  and  did  not  so  much  as  honour  him  by  raising  my 
sword,  though  I  watched  him  needfully. 

'  What  are  you  doing  here  ? '  he  continued,  with  an 
attempt  at  bluster. 

Still  I  would  not  answer  him,  or  move,  but  stood  looking 
down  at  him.  After  a  moment  of  this,  he  grew  restive,  his 
temper  being  churlish  and  impatient  at  the  best.  Besides, 
I  think  he  retained  just  so  much  of  a  gentleman's  feelings 
as  enabled  him  to  understand  my  contempt  and  smart  under 
it.  He  moved  a  step  upward,  his  brow  dark  with  passion. 

'You  beggarly  son  of  a  scarecrow!'  he  broke  out  on  a 
sudden,  adding  a  string  of  foul  imprecations,  'will  you 
speak,  or  are  you  going  to  wait  to  be  spitted  where  you 
stand  ?  If  we  once  begin,  my  bantam,  we  shall  not  stop 


THE  FIGHT  ON  THE  STAIRS  ill 

until  we  have  done  your  business  !  If  you  have  anything 

to  say,  say  it,  and '  But  I  omit  the  rest  of  his  speech, 

which  was  foul  beyond  the  ordinary. 

Still  I  did  not  move  or  speak,  but  looked  at  him  unwaver- 
ing, though  it  pained  me  to  think  the  women  heard.  He 
made  a  last  attempt.  '  Come,  old  friend,'  he  said,  swallowing 
his  anger  again,  or  pretending  to  do  so,  and  speaking  with 
a  vile  bonhomie  which  I  knew  to  be  treacherous,  'if  we 
come  to  blows  we  shall  give  you  no  quarter.  But  one 
chance  you  shall  have,  for  the  sake  of  old  days  when  we 
followed  Conde.  Go  !  Take  the  chance,  and  go.  We  will 
let  you  pass,  and  that  broken  door  shall  be  the  worst  of  it. 
That  is  more,'  he  added  with  a  curse,  '  than  I  would  do  for 
any  other  man  in  your  place,  M.  de  Marsac.' 

A  sudden  movement  and  a  low  exclamation  in  the  room 
behind  me  showed  that  his  words  were  heard  there;  and 
these  sounds  being  followed  immediately  by  a  noise  as  of 
riving  wood,  mingled  with  the  quick  breathing  of  someone 
hard  at  work,  I  judged  that  the  women  were  striving  with 
the  door — enlarging  the  opening  it  might  be.  I  dared  not 
look  round,  however,  to  see  what  progress  they  made,  nor 
did  I  answer  Fresnoy,  save  by  the  same  silent  contempt, 
but  stood  watching  the  men  before  me  with  the  eye  of  a 
fencer  about  to  engage.  And  I  know  nothing  more  keen, 
more  vigilant,  more  steadfast  than  that. 

It  was  well  I  did,  for  without  signal  or  warning  the 
group  wavered  a  moment,  as  though  retreating,  and  the 
next  instant  precipitated  itself  upon  me.  Fortunately, 
only  two  could  engage  me  at  once,  and  Fresnoy,  I  noticed, 
was  not  of  the  two  who  dashed  forward  up  the  steps.  .  One 
of  the  strangers  forced  himself  to  the  front,  and,  taking  the 
lead,  pressed  me  briskly,  Matthew  seconding  him.  in 
appearance,  while  really  watching  for  an  opportunity  ot 
running  in  and  stabbing  me  at  close  quarters,  a  manoeuvre 
I  was  not  slow  to  detect. 

That  first  bout  lasted  half  a  minute  only.  A  fierce  exult- 
ant joy  ran  through  me  as  the  steel  rang  and  grated,  and  I 


112  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

found  that  I  had  not  mistaken  the  strength  of  wrist  or 
position.  The  men  were  mine.  They  hampered  one 
another  on  the  stairs,  and  fought  in  fetters,  being  unable 
to  advance  or  retreat,  to  lunge  with  freedom,  or  give  back 
without  fear.  I  apprehended  greater  danger  from  Matthew 
than  from  my  actual  opponent,  and  presently,  watching  my 
opportunity,  disarmed  the  latter  by  a  strong  parade,  and 
sweeping  Matthew's  sword  aside  by  the  same  movement, 
slashed  him  across  the  forehead ;  then,  drawing  back  a  step, 
gave  my  first  opponent  the  point.  He  fell  in  a  heap  on  the 
floor,  as  good  as  dead,  and  Matthew,  dropping  his  sword, 
staggered  backwards  and  downwards  into  Fresnoy's  arms. 

'  Bonne  Foi !  France  et  Bonne  Foi ! '  It  seemed  to  me 
that  I  had  not  spoken,  that  I  had  plied  steel  in  grimmest 
silence ;  and  yet  the  cry  still  rang  and  echoed  in  the  roof 
as  I  lowered  my  point,  and  stood  looking  grimly  down  at 
them.  Fresnoy's  face  was  disfigured  with  rage  and 
chagrin.  They  were  now  but  two  to  one,  for  Matthew, 
though  his  wound  was  slight,  was  disabled  by  the  blood 
which  ran  down  into  his  eyes  and  blinded  him.  '  France  et 
Bonne  Foi ! ' 

'  Bonne  Foi  and  good  sword ! '  cried  a  voice  behind  me. 
And  looking  swiftly  round,  I  saw  mademoiselle's  face  thrust 
through  the  hole  in  the  door.  Her  eyes  sparkled  with  a 
fierce  light,  her  lips  were  red  beyond  the  ordinary,  and  her 
hair,  loosened  and  thrown  into  disorder  by  her  exertions, 
fell  in  thick  masses  about  her  white  cheeks,  and  gave  her 
the  aspect  of  a  war-witch,  such  as  they  tell  of  in  my  country 
of  Brittany.  '  Good  sword ! '  she  cried  again,  and  clapped 
her  hands. 

'  But  better  board,  mademoiselle ! '  I  answered  gaily. 
Like  most  of  the  men  of  my  province,  I  am  commonly  melan- 
cholic, but  I  have  the  habit  of  growing  witty  at  such  times  as 
these.  '  Now,  M.  Fresnoy,'  I  continued, '  I  am  waiting  your 
convenience.  Must  I  put  on  my  cloak  to  keep  myself  warm  ? ' 

He  answered  by  a  curse,  and  stood  looking  at  me  irreso- 
lutely. '  If  you  will  come  down,'  he  said. 


THE  FIGHT  ON  THE  STAIRS  113 

'Send  your  man  away  and  I  will  come/  I  answered 
briskly.  '  There  is  space  on  the  landing,  and  a  moderate 
light.  But  I  must  be  quick.  Mademoiselle  and  I  are  due 
elsewhere,  and  we  are  late  already.' 

Still  he  hesitated.  Still  he  looked  at  the  man  lying  at 
his  feet — who  had  stretched  himself  out  and  passed,  quietly 
enough,  a  minute  before — and  stood  dubious,  the  most  pitia- 
ble picture  of  cowardice  and  malice — he  being  ordinarily  a 
stout  man — I  ever  saw.  I  called  him  poltroon  and  white- 
feather,  and  was  considering  whether  I  had  not  better  go 
down  to  him,  seeing  that  our  time  must  be  up,  and  Simon 
would  be  quitting  his  post,  when  a  cry  behind  me  caused 
me  to  turn,  and  I  saw  that  mademoiselle  was  no  longer 
looking  through  the  opening  in  the  door. 

Alarmed  on  her  behalf,  as  I  reflected  thai  tKert  might  be 
other  doors  to  the  room,  and  the  men  have  other  accom- 
plices in  the  house,  I  sprang  to  the  door  to  see,  but  had 
barely  time  to  send  a  single  glance  round  the  interior — 
which  showed  me  only  that  the  room  was  still  occupied — 
before  Fresnoy,  taking  advantage  of  my  movement  and  of 
my  back  being  turned,  dashed  up  the  stairs,  with  his  com- 
rade at  his  heels,  and  succeeded  in  penning  me  into  the 
narrow  passage  where  I  stood. 

I  had  scarcely  time,  indeed,  to  turn  and  put  myself  on 
guard  before  he  thrust  at  me.  Nor  was  that  all.  The  supe- 
riority in  position  no  longer  lay  with  me.  I  found  myself 
fighting  between  walls  close  to  the  opening  in.  the  door, 
through  which  the  light  fell  athwart  my  eyes,  baffling  and 
perplexing  me.  Fresnoy  was  not  slow  to  see  the  aid  this 
gave  him,  and  pressed  me  hard  and  desperately ;  so  that 
we  played  for  a  full  minute  at  close  quarters,  thrusting  and 
parrying,  neither  of  us  having  room  to  use  the  edge,  or  time 
to  utter  word  or  prayer. 

At  this  game  we  were  so  evenly  matched  that  for  a  time 
the  end  was  hard  to  tell.  Presently,  however,  there  came 
a  change.  My  opponent's  habit  of  wild  living  suited  ill 
with  a  prolonged  bout,  and  as  his  strength  and  breath  failed 


114  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

and  he  began  to  give  ground  I  discerned  I  had  only  to  wear 
him  out  to  have  him  at  my  mercy.  He  felt  this  himself, 
and  even  by  that  light  I  saw  the  sweat  spring  in  great  drops 
to  his  forehead,  saw  the  terror  grow  in  his  eyes.  Already 
I  was  counting  him  a  dead  man  and  the  victory  mine,  when 
something  flashed  behind  his  blade,  and  his  comrade's  pon- 
iard, whizzing  past  his  shoulder,  struck  me  fairly  on  the 
chin,  staggering  me  and  hurling  me  back  dizzy  and  half- 
stunned,  uncertain  what  had  happened  to  me. 

Sped  an  inch  lower  it  would  have  done  its  work  and  fin- 
ished mine.  Even  as  it  was,  my  hand  going  up  as  I  reeled 
back  gave  Fresnoy  an  opening,  of  which  he  was  not  slow  to 
avail  himself.  He  sprang  forward,  lunging  at  me  furiously, 
and  would  have  run  me  through  there  and  then,  and  ended 
the  matter,  had  not  his  foot,  as  he  advanced,  caught  in  the 
stool,  which  still  lay  against  the  wall.  He  stumbled,  his 
point  missed  my  hip  by  a  hair's  breadth,  and  he  himself 
fell  all  his  length  on  the  floor,  his  rapier  breaking  off  short 
at  the  hilt. 

His  one  remaining  backer  stayed  to  cast  a  look  at  him, 
and  that  was  all.  The  man  fled,  and  I  chased  him  as  far  as 
the  head  of  the  stairs ;  where  I  left  him,  assured  by  the 
speed  and  agility  he  displayed  in  clearing  flight  after  flight 
that  I  had  nothing  to  fear  from  him.  Fresnoy  lay,  ap- 
parently stunned,  and  completely  at  my  mercy.  I  stood 
an  instant  looking  down  at  him,  in  two  minds  whether  I 
should  not  run  him  through.  But  the  memory  of  old  days, 
when  he  had  played  his  part  in  more  honourable  fashion  and 
shown  a  coarse  good-fellowship  in  the  field,  held  my  hand; 
and  flinging  a  curse  at  him,  I  turned  in  anxious  haste  to  the 
door,  the  centre  of  all  this  bloodshed  and  commotion.  The 
light  still  shone  through  the  breach  in  the  panel,  but  for 
some  minutes — since  Fresnoy' s  rush  up  the  stairs,  indeed — 
I  had  heard  no  sound  from  this  quarter.  Now,  looking  in 
with  apprehensions  which  grew  with  the  continuing  silence, 
I  learned  the  reason.  The  room  was  empty! 

Such  a  disappointment  in  the  moment  of  triumph  was 


THE  FIGHT  ON  THE  STAIRS  115 

hard  to  bear.  I  saw  myself,  after  all  done  and  won,  on  the 
point  of  being  again  outwitted,  distanced,  it  might  be  fooled. 
In  frantic  haste  and  excitement  I  snatched  up  the  stool  be- 
side me,  and,  dashing  it  twice  against  the  lock,  forced  it  at 
last  to  yield.  The  door  swung  open,  and  I  rushed  into  the 
room,  which,  abandoned  by  those  who  had  so  lately  occupied 
it,  presented  nothing  to  detain  me.  I  cast  a  single  glance 
round,  saw  that  it  was  squalid,  low-roofed,  unfurnished,  a 
mere  prison;  then  swiftly  crossing  the  floor,  I  made  for 
a  door  at  the  farther  end,  which  my  eye  had  marked  from 
the  first.  A  candle  stood  flaring  and  guttering  on  a  stool, 
and  as  I  passed  I  took  it  up. 

Somewhat  to  my  surprise  the  door  yielded  to  my  touch. 
In  trembling  haste — for  what  might  not  befall  the  women 
while  I  fumbled  with  doors  or  wandered  in  passages? — I 
flung  it  wide,  and  passing  through  it,  found  myself  at  the 
head  of  a  narrow,  mean  staircase,  leading,  doubtless,  to  the 
servants'  offices.  At  this,  and  seeing  no  hindrance  before 
me,  I  took  heart  of  grace,  reflecting  that  mademoiselle  might 
have  escaped  from  the  house  this  way.  Though  it  would 
now  be  too  late  to  quit  the  city,  I  might  still  overtake  her, 
and  all  end  well.  Accordingly  I  hurried  down  the  stairs, 
shading  my  candle  as  I  went  from  a  cold  draught  of  air 
which  met  me,  and  grew  stronger  as  I  descended;  until 
reaching  the  bottom  at  last,  I  came  abruptly  upon  an  open 
door,  and  an  old,  wrinkled,  shrivelled  woman. 

The  hag  screamed  at  sight  of  me,  and  crouched  down  on 
the  floor ;  and  doubtless,  with  my  drawn  sword,  and  the 
blood  dripping  from  my  chin  and  staining  all  the  front  of 
my  doublet,  I  looked  tierce  and  uncanny  enough.  But  I 
felt  it  was  no  time  for  sensibility — I  was  panting  to  be 
away — and  I  demanded  of  her  sternly  where  they  were. 
She  seemed  to  have  lost  her  voice — through  fear,  perhaps 
— and  for  answer  only  stared  at  me  stupidly ;  but  on  my 
handling  my  weapon  with  some  readiness  she  so  far 
recovered  her  senses  as  to  utter  two  loud  screams,  one  after 
the  other,  and  point  to  the  door  beside  her.  I  doubted  her  ; 

T2 


n6  A   GENTLEMAN   OF  FRANCE 

and  yet  I  thought  in  her  terror  she  must  be  telling  the 
truth,  the  more  as  I  saw  no  other  door.  In  any  case  I  must 
risk  it,  so,  setting  the  candle  down  on  the  step  beside  her, 
I  passed  out. 

For  a  moment  the  darkness  was  so  intense  that  I  felt  my 
way  with  my  sword  before  me,  in  absolute  ignorance  where 
I  was  or  on  what  my  foot  might  next  rest.  I  was  at  the 
mercy  of  anyone  who  chanced  to  be  lying  in  wait  for  me  ; 
and  I  shivered  as  the  cold  damp  wind  struck  my  cheek  and 
stirred  my  hair.  But  by-and-by,  when  I  had  taken  two  or 
three  steps,  my  eyes  grew  accustomed  to  the  gloom,  and  I 
made  out  the  naked  boughs  of  trees  between  myself  and 
the  sky,  and  guessed  that  I  was  in  a  garden.  My  left  hand, 
touching  a  shrub,  confirmed  me  in  this  belief,  and  in  an- 
other moment  I  distinguished  something  like  the  outline  of 
a  path  stretching  away  before  me.  Following  it  rapidly — 
as  rapidly  as  I  dared — I  came  to  a  corner,  as  it  seemed  to 
me,  turned  it  blindly,  and  stopped  short,  peering  into  a 
curtain  of  solid  blackness  which  barred  my  path,  and 
overhead  mingled  confusedly  with  the  dark  shapes  of  trees. 
But  this,  too,  after  a  brief  hesitation,  I  made  out  to  be  a 
wall.  Advancing  to  it  with  outstretched  hands,  I  felt  the 
woodwork  of  a  door,  and,  groping  about,  lit  presently  on  a 
loop  of  cord.  I  pulled  at  this,  the  door  yielded,  and  I  went 
out. 

I  found  myself  in  a  narrow,  dark  lane,  and  looking  up 
and  down  discovered,  what  I  might  have  guessed  before, 
that  it  was  the  Ruelle  d'Arcy.  But  mademoiselle  ? 
Fanchette  ?  Simon  ?  Where  were  they  ?  Xo  one  was  to 
be  seen.  Tormented  by  doubts,  I  lifted  up  my  voice  and 
called  on  them  in  turn ;  first  on  mademoiselle,  then  on 
Simon  Fleix.  In  vain ;  I  got  no  answer.  High  up  above 
me  I  saw,  as  I  stood  back  a  little,  lights  moving  in  the 
house  I  had  left;  and  the  suspicion  that,  after  all,  the 
enemy  had  foiled  me  grew  upon  me.  Somehow  they  had 
decoyed  mademoiselle  to  another  part  of  the  house,  and 
then  the  old  woman  had  misled  me ! 


THE  MAN  AT  THE  DOOR  117 

I  turned  fiercely  to  the  door,  which  I  had  left  ajar, 
resolved  to  re-enter  by  the  way  I  had  come,  and  have  an 
explanation  whether  or  no.  To  my  surprise — for  I  had 
not  moved  six  paces  from  the  door  nor  heard  the  slightest 
sound — I  found  it  not  only  closed  but  bolted — bolted  both 
at  top  and  bottom,  as  I  discovered  on  trying  it. 

I  fell  on  that  to  kicking  it  furiously,  desperately ;  partly 
in  a  tempest  of  rage  and  chagrin,  partly  in  the  hope  that  I 
might  frighten  the  old  woman,  if  it  was  she  who  had  closed 
it,  into  opening  it  again.  In  vain,  of  course  ;  and  presently 
I  saw  this  and  desisted,  and,  still  in  a  whirl  of  haste  and 
excitement,  set  off  running  towards  the  place  where  I  had 
left  Simon  Fleix  and  the  horses.  It  was  fully  six  o'clock 
as  I  judged ;  but  some  faint  hope  that  I  might  find  him 
there  with  mademoiselle  and  her  woman  still  lingered  in 
my  mind.  I  reached  the  end  of  the  lane,  I  ran  to  the  very 
foot  of  the  ramparts,  I  looked  right  and  left.  In  vain. 
The  place  was  dark,  silent,  deserted. 

I  called  '  Simon  !  Simon  !  Simon  Fleix  ! '  but  my  only 
answer  was  the  soughing  of  the  wind  in  the  eaves,  and  the 
slow  tones  of  the  convent-bell  striking  Six. 


CHAPTER  XL 

THE    MAN   AT    THE    DOOB. 

THERE  are  some  things,  not  shameful  in  themselves, 
which  it  shames  one  to  remember,  and  among  these  I  count 
the  succeeding  hurry  and  perturbation  of  that  night :  the 
vain  search,  without  hope  or  clue,  to  which  passion  im- 
pelled me,  and  the  stubborn  persistence  with  which  I  rushed 
frantically  from  place  to  place  long  after  the  soberness  of 
reason  would  have  had  me  desist.  There  was  not,  it 
seems  to  me,  looking  back  now,  one  street  or  alley,  lane  or 
court,  in  Blois  which  I  did  not  visit  again  and  again  in  my 


u8  A    GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

frantic  wanderings  ;  not  a  beggar  skulking  on  foot  that 
night  whom  I  did  not  hunt  down  and  question ;  not  a 
wretched  woman  sleeping  in  arch  or  doorway  whom  I  did 
not  see  and  scrutinise.  I  returned  to  my  mother's  lodging 
again  and  again,  always  fruitlessly.  I  rushed  to  the  stables 
and  rushed  away  again,  or  stood  and  listened  in  the  dark, 
empty  stalls,  wondering  what  had  happened,  and  torturing 
myself  with  suggestions  of  this  or  that.  And  everywhere, 
not  only  at  the  North-gate,  where  I  interrogated  the  porters 
and  found  that  no  party  resembling  that  which  I  sought 
had  passed  out,  but  on  the  parvis  of  the  Cathedral,  where 
a  guard  was  drawn  up,  and  in  the  common  streets,  where  I 
burst  in  on  one  group  and  another  with  my  queries,  I  ran 
the  risk  of  suspicion  and  arrest,  and  all  that  might  follow 
thereon. 

It  was  strange  indeed  that  I  escaped  arrest.  The  wound 
in  my  chin  still  bled  at  intervals,  staining  my  doublet ;  and 
as  I  was  without  my  cloak,  which  I  had  left  in  the  house  in 
the  Rue  Valois,  I  had  nothing  to  cover  my  disordered  dress. 
I  was  keenly,  fiercely  anxious.  Stray  passers  meeting  me 
in  the  glare  of  a  torch,  or  seeing  me  hurry  by  the  great 
braziers  which  burned  where  four  streets  met,  looked 
askance  at  me  and  gave  me  the  wall ;  while  men  in  authority 
cried  to  me  to  stay  and  answer  their  questions.  I  ran  from 
the  one  and  the  other  with  the  same  savage  impatience,  dis- 
regarding everything  in  the  feverish  anxiety  which  spurred 
me  on  and  impelled  me  to  a  hundred  imprudences,  such  as 
at  my  age  I  should  have  blushed  to  commit.  Much  of  this 
feeling  was  due,  no  doubt,  to  the  glimpse  I  had  had  of 
mademoiselle,  and  the  fiery  words  she  had  spoken ;  more,  I 
fancy,  to  chagrin  and  anger  at  the  manner  in  which  the 
cup  of  success  had  been  dashed  at  the  last  moment  from 
my  lips. 

For  four  hours  I  wandered  through  the  streets,  now  hot 
with  purpose,  now  seeking  aimlessly.  It  was  ten  o'clock 
when  at  length  I  gave  up  the  search,  and,  worn  out  both  in 
body  '  *id  mind,  climbed  the  stairs  at  my  mother's  lodgings 


THE  MAN  AT  THE  DOOR  119 

and  entered  her  room.  An  old  woman  sat  by  the  fire, 
crooning  softly  to  herself,  while  she  stirred  something  in  a 
black  pot.  My  mother  lay  in  the  same  heavy,  deep  sleep 
in  which  I  had  left  her.  I  sat  down  opposite  the  nurse 
(who  cried  out  at  my  appearance)  and  asked  her  dully  for 
some  food.  When  I  had  eaten  it,  sitting  in  a  kind  of 
stupor  the  while,  the  result  partly  of  my  late  exertions, 
and  partly  of  the  silence  which  prevailed  round  me,  I 
bade  the  woman  call  me  if  any  change  took  place;  and  then 
going  heavily  across  to  the  garret  Simon  had  occupied,  I 
lay  down  on  his  pallet,  and  fell  into  a  sound,  dreamless  sleep. 
The  next  day  and  the  next  night  I  spent  beside  my 
mother,  watching  the  life  ebb  fast  away,  and  thinking  with 
grave  sorrow  of  her  past  and  my  future.  It  pained  me 
beyond  measure  to  see  her  die  thus,  in  a  garret,  without 
proper  attendance  or  any  but  bare  comforts ;  the  existence 
which  had  once  been  bright  and  prosperous  ending  in  pen- 
ury and  gloom,  such  as  my  mother's  love  and  hope  and 
self-sacrifice  little  deserved.  Her  state  grieved  me  sharply 
on  my  own  account  too,  seeing  that  I  had  formed  none  of 
those  familiar  relations  which  men  of  my  age  have  com- 
monly formed,  and  which  console  them  for  the  loss  of 
parents  and  forbears ;  Nature  so  ordering  it,  as  I  have  taken 
note,  that  men  look  forward  rather  than  backward,  and 
find  in  the  ties  they  form  with  the  future  full  compensation 
for  the  parting  strands  behind  them.  I  was  alone,  poverty- 
stricken,  and  in  middle  life,  seeing  nothing  before  me  ex- 
cept danger  and  hardship,  and  these  unrelieved  by  hope  or 
affection.  This  last  adventure,  too,  despite  all  my  efforts, 
had  sunk  me  deeper  in  the  mire ;  by  increasing  my  enemies 
and  alienating  from  me  some  to  whom  I  might  have  turned 
at  the  worst.  In  one  other  respect  also  it  had  added  to  my 
troubles  not  a  little ;  for  the  image  of  mademoiselle  wan- 
dering alone  and  unguarded  through  the  streets,  or  vainly 
calling  on  me  for  help,  persisted  in  thrusting  itself  on  my 
imagination  when  I  least  wanted  it,  and  came  even  between 
my  mother's  patient  face  and  me. 


120  A    GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

I  was  sitting  beside  Madame  de  Bonne  a  little  after 
sunset  on  the  second  day,  the  woman  who  attended  her 
oeing  absent  011  an  errand,  when  I  remarked  that  the  lamp, 
which  had  been  recently  lit,  and  stood  on  a  stool  in  the 
middle  of  the  room,  was  burning  low  and  needed  snuffing. 
I  went  to  it  softly,  and  while  stooping  over  it,  trying  to 
improve  the  light,  heard  a  slow,  heavy  step  ascending  the 
stairs.  The  house  was  quiet,  and  the  sound  attracted  my 
full  attention.  I  raised  myself  and  stood  listening,  hoping 
that  this  might  be  the  doctor,  who  had  not  been  that  day. 

The  footsteps  passed  the  landing  below,  but  at  the  first 
stair  of  the  next  flight  the  person,  whoever  it  was,  stumbled, 
and  made  a  considerable  noise.  At  that,  or  it  might  be  a 
moment  later,  the  step  still  ascending,  I  heard  a  sudden 
rustling  behind  me,  and,  turning  quickly  with  a  start,  saw 
my  mother  sitting  up  in  bed.  Her  eyes  were  open,  and  she 
seemed  fully  conscious ;  which  she  had  not  been  for  days, 
nor  indeed  since  the  last  conversation  I  have  recorded. 
But  her  face,  though  it  was  now  sensible,  was  pinched  and 
white,  and  so  drawn  with  mortal  fear  that  I  believed  her 
dying,  and  sprang  to  her,  unable  to  construe  otherwise  the 
pitiful  look  in  her  straining  eyes. 

'  Madame,'  I  said,  hastily  passing  my  arm  round  her,  and 
speaking  with  as  much  encouragement  as  I  could  infuse 
into  my  voice,  '  take  comfort.  I  am  here.  Your  son.' 

'  Hush ! '  she  muttered  in  answer,  laying  her  feeble  hand 
on  my  wrist  and  continuing  to  look,  not  at  me,  but  at  the 
door.  'Listen,  Gaston !  Don't  you  hear?  There  it  is 
again.  Again ! ' 

For  a  moment  I  thought  her  mind  still  wandered,  and  I 
shivered,  having  no  fondness  for  hearing  such  things. 
Then  1  saw  she  was  listening  intently  to  the  sound  which 
had  attracted  my  notice.  The  step  had  reached  the  land- 
ing by  this  time.  The  visitor,  whoever  it  was,  paused 
there  a  moment,  being  in  darkness,  and  uncertain,  perhaps, 
of  the  position  of  the  door ;  but  in  a  little  while  I  heard 
him  move  forward  again,  my  mother's  fragile  form,  clasped 


THE  MAN  AT  THE  DOOR  121 

as  it  was  in  my  embrace,  quivering  with  each  step  he  took, 
as  though  his  weight  stirred  the  house.  He  tapped  at  the 
door. 

I  had  thought,  while  I  listened  and  wondered,  of  more 
than  one  whom  this  might  be :  the  leech,  Simon  Fleix, 
Madame  Bruhl,  Fresnoy  even.  But  as  the  tap  came,  and  I 
felt  my  mother  tremble  in  my  arms,  enlightenment  came 
with  it,  and  I  pondered  no  more.  I  knew  as  well  as  if  she 
had  spoken  and  told  me.  There  could  be  only  one  man 
whose  presence  had  such  power  to  terrify  her,  only  one 
whose  mere  step,  sounding  through  the  veil,  could  drag  her 
back  to  consciousness  and  fear !  And  that  was  the  man 
who  had  beggared  her,  who  had  traded  so  long  on  her  terrors. 

I  moved  a  little,  intending  to  cross  the  floor  softly,  that 
when  he  opened  the  door  he  might  find  rne  face  to  face  with 
him;  but  she  detected  the  movement,  and,  love  giving  her 
strength,  she  clung  to  my  wrist  so  fiercely  that  I  had  not 
the  heart,  knowing  how  slender  was  her  hold  on  life  and 
how  near  the  brink  she  stood,  to  break  from  her.  I  con- 
strained myself  to  stand  still,  though  every  muscle  grew 
tense  as  a  drawn  bowstring,  and  I  felt  the  strong  rage  rising 
in  my  throat  and  choking  me  as  I  waited  for  him  to  enter. 

A  log  on  the  hearth  gave  way  with  a  dull  sound  startling 
in  the  silence.  The  man  tapped  again,  and  getting  no 
answer,  for  neither  of  us  spoke,  pushed  the  door  slowly 
open,  uttering  before  he  showed  himself  the  words,  'Dieu 
vous  benisse  ! '  in  a  voice  so  low  and  smooth  I  shuddered  at 
the  sound.  The  next  moment  he  came  in  and  saw  me,  and, 
starting,  stood  at  gaze,  his  head  thrust  slightly  forward, 
his  shoulders  bent,  his  hand  still  on  the  latch,  amazement 
and  frowning  spite  in  turn  distorting  his  lean  face.  He 
had  looked  to  find  a  weak,  defenceless  woman,  whom  he 
could  torture  and  rob  at  his  will ;  he  saw  instead  a  strong 
man  armed,  whose  righteous  anger  he  must  have  been  blind 
indeed  had  he  failed  to  read. 

Strangest  thing  of  all,  we  had  met  before  !  I  knew  him 
a*  once  —  he  me.  He  was  the  same  Jacobin  monk  whom  I 


122  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

had  seen  at  the  inn  on  the  Claine,  and  who  had  told  me  the 
news  of  Guise's  death ! 

I  uttered  an  exclamation  of  surprise  on  making  this  dis- 
covery, and  my  mother,  freed  suddenly,  as  it  seemed,  from 
the  spell  of  fear,  which  had  given  her  unnatural  strength, 
sank  back  on  the  bed.  Her  grasp  relaxed,  and  her  breath 
came  and  went  with  so  loud  a  rattle  that  I  removed  my 
gaze  from  him,  and  bent  over  her,  full  of  concern  and 
solicitude.  Our  eyes  met.  She  tried  to  speak,  and  at  last 
gasped,  '  Not  now,  G-aston  !  Let  him  —  let  him ' 

Her  lips  framed  the  word  '  go,'  but  she  could  not  give  it 
sound.  I  understood,  however,  and  in  impotent  wrath  I 
waved  my  hand  to  him  to  begone.  When  I  looked  up  he 
had  already  obeyed  me.  He  had  seized  the  first  oppor- 
tunity to  escape.  The  door  was  closed,  the  lamp  burned 
steadily,  and  we  were  alone. 

I  gave  her  a  little  Armagnac,  which  stood  beside  the  bed 
for  such  an  occasion,  and  she  revived,  and  presently  opened 
her  eyes.  But  I  saw  at  once  a  great  change  in  her.  The 
look  of  fear  had  passed  altogether  from  her  face,  and  one  of 
sorrow,  yet  content,  had  taken  its  place.  She  laid  her  hand 
in  mine,  and  looked  up  at  me,  being  too  weak,  as  I  thought, 
to  speak.  But  by-and-by,  when  the  strong  spirit  had  done 
its  work,  she  signed  to  me  to  lower  my  head  to  her  mouth. 

'The  King  of  Navarre/  she  murmured  —  'you  are  sure, 
Gaston  —  he  will  retain  you  in  your  — employments  ? ' 

Her  pleading  eyes  were  so  close  to  mine,  I  felt  no  scru- 
ples such  as  some  might  have  felt,  seeing  her  so  near  death ; 
but  I  answered  firmly  and  cheerfully,  'Madame,  I  am 
assured  of  it.  There  is  no  prince  in  Europe  so  trustworthy 
or  so  good  to  his  servants.' 

She  sighed  with  infinite  content,  and  blessed  him  in  a 
feeble  whisper.  '  And  if  you  live,'  she  went  on,  '  you  will 
rebuild  the  old  house,  Gaston.  The  walls  are  sound  yet. 
And  the  oak  in  the  hall  was  not  burned.  There  is  a  chest 
of  linen  at  Gil's,  and  a  chest  with  your  father's  gold  lace  — • 
but  that  is  pledged,'  she  added  dreamily.  '  I  forgot.' 


THE  MAN  AT  THE  DOOR  123 

'Madame/  I  answered  solemnly,  'it  shall  be  done  —  it 
shall  be  done  as  you  wish,  if  the  power  lie  with  me.' 

She  lay  for  some  time  after  that  murmuring  prayers,  her 
head  supported  on  my  shoulder.  I  longed  impatiently  for 
the  nurse  to  return,  that  I  might  despatch  her  for  the 
leech ;  not  that  I  thought  anything  could  be  done,  but  for 
my  own  comfort  and  greater  satisfaction  afterwards,  and 
that  my  mother  might  not  die  without  some  fitting  attend- 
ance. The  house  remained  quiet,  however,  with  that  im- 
pressive quietness  which  sobers  the  heart  at  such  times, 
and  I  could  not  do  this.  And  about  six  o'clock  my  mother 
opened  her  eyes  again. 

'  This  is  not  Marsac,'  she  murmured  abruptly,  her  eyes 
roving  from  the  ceiling  to  the  wall  at  the  foot  of  the  bed. 

'  No,  Madame,'  I  answered,  leaning  over  her, '  you  are  in 
Blois.  But  I  am  here — Gaston,  your  son.' 

She  looked  at  me,  a  faint  smile  of  pleasure  stealing  over 
her  pinched  face.  'Twelve  thousand  livres  a  year,'  she 
whispered,  rather  to  herself  than  to  me,  '  and  an  establish- 
ment, reduced  a  little,  yet  creditable,  very  creditable.'  For 
a  moment  she  seemed  to  be  dying  in  my  arms,  but  again 
opened  her  eyes  quickly  and  looked  me  in  the  face.  '  Gas- 
ton  ?'  she  said,  suddenly  and  strangely.  'Who  said  Gaston? 
He  is  with  the  King — I  have  blessed  him;  and  his  days 
shall  be  long  in  the  land ! '  Then,  raising  herself  in  my  arms 
with  a  last  effort  of  strength,  she  cried  loudly,  '  Way  there ! 
Way  for  my  son,  the  Sieur  de  Marsac ! ' 

They  were  her  last  words.  When  I  laid  her  down  on  the 
bed  a  moment  later,  she  was  dead,  and  I  was  alone. 

Madame  de  Bonne,  my  mother,  was  seventy  at  the  time 
of  her  death,  having  survived  my  father  eighteen  years. 
She  was  Marie  de  Roche  de  Loheac,  third  daughter  of 
Raoul,  Sieur  de  Loheac,  on  the  Vilaine,  and  by  her  great- 
grandmother,  a  daughter  of  Jean  de  Laval,  was  descended 
from  the  ducal  family  of  Rohan,  a  relationship  which  in 
after-times,  and  under  greatly  altered  circumstances,  Henry 
Duke  of  Rohan  condescended  to  acknowledge,  honouring 


124  A    GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

me  with  his  friendship  on  more  occasions  than  one.  Her 
death,  which  I  have  here  recorded,  took  place  on  the  fourth 
of  January,  the  Queen-Mother  of  France,  Catherine  de 
Medicis,  dying  a  little  after  noon  on  the  following  day. 

In  Blois,  as  in  every  other  town,  even  Paris  itself,  the 
Huguenots  possessed  at  this  time  a  powerful  organisation ; 
and  with  the  aid  of  the  surgeon,  who  showed  me  much  re- 
spect in  my  bereavement,  and  exercised  in  my  behalf  all  the 
influence  which  skilful  and  honest  men  of  his  craft  invaria- 
bly possess,  I  was  able  to  arrange  for  my  mother's  burial  in 
a  private  ground  about  a  league  beyond  the  walls  and  near 
the  village  of  Chaverny.  At  the  time  of  her  death  I  had 
only  thirty  crowns  in  gold  remaining,  Simon  Fleix,  to  whose 
fate  I  could  obtain  no  clue,  having  carried  off  thirty-five 
with  the  horses.  The  whole  of  this  residue,  however,  with 
the  exception  of  a  handsome  gratuity  to  the  nurse  and  a 
trifle  spent  on  my  clothes,  I  expended  on  the  funeral,  desiring 
that  no  stain  should  rest  on  my  mother's  birth  or  my  affection. 
Accordingly,  though  the  ceremony  was  of  necessity  private, 
and  indeed  secret,  and  the  mourners  were  few,  it  lacked 
nothing,  I  think,  of  the  decency  and  propriety  which  my 
mother  loved ;  and  which  she  preferred,  I  have  often  heard 
her  say,  to  the  vulgar  show  that  is  equally  at  the  command 
of  the  noble  and  the  farmer  of  taxes. 

Until  she  was  laid  in  her  quiet  resting-place  I  stood  in 
constant  fear  of  some  interruption  on  the  part  either  of 
Bruhl,  whose  connection  with  Fresnoy  and  the  abduction  I 
did  not  doubt,  or  of  the  Jacobin  monk.  But  none  came  ; 
and  nothing  happening  to  enlighten  me  as  to  the  fate  of 
Mademoiselle  de  la  Vire,  I  saw  my  duty  clear  before  me.  I 
disposed  of  the  furniture  of  my  mother's  room,  and  indeed 
of  everything  which  was  saleable,  and  raised  in  this  way 
enough  money  to  buy  myself  a  new  cloak — without  which 
I  could  not  travel  in  che  wintry  weather — and  to  hire  a 
horse.  Sorry  as  the  animal  was,  the  dealer  required  secur- 
ity, and  I  had  none  to  offer.  It  was  only  at  the  last  moment 
I  bethought  me  of  the  fragment  of  gold  chain  which  made* 


MAXIMILIAN  DE  BETHUNE,  BARON  DE  ROSNY    125 

moiselle  had  left  behind  her,  and  which,  as  well  as  my  moth- 
er's rings  and  vinaigrette,  I  had  kept  back  from  the  sale. 
This  I  was  forced  to  lodge  with  him.  Having  thus,  with 
some  pain  and  more  humiliation,  provided  means  for  the 
journey,  I  lost  not  an  hour  in  beginning  it.  On  the  eighth 
of  January  I  set  out  for  Rosny,  to  carry  the  news  of  my  ill- 
success  and  of  mademoiselle's  position  whither  I  had  looked 
a  week  before  to  carry  herself. 


CHAPTEK  XII. 

MAXIMILIAN    DE    BETHUNE,    BAEON    DE    KOSNT. 

I  LOOKED  to  make  the  journey  to  Rosny  in  two  days. 
But  the  heaviness  of  the  roads  and  the  sorry  condition  of 
my  hackney  hindered  me  so  greatly  that  I  lay  the  second 
night  at  Dreux,  and,  hearing  the  way  was  still  worse  be- 
tween that  place  and  my  destination,  began  to  think  that  I 
should  be  fortunate  if  I  reached  Rosny  by  the  following 
noon.  The  country  in  this  part  seemed  devoted  to  the 
League,  the  feeling  increasing  in  violence  as  I  approached 
the  Seine.  I  heard  nothing  save  abuse  of  the  King  of 
France  and  praise  of  the  Guise  princes,  and  had  much  ado. 
keeping  a  still  tongue  and  riding  modestly,  to  pass  without 
molestation  or  inquiry. 

Drawing  near  to  Rosny,  on  the  third  morning,  through  a 
low  marshy  country  covered  with  woods  and  alive  with 
game  of  all  kinds,  I  began  to  occupy  myself  with  thoughts 
of  the  reception  I  was  likely  to  encounter;  which,  I  con- 
jectured, would  be  none  of  the  most  pleasant.  The  daring 
and  vigour  of  the  Baron  de  Rosny,  who  had  at  this  time 
the  reputation  of  being  in  all  parts  of  France  at  once,  and 
the  familiar  terms  on  which  he  was  known  to  live  with  the 
King  of  Navarre,  gave  me  small  reason  to  hope  that  he 
would  listen  with  indulgence  to  such  a  tale  as  I  had  to  tell 


126  A    GENTLEMAN'  OF  FRANCE 

The  nearer  I  came  to  the  hour  of  telling  it,  indeed,  the 
more  improbable  seemed  some  of  its  parts,  and  the  more 
glaring  my  own  carelessness  in  losing  the  token,  and  in 
letting  mademoiselle  out  of  my  sight  in  such  a  place  as 
Blois.  I  saw  this  so  clearly  now,  and  more  clearly  as  the 
morning  advanced,  that  I  do  not  know  that  I  ever  antici- 
pated anything  with  more  fear  than  this  explanation ;  which 
it  yet  seemed  my  duty  to  offer  with  all  reasonable  speed. 
The  morning  was  warm,  I  remember;  cloudy,  yet  not  dark; 
the  air  near  at  hand  full  of  moisture  and  very  clear,  with  a 
circle  of  mist  rising  some  way  off,  and  filling  the  woods 
with  blue  distances.  The  road  was  deep  and  foundrous, 
and  as  I  was  obliged  to  leave  it  from  time  to  time  in  order- 
to  pass  the  worst  places,  I  presently  began  to  fear  that  I 
had  strayed  into  a  by-road.  After  advancing  some  distance, 
in  doubt  whethev  I  should  persevere  or  turn  back,  I  was 
glad  to  see  before  me  a  small  house  placed  at  the  junction 
of  se\eral  woodland  paths.  From  the  bush  which  hung 
over  the  door,  and  a  water-trough  which  stood  beside  it,  I 
judged  the  place  to  be  an  inn ;  and  determining  to  get  my 
horse  fed  before  I  went  farther,  I  rode  up  to  the  door  and 
rapped  on  it  with  my  riding-switch. 

The  position  of  the  house  was  so  remote  that  I  was  sur- 
prised to  see  three  or  four  heads  thrust  immediately  out  of 
a  window.  For  a  moment  I  thought  I  should  have  done 
better  to  have  passed  by ;  but  the  landlord  coming  out  very 
civilly,  and  leading  the  way  to  a  shed  beside  the  house,  I 
reflected  that  I  had  little  to  lose,  and  followed  him.  I 
found,  as  I  expected,  four  horses  tied  up  in  the  shed,  the 
bits  hanging  round  their  necks  and  their  girths  loosed; 
while  my  surprise  was  not  lessened  by  the  arrival,  before  I 
had  fastened  up  my  own  horse,  of  a  sixth  rider,  who,  seeing 
us  by  the  shed,  rode  up  to  us,  and  saluted  me  as  he  dis- 
mounted. 

He  was  a  tall,  strong  man  in  the  prime  of  youth,  wearing 
a  plain,  almost  mean  suit  of  dust-coloured  leather,  and 
carrying  no  weapons  except  a  hunting-knife,  which  hung  in 


MAXIMILIAN  DE  BETHUNE,  BARON  DE  ROSNY    127 

a  sheath  at  his  girdle.  He  rode  a  powerful  silver-roan 
horse,  and  was  splashed  to  the  top  of  his  high  untanned 
boots,  as  if  he  had  come  by  the  worst  of  paths,  if  by  any. 

He  cast  a  shrewd  glance  at  the  landlord  as  he  led  his 
horse  into  the  shed;  and  I  judged  from  his  brown  complex- 
ion and  quick  eyes  that  he  had  seen  much  weather  and 
lived  an  out-of-door  life. 

He  watched  me  somewhat  curiously  while  I  mixed  the 
fodder  for  my  horse ;  and  when  I  went  into  the  house  and 
sat  down  in  the  first  room  I  came  to,  to  eat  a  little  bread- 
and-cheese  which  I  had  in  my  pouch,  he  joined  me  almost 
immediately.  Apparently  he  could  not  stomach  my  poor 
fare,  however,  for  after  watching  me  for  a  time  in  silence, 
switching  his  boot  with  his  Avhip  the  while,  he  called  the 
landlord,  and  asked  him,  in  a  masterful  way,  what  fresh 
meat  he  had,  and  particularly  if  he  had  any  lean  collops,  or 
a  fowl. 

The  fellow  answered  that  there  was  nothing.  His  honour 
could  have  some  Lisieux  cheese,  he  added,  or  some  stewed 
lentils. 

'His  honour  does  not  want  cheese,'  the  stranger  answered 
peevishly,  'nor  lentil  porridge.  And  what  is  this  I  smell, 
my  friend  ?'  he  continued,  beginning  suddenly  to  sniff  with 
vigour.  'I  swear  I  smell  cooking.' 

'  It  is  the  hind-quarter  of  a  buck,  which  is  cooking  for 
the  four  gentlemen  of  the  Robe ;  with  a  collop  or  two  to 
follow,'  the  landlord  explained ;  and  humbly  excused  him- 
self on  the  ground  that  the  gentlemen  had  strictly  engaged 
it  for  their  own  eating. 

'  What  ?  A  whole  quarter !  and  a  collop  or  two  to  follow ! ' 
the  stranger  retorted,  smacking  his  lips.  '  Who  are  they  ? ' 

' Two  advocates  and  their  clerks  from  the  Parliament  of 
Paris.  They  have  been  viewing  a  boundary  near  here,  and 
are  returning  this  afternoon,'  the  landlord  answered. 

'No  reason  why  they  should  cause  a  famine  ! '  ejaculated 
the  stranger  with  energy.  '  Go  to  them  and  say  a  gentle- 
man, who  has  ridden  far,  and  fasted  since  seven  this  morn- 


128  A   GENTLEMAN"  OF  FRANCE 

ing,  requests  permission  to  sit  at  their  table.  A  quarter  of 
venison  and  a  collop  or  two  among  four ! '  he  continued,  in 
atone  of  extreme  disgust.  'It  is  intolerable!  And  advo- 
cates !  Why,  at  that  rate,  the  King  of  France  should  eat  a 
whole  buck,  and  rise  hungry  !  Don't  you  agree  with  me, 
sir  ?'  he  continued,  turning  on  me  and  putting  the  question 
abruptly. 

He  was  so  comically  and  yet  so  seriously  angry,  and 
looked  so  closely  at  me  as  he  spoke,  that  I  hastened  to 
say  I  agreed  with  him  perfectly. 

'  Yet  you  eat  cheese,  sir ! '  he  retorted  irritably. 

I  saw  that,  not  withstanding  the  simplicity  of  his  dress, 
he  was  a  gentleman,  and  so,  forbearing  to  take  offence,  I 
told  him  plainly  that  my  purse  being  light  I  travelled 
rather  as  I  could  than  as  I  would. 

'  Is  it  so  ? '  he  answered  hastily.  '  Had  I  known  that,  I 
would  have  joined  you  in  the  cheese !  After  all,  I  would 
rather  fast  with  a  gentleman,  than  feast  with  a  churl.  But 
it  is  too  late  now.  Seeing  you  mix  the  fodder,  I  thought 
your  pockets  were  full.' 

'  The  nag  is  tired,  and  has  done  its  best,'  I  answered. 

He  looked  at  me  curiously,  and  as  though  he  would  say 
more.  But  the  landlord  returning  at  that  moment,  he 
turned  to  him  instead. 

<  Well ! '  he  said  briskly.     '  Is  it  all  right  ?  ' 

'I  am  sorry,  your  honour,'  the  man  answered,  reluctantly, 
and  with  a  very  downcast  air,  '  but  the  gentlemen  beg  to 
be  excused.' 

'  Zounds  ! '  cried  my  companion  roundly.  '  They  do,  do 
they  ? ' 

'  They  say  they  have  no  more,  sir,'  the  landlord  continued, 
faltering,  '  than  enough  for  themselves  and  a  little  dog  they 
have  with  them.' 

A  shout  of  laughter  which  issued  at  that  moment  from 
the  other  room  seemed  to  show  that  the  quartette  were 
making  merry  over  my  companion's  request.  I  saw  his 
cheek  redden,  and  looked  for  an  explosion  of  anger  on  his 


MAXIMILIAN  DE  BETHUNE,  BARON  DE  ROSNY    129 

part;  but  instead  he  stood  a  moment  in  thought  in  the 
middle  of  the  floor,  and  then,  much  to  the  innkeeper's 
relief,  pushed  a  stool  towards  me,  and  called  for  a  bottle  of 
the  best  wine.  He  pleasantly  begged  leave  to  eat  a  little 
of  my  cheese,  which  he  said  looked  better  than  the  Lisieux, 
and,  filling  my  glass  with  wine,  fell  to  as  merrily  as  if  he 
had  never  heard  of  the  party  in  the  other  room. 

I  was  more  than  a  little  surprised,  I  remember;  for  I 
had  taken  him  to  be  a  passionate  man,  and  not  one  to  sit 
down  under  an  affront.  Still  I  said  nothing,  and  we  con- 
versed very  well  together.  I  noticed,  however,  that  he 
stopped  speaking  more  than  once,  as  though  to  listen ;  but 
conceiving  that  he  was  merely  reverting  to  the  party  in  the 
other  room,  who  grew  each  moment  more  uproarious,  I  said 
nothing,  and  was  completely  taken  by  surprise  when  he 
rose  on  a  sudden,  and,  going  to  the  open  window,  leaned 
out,  shading  his  eyes  with  his  hand. 

'  What  is  it  ? '  I  said,  preparing  to  follow  him. 

He  answered  by  a  quiet  chuckle.  'You  shall  see/  he 
added  the  next  instant. 

I  rose,  and  going  to  the  window  looked  out  over  his  shoul- 
der. Three  men  were  approaching  the  inn  on  horseback. 
The  first,  a  great  burly,  dark-complexioned  man  with  fierce 
black  eyes  and  a  feathered  cap,  had  pistols  in  his  holsters 
and  a  short  sword  by  his  side.  The  other  two,  with  the 
air  of  servants,  were  stout  fellows,  wearing  green  doublets 
and  leather  breeches.  All  three  rode  good  horses,  while  a 
footman  led  two  hounds  after  them  in  a  leash.  On  seeing 
us  they  cantered  forward,  the  leader  waving  his  bonnet. 

'  Halt,  there ! '  cried  my  companion,  lifting  up  his  voice 
when  they  were  within  a  stone's  throw  of  us.  *  Maignan  ! ' 

'  My  lord  ? '  answered  he  of  the  feather,  pulling  up  on 
the  instant. 

'  You  will  find  six  horses  in  the  shed  there,'  the  stranger 
cried  in  a  voice  of  command.  '  Turn  out  the  four  to  the 
left  as  you  go  in.  Give  each  a  cut,  and  send  it  about  its 
business ! ' 

j 


130  A    GENTLEMAAT  OF  FRANCE 

The  man  wheeled  his  horse  before  the  words  were  well 
uttered,  and  crying  obsequiously  '  that  it  was  done/  flung  his 
reins  to  one  of  the  other  riders  and  disappeared  in  the  shed, 
as  if  the  order  given  him  were  the  most  commonplace  one 
in  the  world. 

The  party  in  the  other  room,  however,  by  whom,  all 
could  be  heard,  were  not  slow  to  take  the  alarm.  They 
broke  into  a  shout  of  remonstrance,  and  one  of  their  num- 
ber, leaping  from  the  window,  asked  with  a  very  fierce  air 
what  the  devil  we  meant.  The  others  thrust  out  their 
faces,  swollen  and  flushed  with  the  wine  they  had  drunk, 
and  with  many  oaths  backed  up  his  question.  Not  feeling 
myself  called  upon  to  interfere,  I  prepared  to  see  something 
diverting. 

My  companion,  whose  coolness  surprised  me,  had  all  the 
air  of  being  as  little  concerned  as  myself.  He  even  per- 
sisted for  a  time  in  ignoring  the  angry  lawyer,  and,  turning 
a  deaf  ear  to  all  the  threats  and  abuse  with  which  the  others 
assailed  him,  continued  to  look  calmly  at  the  prospect. 
Seeing  this,  and  that  nothing  could  move  him,  the  man 
who  had  jumped  through  the  window,  and  who  seemed  the 
most  enterprising  of  the  party,  left  us  at  last  and  ran 
towards  the  stalls.  The  aspect  of  the  two  serving-men, 
however,  who  rode  up  grinning,  and  made  as  if  they  would 
ride  him  down,  determined  him  to  return ;  which  he  did, 
pale  with  fury,  as  the  last  of  the  four  horses  clattered  out, 
and  after  a  puzzled  look  round  trotted  off  at  its  leisure  into 
the  forest. 

On  this,  the  man  grew  more  violent,  as  I  have  remarked 
frightened  men  do;  so  that  at  last  the  stranger  conde- 
scended to  notice  him.  '  My  good  sir/  he  said  coolly,  look- 
ing at  him  through  the  window  as  if  he  had  not  seen  him 
before,  '  you  annoy  me.  What  is  the  matter  ? ' 

The  fellow  retorted  with  a  vast  amount  of  bluster,  asking 
what  the  devil  we  meant  by  turning  out  his  horses. 

'Only  to  give  you  and  the  gentlemen  with  you  a  little  exer- 
cise/ my  companion  answered,  with  grim  humour,  and  in  a 


MAXIMILIAN  DE  BETHUNE,  BARON  DE  ROSNY    131 

severe  tone  strange  in  one  so  young — 'than  which,  nothing  is 
more  wholesome  after  a  full  meal.  That,  and  a  lesson  in 
good  manners.  Maignan,'  he  continued,  raising  his  voice,  'if 
this  person  has  anything  more  to  say,  answer  him.  He  is 
nearer  your  degree  than  mine.' 

And  leaving  the  man  to  slink  away  like  a  whipped  dog — 
for  the  mean  are  ever  the  first  to  cringe — my  friend  turned 
from  the  window.  Meeting  my  eyes  as  he  went  back  to  his 
seat,  he  laughed.  'Well,'  he  said,  'what  do  you  think?' 

'  That  the  ass  in  the  lion's  skin  is  very  well  till  it  meets 
the  lion,'  I  answered. 

He  laughed  again,  and  seemed  pleased,  as  I  doubt  not  he 
was.  '  Pooh,  pooh  ! '  he  said.  '  It  passed  the  time,  and  I 
think  I  am  quits  with  my  gentlemen  now.  But  I  must  be 
riding.  Possibly  our  roads  may  lie  for  a  while  in  the  same 
direction,  sir  ? '  And  he  looked  at  me  irresolutely. 

I  answered  cautiously  that  I  was  going  to  the  town  of 
Kosny. 

'You  are  not  from  Paris  ? '  he  continued,  still  looking  at 
me. 

'  No,'  I  answered.     '  I  am  from  the  south.' 

'From  Blois,  perhaps  ?' 

I  nodded. 

'  Ah ! '  he  said,  making  no  comment,  which  somewhat  sur- 
prised me,  all  men  at  this  time  desiring  news,  and  looking 
to  Blois  for  it.  '  I  am  riding  towards  Kosny  also.  Let  us 
be  going.' 

But  I  noticed  that  as  we  got  to  horse,  the  man  he  called 
Maignan  holding  his  stirrup  with  much  formality,  he  turned 
and  looked  at  me  more  than  once  with  an  expression  in  his 
eye  which  I  could  not  interpret ;  so  that,  being  in  an  ene- 
my's country,  where  curiosity  was  a  thing  to  be  deprecated, 
I  began  to  feel  somewhat  uneasy.  However,  as  he  presently 
gave  way  to  a  fit  of  laughter,  and  seemed  to  be  digesting 
his  late  diversion  at  the  inn,  I  thought  no  more  of  it, 
finding  him  excellent  company  and  a  man  of  surprising 
information. 


132  A   GENTLEMAN-  OF  FRANCE 

Notwithstanding  this  my  spirits  began  to  flag  as  I  ap- 
proached Rosny ;  and  as  on  such  occasions  nothing  is  more 
trying  than  the  well-meant  rallying  of  a  companion  igno- 
rant of  our  trouble,  I  felt  rather  relief  than  regret  when  he 
drew  rein  at  four  cross-roads  a  mile  or  so  short  of  the  town, 
and,  announcing  that  here  our  paths  separated,  took  a  civil 
leave  of  me,  and  went  his  way  with  his  servants. 

I  dismounted  at  an  inn  at  the  extremity  of  the  town,  and, 
stopping  only  to  arrange  my  dress  and  drink  a  cup  of  wine, 
asked  the  way  to  the  Chateau,  which  was  situate,  I  learned, 
no  more  than  a  third  of  a  mile  away.  I  went  thither  on 
foot  by  way  of  an  avenue  of  trees  leading  up  to  a  draw- 
bridge and  gateway.  The  former  was  down,  but  the  gates 
were  closed,  and  all  the  formalities  of  a  fortress  in  time  of 
war  were  observed  on  my  admission,  though  the  garrison 
appeared  to  consist  only  of  two  or  three  serving-men  and 
as  many  foresters.  I  had  leisure  after  sending  in  my  name 
to  observe  that  the  house  was  old  and  partly  ruinous,  but  of 
great  strength,  covered  in  places  with  ivy,  and  closely  sur- 
rounded by  woods.  A  staid-looking  page  came  presently 
to  me,  and  led  me  up  a  narrow  staircase  to  a  parlour  lighted 
by  two  windows,  looking,  one  into  the  courtyard,  the  other 
towards  the  town.  Here  a  tall  man  was  waiting  to  re- 
ceive me,  who  rose  on  my  entrance  and  came  forward. 
Judge  of  my  surprise  when  I  recognised  my  acquaintance  of 
the  afternoon !  *  M.  de  Rosny  ? '  I  exclaimed,  standing  still 
and  looking  at  him  in  confusion. 

'The  same,  sir,'  he  answered,  with  a  quiet  smile.  'You 
come  from  the  King  of  Navarre,  I  believe,  and  on  an  errand 
to  me.  You  may  speak  openly.  The  king  has  no  secrets 
from  me.' 

There  was  something  in  the  gravity  of  his  demeanour  as 
he  waited  for  me  to  speak  which  strongly  impressed  me; 
notwithstanding  that  he  was  ten  years  younger  than  my- 
self, arid  I  had  seen  him  so  lately  in  a  lighter  mood.  I  felt 
that  his  reputation  had  not  belied  him — that  here  was  a 
great  man ;  and  reflecting  with  despair  on  the  inadequacy 


MAXIMILIAN  DE  BETHUNE,  BARON  DE  ROSNY    133 

of  the  tale  I  had  to  tell  him,  I  paused  to  consider  in  what 
terms  I  should  begin.  He  soon  put  an  end  to  this,  however. 
' Come,  sir/  he  said  with  impatience.  '  I  have  told  you  that 
you  may  speak  out.  You  should  have  been  here  four  days 
ago,  as  I  take  it.  Now  you  are  here,  where  is  the  lady  ? ' 

'  Mademoiselle  de  la  Vire  ?  '  I  stammered,  rather  to  gain 
time  than  with  any  other  object. 

'  Tut,  tut ! '  he  rejoined,  frowning.  ( Is  there  any  other 
lady  in  the  question  ?  Come,  sir,  speak  out.  Where  have 
you  left  her  ?  This  is  no  affair  of  gallantry,'  he  continued, 
the  harshness  of  his  demeanour  disagreeably  surprising  me, 
1  that  you  need  beat  about  the  bush.  The  king  entrusted 
to  you  a  lady,  who,  I  have  no  hesitation  in  telling  you  now, 
was  in  possession  of  certain  State  secrets.  It  is  known 
that  she  escaped  safely  from  Chize  and  arrived  safely  at 
Blois.  Where  is  she  ?  ' 

'  I  would  to  Heaven  I  knew,  sir ! '  I  exclaimed  in  despair, 
feeling  the  painfulness  of  my  position  increased  a  hundred- 
fold by  his  manner.  '  I  wish  to  God  I  did.' 

'  What  is  this  ? '  he  cried  in  a  raised  voice.  '  You  do  not 
know  where  she  is  ?  You  jest,  M.  de  Marsac.' 

'  It  were  a  sorry  jest,'  I  answered,  summoning  up  a  rueful 
smile.  And  on  that,  plunging  desperately  into  the  story 
which  I  have  here  set  down,  I  narrated  the  difficulties 
under  which  I  had  raised  my  escort,  the  manner  in  which  I 
came  to  be  robbed  of  the  gold  token,  how  mademoiselle  was 
trepanned,  the  lucky  chance  by  which  I  found  her  again, 
and  the  final  disappointment.  He  listened,  but  listened 
throughout  with  no  word  of  sympathy — rather  with  im- 
patience, which  grew  at  last  into  derisive^  incredulity. 
When  I  had  done  he  asked  me  bluntly  what  I  called 
myself. 

Scarcely  understanding  what  he  meant,  I  repeated  my  name. 

He  answered,  rudely  and  flatly,  that  it  was  impossible. 
'  I  do  not  believe  it,  sir ! '  he  repeated,  his  brow  dark.  '  You 
are  not  the  man.  You  bring  neither  the  lady  nor  the  token, 
nor  anything  else  by  which  I  can  test  your  story.  Nay. 


134  A    GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

sir,  do  not  scowl  at  ine,'  he  continued  sharply.  '  I  am  the 
mouthpiece  of  the  King  of  Navarre,  to  whom  this  matter  is 
of  the  highest  importance.  I  cannot  believe  that  the  man 
whom  he  would  choose  would  act  so.  This  house  you  prate 
of  in  Blois,  for  instance,  and  the  room  with  the  two  doors  ? 
What  were  you  doing  while  mademoiselle  was  being  re- 
moved ? ' 

'  I  was  engaged  with  the  men  of  the  house,'  I  answered, 
striving  to  swallow  the  anger  which  all  but  choked  me.  '  I 
did  what  I  could.  Had  the  door  given  way,  all  would  have 
been  well.' 

He  looked  at  me  darkly.  '  That  is  fine  talking  ! '  he  said 
with  a  sneer.  Then  he  dropped  his  eyes  and  seemed  for  a 
time  to  fall  into  a  brown  study,  while  I  stood  before  him, 
confounded  by  this  new  view  of  the  case,  furious,  yet  not 
knowing  how  to  vent  my  fury,  cut  to  the  heart  by  his 
insults,  yet  without  hope  or  prospect  of  redress. 

1  Come  ! '  he  said  harshly,  after  two  or  three  minutes  of 
gloomy  reflection  on  his  part  and  burning  humiliation  on 
mine,  'is  there  anyone  here  who  can  identify  you,  or  in 
any  other  way  confirm  your  story,  sir  ?  Until  I  know  how 
the  matter  stands  I  can  do  nothing.' 

I  shook  my  head  in  sullen  shame.  I  might  protest 
against  his  brutality  and  this  judgment  of  me,  but  to  what 
purpose  while  he  sheltered  himself  behind  his  master  ? 

'  Stay ! '  he  said  presently,  with  an  abrupt  gesture  of 
remembrance.  '  I  had  nearly  forgotten.  I  have  some  here 
who  have  been  lately  at  the  King  of  Navarre's  Court  at  St. 
Jean  d'Angely.  If  you  still  maintain  that  you  are  the 
M.  de  Marsac  to  whom  this  commission  was  entrusted,  you 
will  doubtless  have  no  objection  to  seeing  them  ? ' 

On  this  I  felt  myself  placed  in  a  most  cruel  dilemma.  If 
I  refused  to  submit  my  case  to  the  proposed  ordeal,  I  stood 
an  impostor  confessed.  If  I  consented  to  see  these  strangers, 
it  was  probable  they  would  not  recognise  me,  and  possible 
that  they  might  deny  me  in  terms  calculated  to  make  my 
position  even  worse,  if  that  might  be.  I  hesitated ;  but, 


MAXIMILIAN  DE  BETHUNE,  BARON  DE  ROSNY    135 

Kosny  standing  inexorable  before  me  awaiting  an  answer,  I 
finally  consented. 

'  Good ! '  he  said  curtly.  '  This  way,  if  you  please.  They 
are  here.  The  latch  is  tricky.  Nay,  sir,  it  is  my  house.' 

Obeying  the  stern  motion  of  his  hand,  I  passed  before 
him  into  the  next  room,  feeling  myself  more  humiliated 
than  I  can  tell  by  this  reference  to  strangers.  For  a  mo- 
ment I  could  see  no  one.  The  day  was  waning,  the  room  I 
entered  was  long  and  narrow,  and  illuminated  only  by  a 
glowing  fire.  Besides  I  was  myself,  perhaps,  in  some 
embarrassment.  I  believed  that  my  conductor  had  made  a 
mistake,  or  that  his  guests  had  departed,  and  I  turned 
towards  him  to  ask  for  an  explanation.  He  merely  pointed 
onwards,  however,  and  I  advanced  ;  whereupon  a  young  and 
handsome  lady,  who  had  been  seated  in  the  shadow  of  the 
great  fireplace,  rose  suddenly,  as  if  startled,  and  stood 
looking  at  me,  the  glow  of  the  burning  wood  falling  on  one 
side  of  her  face  and  turning  her  hair  to  gold. 

'  Well ! '  M.  de  Rosny  said,  in  a  voice  which  sounded  a 
little  odd  in  my  ears.  '  You  do  not  know  madame,  I 
think  ? ' 

I  saw  that  she  was  a  complete  stranger  to  me,  and  bowed 
to  her  without  speaking.  The  lady  saluted  me  in  turn 
ceremoniously  and  in  silence. 

*  Is  there  no  one  else  here  who  should  know  you  ? '  M. 
de  Kosny  continued,  in  a  tone  almost  of  persiflage,  and 
with  the  same  change  in  his  voice  which  had  struck  me 
before;  but  now  it  was  more  marked.  'If  not,  M.  de  Mar- 
sac,  I  am  afraid But  first  look  round,  look  round,  sir ; 

I  would  not  judge  any  man  hastily.' 

He  laid  his  hand  on  my  shoulder  as  he  finished  in  a 
manner  so  familiar  and  so  utterly  at  variance  with  his 
former  bearing  that  I  doubted  if  I  heard  or  felt  aright. 
Yet  I  looked  mechanically  at  the  lady,  and  seeing  that  her 
eyes  glistened  in  the  firelight,  and  that  she  gazed  at  me 
very  kindly,  I  wondered  still  more ;  falling,  indeed,  into  a 
very  confusion  of  amazement.  This  was  not  lessened  but 


136  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

augmented  a  hundredfold  when,  turning  in  obedience  to  the 
pressure  of  de  Rosny's  hand,  I  saw  beside  me,  as  if  she  had 
risen  from  the  floor,  another  lady — no  other  than  Mademoi- 
selle de  la  Vire  herself !  She  had  that  moment  stepped  out 
of  the  shadow  of  the  great  fireplace,  which  had  hitherto 
hidden  her,  and  stood  before  me  curtseying  prettily,  with 
the  same  look  on  her  face  and  in  her  eyes  which  madame's 
wore. 

'Mademoiselle  ! '  I  muttered,  unable  to  take  my  eyes  from 
her. 

'Mais  oui,  monsieur,  mademoiselle,'  she  answered,  curt- 
seying lower,  with  the  air  of  a  child  rather  than  a  woman. 

'Here?'  I  stammered,  my  mouth  open,  my  eyes  staring. 

'Here,  sir — thanks  to  the  valour  of  a  brave  man,'  she 
answered,  speaking  in  a  voice  so  low  I  scarcely  heard  her. 
And  then,  dropping  her  eyes,  she  stepped  back  into  the 
shadow,  as  if  either  she  had  said  too  much  already,  or 
doubted  her  composure  were  she  to  say  more.  She  was  so 
radiantly  dressed,  she  looked  in  the  firelight  more  like  a 
fairy  than  a  woman,  being  of  small  and  delicate  propor- 
tions ;  and  she  seemed  in  my  eyes  so  different  a  person, 
particularly  in  respect  of  the  softened  expression  of  her 
features,  from  the  Mademoiselle  de  la  Vire  whom  I  had 
known  and  seen  plunged  in  sloughs  and  bent  to  the  saddle 
with  fatigue,  that  I  doubted  still  if  I  had  seen  aright,  and 
was  as  far  from  enlightenment  as  before. 

It  was  M.  de  Rosny  himself  who  relieved  me  from  the 
embarrassment  I  was  suffering.  He  embraced  me  in  the 
most  kind  and  obliging  manner,  and  this  more  than  once ; 
begging  me  to  pardon  the  deception  he  had  practised  upon 
me,  and  to  which  he  had  been  impelled  partly  by  the  odd 
nature  of  our  introduction  at  the  inn,  and  partly  by  his 
desire  to  enhance  the  joyful  surprise  he  had  in  store  for 
me.  '  Come,'  he  said  presently,  drawing  me  to  the  window, 
'let  me  show  you  some  more  of  your  old  friends.' 

I  looked  out,  and  saw  below  me  in  the  courtyard  my 
three  horses  drawn  up  in  a  row,  the  Cid  being  bestridden  by 


MAXIMILIAN  DE  BETHUNE,  BARON  DE  ROSNY    137 

Simon  Fleix,  who,  seeing  me,  waved  a  triumphant  greeting. 
A  groom  stood  at  the  head  of  each  horse,  and  on  either  side 
was  a  man  with  a  torch.  My  companion  laughed  gleefully. 
<Jt  was  Maignan's  arrangement/  he  said.  'He  has  a  quaint 
taste  in  such  things.' 

After  greeting  Simon  Fleix  a  hundred  times,  I  turned 
back  into  the  room,  and,  my  heart  overflowing  with  grati- 
tude and  wonder,  I  begged  M.  de  Rosny  to  acquaint  me 
with  the  details  of  mademoiselle's  escape. 

'It  was  the  most  simple  thing  in  the  world,'  he  said, 
taking  me  by  the  hand  and  leading  me  back  to  the  hearth. 
'While  you  were  engaged  with  the  rascals,  the  old  woman 
who  daily  brought  mademoiselle's  food  grew  alarmed  at  the 
uproar,  and  came  into  the  room  to  learn  what  it  was. 
Mademoiselle,  unable  to  help  you,  and  uncertain  of  your 
success,  thought  the  opportunity  too  good  to  be  lost.  She 
forced  the  old  woman  to  show  her  and  her  maid  the  way  out 
through  the  garden.  This  done,  they  ran  down  a  lane,  as 
I  understand,  and  came  immediately  upon  the  lad  with  the 
horses,  who  recognised  them  and  helped  them  to  mount. 
They  waited  some  minutes  for  you,  and  then  rode  off. ' 

'But  I  inquired  at  the  gate,'  I  said. 

'At  which  gate?'  inquired  M.  de  Rosny,  smiling. 

'The  North-gate,  of  course,'  I  answered. 

'Just  so,'  he  rejoined  with  a  nod.  'But  they  went  out 
through  the  West-gate  and  made  a  circuit.  He  is  a  strange 
lad,  that  of  yours  below  there.  He  has  a  head  on  his 
shoulder,  M.  de  Marsac.  Well,  two  leagues  outside  the 
town  they  halted,  scarcely  knowing  how  to  proceed.  By 
good  fortune,  hoAvever,  a  horse-dealer  of  my  acquaintance 
was  at  the  inn.  He  knew  Mademoiselle  de  la  Vire,  and, 
hearing  whither  she  was  bound,  brought  her  hither  with- 
out let  or  hindrance.' 

'Was  he  a  Norman? '  I  asked. 

M.  de  Rosny  nodded,  smiling  at  me  shrewdly.  'Yes,' 
he  said,  'he  told  me  much  about  you.  And  now  let  me 
introduce  you  to  my  wife,  Madame  de  Rosny. ' 


138  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

He  led  me  up  to  the  lady  who  had  risen  at  my  entrance, 
and  who  now  welcomed  me  as  kindly  as  she  had  before 
looked  on  me,  paying  me  many  pleasant  compliments.  I 
gazed  at  her  with  interest,  having  heard  much  of  her  beauty 
and  of  the  strange  manner  in  which  M.  de  Eosny,  being 
enamoured  of  two  young  ladies,  and  chancing  upon  both 
while  lodging  in  different  apartments  at  an  inn,  had  decided 
which  he  should  visit  and  make  his  wife.  He  appeared  to 
read  what  was  in  my  mind,  for  as  I  bowed  before  her, 
thanking  her  for  the  obliging  things  which  she  had  uttered, 
and  which  for  ever  bound  me  to  her  service,  he  gaily 
pinched  her  ear,  and  said,  'When  you  want  a  good  wife,  M. 
de  Marsac,  be  sure  you  turn  to  the  right. ' 

He  spoke  in  jest,  and  having  his  own  case  only  in  his 
mind.  But  I,  looking  mechanically  in  the  direction  he 
indicated,  saw  mademoiselle  standing  a  pace  or  two  to  my 
right  in  the  shadow  of  the  great  chimney-piece.  I  know 
not  whether  she  frowned  more  or  blushed  more;  but  this 
for  certain,  that  she  answered  my  look  with  one  of  sharp 
displeasure,  and,  turning  her  back  on  me,  swept  quickly 
from  the  room,  with  no  trace  in  her  bearing  of  that  late 
tenderness  and  gratitude  which  I  had  remarked. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

AT   BOSNY. 

THE  morning  brought  only  fresh  proofs  of  the  kindness 
which  M.  de  Rosny  had  conceived  for  me.  Awaking  early  I 
found  on  a  stool  beside  my  clothes,  a  purse  of  gold  contain- 
ing a  hundred  crowns ;  and  a  youth  presently  entering  to 
ask  me  if  I  lacked  anything,  I  had  at  first  some  difficulty 
in  recognising  Simon  Fleix,  so  sprucely  was  the  lad  dressed, 
in  a  mode  resembling  Maignan's.  I  looked  at  the  student 
more  than  once  before  I  addressed  him  by  his  name; 


AT  ROSNY  139 

was  as  much  surprised  by  the  strange  change  I  observed  in 
him — for  it  was  not  confined  to  his  clothes — as  by  anything 
which  had  happened  since  I  entered  the  house.  I  rubbed 
my  eyes,  and  asked  him  what  he  had  done  with  his  soutane. 

'Burned  it,  M.  de  Marsac,'  he  answered  briefly. 

I  saw  that  he  had  burned  much,  metaphorically  speaking, 
besides  his  soutane.  He  was  less  pale,  less  lank,  less  wo- 
begone  than  formerly,  and  went  more  briskly.  He  had  lost 
the  air  of  crack-brained  disorder  which  had  distinguished 
him,  and  was  smart,  sedate,  and  stooped  less.  Only  the 
odd  sparkle  remained  in  his  eyes,  and  bore  witness  to  the 
same  nervous,  eager  spirit  within. 

'"What  are  you  going  to  do,  then,  Simon?'  I  asked,  not- 
ing these  changes  curiously. 

'I  am  a  soldier,'  he  answered,  'and  follow  M.  de  Marsac.' 

I  laughed.  'You  have  chosen  a  poor  service,  I  am  afraid, ' 
I  said,  beginning  to  rise;  'and  one,  too,  Simon,  in  which  it 
is  possible  you  may  be  killed.  I  thought  that  would  not 
suit  you, '  I  continued,  to  see  what  he  would  say.  But  he 
answered  nothing,  and  1  looked  at  him  in  great  surprise. 
'You  have  made  up  your  mind,  then,  at  last?  '  I  said. 

*  Perfectly,'  he  answered. 

'And  solved  all  your  doubts? ' 

'I  have  no  doubts.' 

'You  are  a  Huguenot? ' 

'That  is  the  only  true  and  pure  religion,'  he  replied 
gravely.  And  with  apparent  sincerity  and  devotion  he 
repeated  Beza's  Confession  of  Faith. 

This  filled  me  with  profound  astonishment,  but  I  said  no 
more  at  the  time,  though  I  had  my  doubts.  I  waited  until 
I  was  alone  with  M.  de  Rosny,  and  then  I  unbosomed  my- 
self on  the  matter ;  expressing  my  surprise  at  the  sudden- 
ness of  the  conversion,  and  at  such  a  man,  as  I  had  found 
the  student  to  be,  stating  his  views  so  firmly  and  stead- 
fastly, and  with  so  little  excitement.  Observing  that  M. 
de  Rosny  smiled  but  answered  nothing,  I  explained  myself 
farther. 


140  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

'I  am  surprised,'  I  said,  'because  I  have  always  heard  it 
maintained  that  clerkly  men,  becoming  lost  in  the  mazes 
of  theology,  seldom  find  any  sure  footing;  that  not  one  in 
a  hundred  returns  to  his  old  faith,  or  finds  grace  to  accept 
a  new  one.  I  am  speaking  only  of  such,  of  course,  as  I  be- 
lieve this  lad  to  be — eager,  excitable  brains,  learning  much, 
and  without  judgment  to  digest  what  they  learn.' 

'Of  such  I  also  believe  it  to  be  true,'  M.  de  Eosny  an- 
swered, still  smiling.  'But  even  on  them  a  little  influence, 
applied  at  the  right  moment,  has  much  effect,  M.  de 
Marsac.' 

'I  allow  that,'  I  said.  'But  my  mother,  of  whom  I  have 
spoken  to  you,  saw  much  of  this  youth.  His  fidelity  to 
her  was  beyond  praise.  Yet  her  faith,  though  grounded 
on  a  rock,  had  no  weight  with  him.' 

M.  de  Rosny  shook  his  head,  still  smiling. 

'It  is  not  our  mothers  who  convert  us,'  he  said. 

'What!'  I  cried,  my  eyes  opened.  'Do  you  mean — do 
you  mean  that  Mademoiselle  has  done  this?' 

'I  fancy  so,'  he  answered,  nodding.  'I  think  my  lady 
cast  her  spell  over  him  by  the  way.  The  lad  left  Blois  with 
her,  if  what  you  say  be  true,  Avithout  faith  in  the  world. 
He  came  to  my  hands  two  days  later  the  stoutest  of  Hugue- 
nots. It  is  not  hard  to  read  this  riddle.' 

'Such  conversions  are  seldom  lasting,'  I  said. 

He  looked  at  me  queerly;  and,  the  smile  still  hovering 
about  his  lips,  answered  'Tush,  man!  Why  so  serious? 
Theodore  Beza  himself  could  not  look  dryer.  The  lad  is 
in  earnest,  and  there  is  no  harm  done.' 

And,  Heaven  knows,  I  was  in  no  mood  to  suspect  harm ; 
nor  inclined  just  then  to  look  at  the  dark  side  of  things.  It 
may  be  conceived  how  delightful  it  was  to  me  to  be  re- 
ceived as  an  equal  and  honoured  guest  by  a  man,  even  then 
famous,  and  now  so  grown  in  reputation  as  to  overshadow 
all  Frenchmen  save  his  master;  how  pleasant  to  enjoy  the 
comforts  and  amiabilities  of  home,  from  which  I  had  been 
long  estranged;  to  pour  my  mother's  story  into  Madame's 


AT  ROSNY  141 

ears  and  find  comfort  in  her  sympathy ;  to  feel  myself,  in  fine, 
once  more  a  gentleman  with  an  acknowledged  place  in  the 
world.  Our  days  we  spent  in  hunting,  or  excursions  of  some 
kind,  our  evenings  in  long  conversations,  which  impressed 
me  with  an  ever-growing  respect  for  my  lord's  powers. 

For  there  seemed  to  be  no  end  either  to  his  knowledge  of 
France,  or  to  the  plans  for  its  development,  which  even 
then  filled  his  brain,  and  have  since  turned  wildernesses 
into  fruitful  lands,  and  squalid  towns  into  great  cities. 
Grave  and  formal,  he  could  yet  unbend;  the  most  sagacious 
of  counsellors,  he  was  a  soldier  also,  and  loved  the  seclusion 
in  which  we  lived  the  more  that  it  was  not  devoid  of  dan- 
ger; the  neighbouring  towns  being  devoted  to  the  League, 
and  the  general  disorder  alone  making  it  possible  for  him 
to  lie  unsuspected  in  his  own  house. 

One  thing  only  rendered  my  ease  and  comfort  imperfect, 
and  that  was  the  attitude  which  Mademoiselle  de  la  Vire 
assumed  towards  rne.  Of  her  gratitude  in  the  first  blush 
of  the  thing  I  felt  no  doubt,  for  not  only  had  she  thanked 
me  very  prettily,  though  with  reserve,  on  the  evening  of 
my  arrival,  but  the  warmth  of  M.  de  Rosny's  kindness  left 
me  no  choice,  save  to  believe  that  she  had  given  him  an 
exaggerated  idea  of  my  merits  and  services.  I  asked  no 
more  than  this.  Such  good  offices  left  me  nothing  to  expect 
or  desire ;  my  age  and  ill-fortune  placing  me  at  so  great  a 
disadvantage  that,  far  from  dreaming  of  friendship  or 
intimacy  with  her,  I  did  not  even  assume  the  equality  in 
our  daily  intercourse  to  which  my  birth,  taken  by  itself, 
entitled  me.  Knowing  that  I  must  appear  in  her  eyes  old, 
poor,  and  ill-dressed,  and  satisfied  with  having  asserted  my 
conduct  and  honour,  I  was  careful  not  to  trespass  on  her 
gratitude;  and  while  forward  in  such  courtesies  as  could 
not  weary  her,  I  avoided  with  equal  care  every  appearance 
of  pursuing  her,  or  inflicting  my  company  upon  her.  I 
addressed  her  formally  and  upon  formal  topics  only,  such, 
I  mean,  as  we  shared  with  the  rest  of  our  company;  and 
reminded  myself  often  that  though  we  now  met  in  the  same 


142  A    GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

house  and  at  the  same  table,  she  was  still  the  Mademoi- 
selle de  la  Vire  who  had  borne  herself  so  loftily  in  the 
King  of  Navarre's  ante-chamber.  This  I  did,  not  oat  of 
pique  or  wounded  pride,  which  I  no  more,  God  knows,  har- 
boured against  her  than  against  a  bird;  but  that  I  might 
not  in  my  new  prosperity  forget  the  light  in  which  such  a 
woman,  young,  spoiled,  and  beautiful,  must  still  regard  me. 

Keeping  to  this  inoffensive  posture,  I  was  the  more  hurt 
when  I  found  her  gratitude  fade  with  the  hour.  After  the 
first  two  days,  during  which  I  remarked  that  she  was  very 
silent,  seldom  speaking  to  me  or  looking  at  me,  she  resumed 
much  of  her  old  air  of  disdain.  For  that  I  cared  little; 
but  she  presently  went  farther,  and  began  to  rake  up  the 
incidents  which  had  happened  at  St.  Jean  d'Angely,  and  in 
which  I  had  taken  part.  She  continually  adverted  to  my 
poverty  while  there,  to  the  odd  figure  I  had  cut,  and  the 
many  jests  her  friends  had  made  at  my  expense.  She 
seemed  to  take  a  pleasure  positively  savage  in  these,  gibing 
at  me  sometimes  so  bitterly  as  to  shame  and  pain  me,  and 
bring  the  colour  to  Madame  de  Kosny's  cheeks. 

To  the  time  we  had  spent  together,  on  the  other  hand, 
she  never  or  rarely  referred.  One  afternoon,  however,  a 
week  after  my  arrival  at  Rosny,  I  found  her  sitting  alone 
in  the  parlour.  I  had  not  known  she  was  there,  and  I  wa& 
for  withdrawing  at  once  with  a  bow  and  a  muttered  apol- 
ogy. But  she  stopped  me  with  an  angry  gesture.  'I  do 
not  bite, '  she  said,  rising  from  her  stool  and  meeting  my 
eyes,  a  red  spot  in  each  cheek.  'Why  do  you  look  at  me 
like  that?  Do  you  know,  M.  de  Marsac,  that  I  have  no 
patience  with  you.'  And  she  stamped  her  foot  on  the 
floor. 

'But,  mademoiselle,'  I  stammered  humbly,  wondering 
what  in  the  world  she  meant,  'what  have  I  done? ' 

'Done?'  she  repeated  angrily.  'Done?  It  is  not  what 
you  have  done,  it  is  what  you  are.  I  have  no  patience 
with  you.  Why  are  you  so  dull,  sir  ?  Why  are  you 
so  dowdy?  Why  do  you  go  about  with  your  doublet  awry, 


AT  ROSNY  143 

and  your  hair  lank?  Why  do  you  speak  to  Maignan  as  if 
he  were  a  gentleman?  Why  do  you  look  always  solemn 
and  polite,  and  as  if  all  the  world  were  a  preche?  Why? 
Why?  Why,  I  say?' 

She  stopped  from  sheer  lack  of  breath,  leaving  me  as 
much  astonished  as  ever  in  my  life.  She  looked  so  beau- 
tiful in  her  fury  and  fierceness  too,  that  I  could  only  stare 
at  her  and  wonder  dumbly  what  it  all  meant. 

'Well! '  she  cried  impatiently,  after  bearing  this  as  long 
as  she  could,  'have  you  not  a  word  to  say  for  yourself? 
Have  you  no  tongue?  Have  you  no  will  of  your  own  at  all, 
M.  de  Marsac?' 

'But,  mademoiselle,'  I  began,  trying  to  explain. 

'Chut!'  she  exclaimed,  cutting  me  short  before  I  could 
get  farther,  as  the  way  of  women  is.  And  then  she  added, 
in  a  changed  tone,  and  very  abruptly,  'You  have  a  velvet 
knot  of  mine,  sir.  Give  it  me. ' 

'It  is  in  my  room,'  I  answered,  astonished  beyond  meas- 
ure at  this  sudden  change  of  subject,  and  equally  sudden 
demand. 

'Then  fetch  it,  sir,  if  you  please,'  she  replied,  her  eyes 
flashing  afresh.  'Fetch  it.  Fetch  it,  I  say!  It  has  served 
its  turn,  and  I  prefer  to  have  it.  Who  knows  but  that 
some  day  you  may  be  showing  it  for  a  love-knot? ' 

'Mademoiselle!'  I  cried,  hotly.  And  I  think  that  for 
the  moment  I  was  as  angry  as  she  was. 

'Still,  I  prefer  to  have  it,'  she  answered  sullenly,  casting 
down  her  eyes. 

I  was  so  much  enraged,  I  went  without  a  word  and 
fetched  it,  and,  bringing  it  to  her  where  she  stood,  in  the 
same  place,  put  it  into  her  hands.  When  she  saw  it  some 
recollection,  I  fancy,  of  the  day  when  she  had  traced  the 
cry  for  help  on  it,  came  to  her  in  her  anger;  for  she  took 
it  from  me  with  all  her  bearing  altered.  She  trembled, 
and  held  it  for  a  moment  in  her  hands,  as  if  she  did  not 
know  what  to  do  with  it.  She  was  thinking,  doubtless,  of 
the  house  in  Blois  and  the  peril  she  had  run  there ;  and, 


144  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

being  for  my  part  quite  willing  that  she  should  think  and 
feel  how  badly  she  had  acted,  I  stood  looking  at  her,  spar- 
ing her  no  whit  of  my  glance. 

'The  gold  chain  you  left  on  my  mother's  pillow,'  I  saicl 
coldly,  seeing  she  continued  silent,  '  I  cannot  return  to  you  at 
once,  for  I  have  pledged  it.  But  I  will  do  so  as  soon  as  I  can. ' 

'You  have  pledged  it?'  she  muttered,  with  her  eyes 
averted. 

'Yes,  mademoiselle,  to  procure  a  horse  to  bring  me  here,' 
I  replied  drily.  'However,  it  shall  be  redeemed.  In  re- 
turn, there  is  something  I  too  would  ask.' 

'What?'  she  murmured,  recovering  herself  with  an 
effort,  and  looking  at  me  with  something  of  her  old  pride 
and  defiance. 

'The  broken  coin  you  have,'  I  said.  'The  token,  I  mean. 
It  is  of  no  use  to  you,  for  your  enemies  hold  the  other  half. 
It  might  be  of  service  to  me.' 

'How?'  she  asked  curtly. 

'Because  some  day  I  may  find  its  fellow,  mademoiselle.' 

'And  then?'  she  cried.  She  looked  at  me,  her  lips 
parted,  her  eyes  flashing.  'What  then,  when  you  have 
found  its  fellow,  M.  de  Marsac?  ' 

I  shrugged  my  shoulders. 

'Bah!'  she  exclaimed,  clenching  her  little  hand,  and 
stamping  her  foot  on  the  floor  in  a  passion  I  could  not  un- 
derstand. 'That  is  you!  That  is  M.  de  Marsac  all  over. 
You  say  nothing,  and  men  think  nothing  of  you.  You  go 
with  your  hat  in  your  hand,  and  they  tread  on  you.  They 
speak,  and  you  are  silent !  Why,  if  I  could  use  a  sword  as 
you  can,  I  would  keep  silence  before  no  man,  nor  let  any 
man  save  the  King  of  France  cock  his  hat  in  my  presence! 
But  you!  There!  go,  leave  me.  Here  is  your  coin.  Take  it 
and  go.  Send  me  that  lad  of  yours  to  keep  me  awake.  At 
any  rate  he  has  brains,  he  is  young,  he  is  a  man,  he  has  a 
soul,  he  can  feel — if  he  were  anything  but  a  clerk. ' 

She  waved  me  off  in  such  a  wind  of  passion  as  might 
have  amused  me  in  another,  but  in  her  smacked  so  strongly 


AT  ROSWY  145 

of  ingratitude  as  to  pain  me  not  a  little.  I  went,  however, 
and  sent  Simon  to  her;  though  I  liked  the  errand  very  ill, 
and  no  better  when  I  saw  the  lad's  face  light  up  at  the  men- 
tion of  her  name.  But  apparently  she  had  not  recovered 
her  temper  when  he  reached  her,  for  he  fared  no  better  than  I 
had  done;  coming  away  presently  with  the  air  of  a  whipped 
dog,  as  I  saw  from  the  yew-tree  walk  where  I  was  strolling. 

Still,  after  that  she  made  it  a  habit  to  talk  to  him  more 
and  more;  and,  Monsieur  and  Madame  de  Rosny  being 
much  taken  up  with  one  another,  there  was  no  one  to  check 
her  fancy  or  speak  a  word  of  advice.  Knowing  her  pride, 
I  had  no  fears  for  her;  but  it  grieved  me  to  think  that  the 
lad's  head  should  be  turned.  A  dozen  times  I  made  up  my 
mind  to  speak  to  her  on  his  behalf;  but  for  one  thing  it 
was  not  my  business,  and  for  another  I  soon  discovered  that 
she  was  aware  of  my  displeasure,  and  valued  it  not  a  jot. 
For  venturing  one  morning,  when  she  was  in  a  pleasant 
humour,  to  hint  that  she  treated  those  beneath  her  too  in- 
humanly, and  with  an  unkindness  as  little  becoming  noble 
blood  as  familiarity,  she  asked  me  scornfully  if  I  did  not 
think  she  treated  Simon  Fleix  well  enough.  To  which  I 
had  nothing  to  answer. 

I  might  here  remark  on  the  system  of  secret  intelligence 
by  means  of  which  M.  de  Rosny,  even  in  this  remote  place, 
received  news  of  all  that  was  passing  in  France.  But  it  is 
common  fame.  There  was  no  coming  or  going  of  messen- 
gers, which  would  quickly  have  aroused  suspicion  in  the 
neighbouring  town,  nor  was  it  possible  even  for  me  to  say 
exactly  by  what  channels  news  came.  But  come  it  did, 
and  at  all  hours  of  the  day.  In  this  way  we  heard  of  the 
danger  of  La  Ganache  and  of  the  effort  contemplated  by 
the  King  of  Navarre  for  its  relief.  M.  de  Eosny  not  only 
communicated  these  matters  to  me  without  reserve,  but 
engaged  my  affections  by  farther  proofs  of  confidence  such 
as  might  well  have  flattered  a  man  of  greater  importance. 

I  have  said  that,  as  a  rule,  there  was  no  coming  or  going 
of  messengers.  But  one  evening:,  returning  from  the  chase 


146  A    GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

with  one  of  the  keepers,  who  had  prayed  my  assistance  in 
hunting  down  a  crippled  doe,  I  was  surprised  to  find  a 
strange  horse,  which  had  evidently  been  ridden  hard  and 
far,  standing  smoking  in  the  yard.  Inquiring  whose  it  was, 
I  learned  that  a  man  believed  by  the  grooms  to  be  from 
Blois  had  just  arrived  and  was  closeted  with  the  baron. 
An  event  so  far  out  of  the  ordinary  course  of  things  natu- 
rally aroused  my  wonder ;  but  desiring  to  avoid  any  appear- 
ance of  curiosity,  which,  if  indulged,  is  apt  to  become  the 
most  vulgar  of  vices,  I  refrained  from  entering  the  house, 
and  repaired  instead  to  the  yew- walk.  I  had  scarcely, 
however,  heated  my  blood,  a  little  chilled  with  riding,  be- 
fore the  page  came  to  me  to  fetch  me  to  his  master. 

I  found  M.  de  Rosny  striding  up  and  down  his  room,  his 
manner  so  disordered  and  his  face  disfigured  by  so  much 
grief  and  horror  that  I  started  on  seeing  him.  My  heart 
sinking  in  a  moment,  I  did  not  need  to  look  at  Madame, 
who  sat  weeping  silently  in  a  chair,  to  assure  myself  that 
something  dreadful  had  happened.  The  light  was  failing, 
and  a  lamp  had  been  brought  into  the  room.  M.  de  Rosny 
pointed  abruptly  to  a  small  piece  of  paper  which  lay  on  the 
table  beside  it,  and,  obeying  his  gesture,  I  took  this  up  and 
read  its  contents,  which  consisted  of  less  than  a  score  of 
words. 

'He  is  ill  and  like  to  die/  the  message  ran,  'twenty 
leagues  south  of  La  Ganache.  Come  at  all  costs.  P.  M.' 

'Who?'  I  said  stupidly — stupidly,  for  already  I  began 
to  understand.  'Who  is  ill  and  like  to  die? ' 

M.  de  Rosny  turned  to  me,  and  I  saw  that  the  tears  were 
trickling  unbidden  down  his  cheeks.  'There  is  but  one  he 
for  me,'  he  cried.  'May  God  spare  that  one!  May  He 
spare  him  to  France,  which  needs  him,  to  the  Church, 
which  hangs  on  him,  and  to  me,  who  love  him!  Let  him 
not  fall  in  the  hour  of  fruition.  0  Lord,  let  him  not  fall ! ' 
And  he  sank  on  to  a  stool,  and  remained  in  that  posture 
with  his  face  in  his  hands,  his  broad  shoulders  shaken  with 
grief 


AT  ROSNY  14? 

'Come,  sir,'  I  said,  after  a  pause  sacred  to  sorrow  and 
dismay;  'let  me  remind  you  that  while  there  is  life  there 
is  hope.' 

'Hope?' 

'Yes,  M.  de  Rosny,  hope,'  I  replied  more  cheerfully. 
He  has  work  to  do.  He  is  elected,  called,  and  chosen; 
the  Joshua  of  his  people,  as  M.  d' Amours  rightly  called 
him.  God  will  not  take  him  yet.  You  shall  see  him  and 
be  embraced  by  him,  as  has  happened  a  hundred  times. 
Remember,  sir.  the  King  of  Navarre  is  strong,  hardy,  and 
young,  and  no  doubt  in  good  hands.' 

'Mornay's,'  M.  de  Rosny  cried,  looking  up  with  contempt 
in  his  eye. 

Yet  from  that  moment  he  rallied,  spurred,  I  think,  by 
the  thought  that  the  King  of  Navarre's  recovery  depended 
under  God  on  M.  de  Mornay;  whom  he  was  ever  inclined 
to  regard  as  his  rival.  He  began  to  make  instant  prepara- 
tions for  departure  from  Rosny,  and  bade  me  do  so  also, 
telling  me,  somewhat  curtly  and  without  explanation,  that 
he  had  need  of  me.  The  danger  of  so  speedy  a  return  to 
the  South,  where  the  full  weight  of  the  Vicomte  de  Tu- 
renne's  vengeance  awaited  me,  occurred  to  me  strongly;  and 
I  ventured,  though  with  a  little  shame,  to  mention  it.  But 
M.  de  Rosny,  after  gazing  at  me  a  moment  in  apparent 
doubt,  put  the  objection  aside  with  a  degree  of  peevishness 
unusual  in  him,  and  continued  to  press  on  his  arrangements 
as  earnestly  as  though  they  did  not  include  separation  from 
a  wife  equally  loving  and  beloved. 

Having  few  things  to  look  to  myself,  I  was  at  leisure, 
when  the  hour  of  departure  came,  to  observe  both  the  cour- 
age with  which  Madame  de  Rosny  supported  her  sorrow, 
'for  the  sake  of  France,'  and  the  unwonted  tenderness  which 
Mademoiselle  de  la  Vire,  lifted  for  once  above  herself,  lav- 
ished on  her.  I  seemed  to  stand — happily  in  one  light, 
and  yet  the  feeling  was  fraught  with  pain — outside  their 
familiar  relations;  yet,  having  made  my  adieux  as  short 
and  formal  as  possible,  that  I  might  not  encroach  on  other 

si 


148  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

and  more  sacred  ones,  I  found  at  the  last  moment  some- 
thing in  waiting  for  me.  I  was  surprised  as  I  rode  under 
the  gateway  a  little  ahead  of  the  others,  by  something  small 
and  light  falling  on  the  saddle-bow  before  me.  Catching 
it  before  it  could  slide  to  the  ground,  I  saw,  with  infinite 
astonishment,  that  I  held  in  my  hand  a  tiny  velvet  bow. 

To  look  up  at  the  window  of  the  parlour,  which  I  have 
said  was  over  the  archway,  was  my  first  impulse.  I  did  so, 
and  met  mademoiselle's  eyes  for  a  second,  and  a  second 
only.  The  next  moment  she  was  gone.  M.  de  Rosny  clat- 
tered through  the  gate  at  my  heels,  the  servants  behind 
him.  And  we  were  on  the  road. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

M.    DE    KAMBOUILLET. 

FOB  a  while  we  were  but  a  melancholy  party.  The  inci- 
dent I  have  last  related — which  seemed  to  admit  of  more 
explanations  than  one — left  me  in  a  state  of  the  greatest 
perplexity;  and  this  prevailed  with  me  for  a  time,  and  was 
only  dissipated  at  length  by  my  seeing  my  own  face,  as  it 
were,  in  a  glass.  For,  chancing  presently  to  look  behind 
me,  I  observed  that  Simon  Fleix  was  riding,  notwithstand- 
ing his  fine  hat  and  feather  and  his  new  sword,  in  a  pos- 
ture and  with  an  air  of  dejection  difficult  to  exaggerate; 
whereon  the  reflection  that  master  and  man  had  the  same 
object  in  their  minds — nay,  the  thought  that  possibly  he 
bore  in  his  bosom  a  like  token  to  that  which  lay  warm  in 
mine — occurring  to  me,  I  roused  myself  as  from  some  de- 
grading dream,  and,  shaking  up  the  Cid,  cantered  forward 
to  join  Rosny,  who,  in  no  cheerful  mood  himself,  was  rid- 
ing steadily  forward,  wrapped  to  his  eyes  in  his  cloak. 

The  news  of  the  King  of  Navarre's  illness  had  fallen  on 
him,  indeed,  in  the  midst  of  his  sanguine  scheming  with 


M.  DE  RAMBOUILLET  14$ 

the  force  of  a  thunderbolt.  He  saw  himself  in  danger  of 
losing  at  once  the  master  he  loved  and  the  brilliant  future 
to  which  he  looked  forward;  and  amid  the  imminent  crash 
of  his  hopes  and  the  destruction  of  the  system  in  which  he 
lived,  he  had  scarcely  time  to  regret  the  wife  he  was  leav- 
ing at  Rosny  or  the  quiet  from  which  he  was  so  suddenly 
called.  His  heart  was  in  the  South,  at  La  Ganache,  by 
Henry's  couch.  His  main  idea  was  to  get  there  quickly  at 
all  risks.  The  name  of  the  King  of  Navarre's  physician 
was  constantly  on  his  lips.  'Dortoman  is  a  good  man.  If 
anyone  can  save  him,  Dortoman  will,'  was  his  perpetual 
cry.  And  whenever  he  met  anyone  who  had  the  least  ap- 
pearance of  bearing  news,  he  would  have  me  stop  and 
interrogate  him,  and  by  no  means  let  the  traveller  go  until 
he  had  given  us  the  last  rumour  from  Blois — the  channel 
through  which  all  the  news  from  the  South  reached  us. 

An  incident  which  occurred  at  the  inn  that  evening 
cheered  him  somewhat;  the  most  powerful  minds  being 
prone,  I  have  observed,  to  snatch  at  omens  in  times  of 
uncertainty.  An  elderly  man,  of  strange  appearance,  and 
dressed  in  an  affected  and  bizarre  fashion,  was  seated  at 
table  when  we  arrived.  Though  I  entered  first  in  my 
assumed  capacity  of  leader  of  the  party,  he  let  me  pass  be- 
fore him  without  comment,  but  rose  and  solemnly  saluted 
M.  de  Bosny,  albeit  the  latter  walked  behind  me  and  was 
much  more  plainly  dressed.  Rosny  returned  his  greeting 
and  would  have  passed  on;  but  the  stranger,  interposing 
with  a  still  lower  bow,  invited  him  to  take  his  seat,  which 
was  near  the  fire  and  sheltered  from  the  draught,  at  the 
same  time  making  as  if  he  would  himself  remove  to  another 
place. 

'Nay,'  said  my  companion,  surprised  by  such  an  excess 
of  courtesy,  'I  do  not  see  why  I  should  take  your  place, 
sir. ' 

'Not  mine  only,'  the  old  man  rejoined,  looking  at  him 
with  a  particularity  and  speaking  with  an  emphasis  which 
attracted  our  attention,  'but  those  of  many  others,  who  I 


150  A    GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

can  assure  you  will  very  shortly  yield  them  up  to  you, 
whether  they  will  or  not. ' 

M.  de  Kosny  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  passed  on,  affect- 
ing to  suppose  the  old  man  wandered.  But  privately  he 
thought  much  of  his  words,  and  more  when  he  learned  that 
he  was  an  astrologer  from  Paris,  who  had  the  name,  at  any 
rate  in  this  country,  of  having  studied  under  Nostradamus. 
And  whether  he  drew  fresh  hopes  from  this,  or  turned  his 
attention  more  particularly  as  we  approached  Blois  to  pres- 
ent matters,  certainly  he  grew  more  cheerful,  and  began 
again  to  discuss  the  future,  as  though  assured  of  his  master's 
recovery. 

'You  have  never  been  to  the  King's  Court? '  he  said 
presently,  following  up,  as  I  judged,  a  train  of  thought  in 
his  own  mind.  'At  Blois,  I  mean.' 

'No;  nor  do  I  feel  anxious  to  visit  it,'  I  answered.  'To 
tell  you  the  truth,  M.  le  Baron,'  I  continued  with  some 
warmth,  'the  sooner  we  are  beyond  Blois,  the  better  I  shall 
be  pleased.  I  think  we  run  some  risk  there,  and,  besides, 
I  do  not  fancy  a  shambles.  I  do  not  think  I  could  see  the 
king  without  thinking  of  the  Bartholomew,  nor  his  cham- 
ber without  thinking  of  Guise.' 

'Tut,  tut! '  he  said,  'you  have  killed  a  man  before  now.' 

'Many,'  I  answered. 

'Do  they  trouble  you?  ' 

'No,  but  they  were  killed  in  fair  fight,'  I  replied.  'That 
makes  a  difference.' 

'To  you,'  he  said  drily.  'But  you  are  not  the  King  of 
France,  you  see.  Should  you  ever  come  acros  him,  he 
continued,  flicking  his  horse's  ears,  a  faint  smile  on  his 
lips,  'I  will  give  you  a  hint.  Talk  to  him  of  the  battles 
at  Jarnac  and  Moncontour,  and  praise  your  Conde's  father! 
As  Conde  lost  the  fight  and  he  won  it,  the  compliment 
comes  home  to  him.  The  more  hopelessly  a  man  has  lost  his 
powers,  my  friend,  the  more  fondly  he  regards  them,  and 
the  more  highly  he  prizes  the  victories  he  can  no  longer  gain.' 

'Ugh!'  I  muttered. 


M.  DE  RAMBOUILLET  15? 

'Of  the  two  parties  at  Court,'  Rosny  continued,  calmly 
overlooking  my  ill-humour,  'trust  D'Aumont  and  Biron 
and  the  French  clique.  They  are  true  to  France  at  any 
rate.  But  whomsoever  you  see  consort  with  the  two  Retzs 
— the  King  of  Spain's  jackals  as  men  name  them — avoid 
him  for  a  Spaniard  and  a  traitor. ' 

'But  the  Retzs  are  Italians, '  I  objected  peevishly. 

'The  same  thing,'  he  answered  curtly.  'They  cry,  "Vive 
le  Roi!"  but  privately  they  are  for  the  League,  or  for 
Spain,  or  for  whatever  may  most  hurt  us ;  who  are  better 
Frenchmen  than  themselves,  and  whose  leader  will  some 
day,  if  God  spare  his  life,  be  King  of  France.' 

'Well,  the  less  I  have  to  do  with  the  one  or  the  other 
of  them,  save  at  the  sword's  point,  the  better  I  shall  be 
pleased,'  I  rejoined. 

On  that  he  looked  at  me  with  a  queer  smile;  as  was  his 
way  when  he  had  more  in  his  mind  than  appeared.  And 
this,  and  something  special  in  the  tone  of  his  conversation, 
as  well,  perhaps,  as  my  own  doubts  about  my  future  and 
his  intentions  regarding  me,  gave  me  an  uneasy  feeling; 
which  lasted  through  the  day,  and  left  me  only  when  more 
immediate  peril  presently  rose  to  threaten  us. 

It  happened  in  this  way.  We  had  reached  the  outskirts 
of  Blois,  and  were  just  approaching  the  gate,  hoping  to  pass 
through  it  without  attracting  attention,  when  two  travellers 
rode  slowly  out  of  a  lane,  the  mouth  of  which  we  were 
passing.  They  eyed  us  closely  as  they  reined  in  to  let  us 
go  by;  and  M.  de  Rosny,  who  was  riding  with  his  horse's 
head  at  my  stirrup,  whispered  me  to  press  on.  Before  I 
could  comply,  however,  the  strangers  cantered  by  us,  and 
turning  in  the  saddle  when  abreast  of  us  looked  us  in  the 
face.  A  moment  later  one  of  them  cried  loudly,  'It  is  he! ; 
and  both  pulled  their  horses  across  the  road,  and  waited 
for  us  to  come  up. 

Aware  that  if  M.  de  Rosny  were  discovered  he  would  be 
happy  if  he  escaped  with  imprisonment,  the  king  being  too 
jealous  of  his  Catholic  ^*eputation  to  venture  to  protect  a 


152  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

Huguenot,  however  illustrious,  I  saw  that  the  situation  was 
desperate;  for,  though  we  were  five  to  two,  the  neighbour- 
hood of  the  city — the  gate  being  scarcely  a  bow-shot  off — 
rendered  flight  or  resistance  equally  hopeless.  I  could 
think  of  nothing  for  it  save  to  put  a  bold  face  on  the  mat- 
ter, and,  M.  de  Rosny  doing  the  same,  we  advanced  in  the 
most  innocent  way  possible. 

'Halt,  there! '  cried  one  of  the  strangers  sharply.  'And 
let  me  tell  you,  sir,  you  are  known.' 

'What  if  lam?'  I  answered  impatiently,  still  pressing 
on.  'Are  you  highwaymen,  that  you  stop  the  way? ' 

The  speaker  on  the  other  side  looked  at  me  keenly,  but 
in  a  moment  retorted,  'Enough  trifling,  sir!  Who  you  are 
I  do  not  know.  But  the  person  riding  at  your  rein  is  M.  de 
Kosny.  Him  I  do  know,  and  I  warn  him  to  stop.' 

I  thought  the  game  was  lost,  but  to  my  surprise  my  com- 
panion answered  at  once  and  almost  in  the  same  words  I 
had  used.  'Well,  sir,  and  what  of  that?'  he  said. 

'What  of  that?'  the  stranger  exclaimed,  spurring  his 
horse  so  as  still  to  bar  the  way.  'Why,  only  this,  that  you 
must  be  a  madman  to  show  yourself  on  this  side  of  the 
Loire.' 

'It  is  long  since  I  have  seen  the  other,'  was  my  compan- 
ion's unmoved  answer. 

'You  are  M.  de  Rosny?  You  do  not  deny  it?'  the  man 
cried  in  astonishment. 

'Certainly  I  do  not  deny  it,'  M.  de  Eosny  answered 
bluntly.  'And  more,  the  day  has  been,  sir,'  he  continued 
with  sudden  fire, 'when  few  at  his  Majesty's  Court  would 
have  dared  to  chop  words  with  Solomon  de  Bethune,  much 
less  to  stop  him  on  the  highway  within  a  mile  of  the  pal- 
ace. But  times  are  changed  with  me,  sir,  and  it  would 
seem  with  others  also,  if  true  men  rallying  to  his  Majesty 
in  his  need  are  to  be  challenged  by  every  passer  on  the  road. ' 

'What!  Are  you  Solomon  de  Bethune?'  the  man  cried 
incredulously.  Incredulously,  but  his  countenance  fell, 
and  his  voice  was  full  of  chagrin  and  disappointment. 


M.  DE  RAMBOUILLET  153 

'Who  else,  sir?'  M.  de  Eosny  replied  haughtily.  'I  am, 
and,  as  far  as  I  know,  I  have  as  much  right  on  this  side  of 
the  Loire  as  any  other  man. ' 

'A  thousand  pardons.' 

'If  you  are  not  satisfied ' 

'Nay,  M.  de  Rosny,  I  am  perfectly  satisfied.' 

The  stranger  repeated  this  with  a  very  crestfallen  air, 
adding,  'A  thousand  pardons';  and  fell  to  making  other 
apologies,  doffing  his  hat  with  great  respect.  'I  took  you, 
if  you  will  pardon  me  saying  so,  for  your  Huguenot  brother, 
M.  Maximilian,'  he  explained.  'The  saying  goes  that  he  is 
at  Rosny.' 

'I  can  answer  for  that  being  false,'  M.  de  Rosny  answered 
peremptorily,  'for  I  have  just  come  from  there,  and  I  will 
answer  for  it  he  is  not  within  ten  leagues  of  the  place. 
And  now,  sir,  as  we  desire  to  enter  before  the  gates  shut, 
perhaps  you  will  excuse  us.'  With  which  he  bowed,  and 
I  bowed,  and  they  bowed,  and  we  separated.  They  gave 
us  the  road,  which  M.  de  Rosny  took  with  a  great  air,  and 
we  trotted  to  the  gate,  and  passed  through  it  without  mis- 
adventure. 

The  first  street  we  entered  was  a  wide  one,  and  my  com- 
panion took  advantage  of  this  to  ride  up  abreast  of  me. 
'That  is  the  kind  of  adventure  our  little  prince  is  fond  of,' 
he  muttered.  'But  for  my  part,  M.  de  Marsac,  the  sweat 
is  running  down  my  forehead.  I  have  played  the  trick 
more  than  once  before,  for  my  brother  and  I  are  as  like  as 
two  peas.  And  yet  it  would  have  gone  ill  with  us  if  the 
fool  had  been  one  of  his  friends.' 

'All's  well  that  ends  well,'  I  answered  in  a  low  voice, 
thinking  it  an  ill  time  for  compliments.  As  it  was,  the 
remark  was  unfortunate,  for  M.  de  Rosny  was  still  in  the 
act  of  reining  back  when  Maignan  called  out  to  us  to  say 
we  were  being  followed. 

I  looked  behind,  but  could  see  nothing  except  gloom  and 
rain  and  overhanging  eaves  and  a  few  figures  cowering  in 
doorways.  The  servant?,  however,  continued  to  maintain 


154  A    GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

that  it  was  so,  and  we  held,  without  actually  stopping,  a 
council  of  war.  If  detected,  we  were  caught  in  a  trap, 
without  hope  of  escape;  and  for  the  moment  I  am  sure  M. 
de  Rosny  regretted  that  he  had  chosen  this  route  by  Blois 
— that  he  had  thrust  himself,  in  his  haste  and  his  desire  to 
take  with  him  the  latest  news,  into  a  snare  so  patent.  The 
castle — huge,  dark,  and  grim — loomed  before  us  at  the  end 
of  the  street  in  which  we  were,  and,  chilled  as  I  was  my- 
self by  the  sight,  I  cculd  imagine  how  much  more  appalling 
it  must  appear  to  him,  the  chosen  counsellor  of  his  master, 
and  the  steadfast  opponent  of  all  which  it  represented. 

Our  consultation  came  to  nothing,  for  no  better  course 
suggested  itself  than  to  go  as  we  had  intended  to  the  lodg- 
ing commonly  used  by  my  companion.  We  did  so,  looking 
behind  us  often,  and  saying  more  than  once  that  Maignan 
must  be  mistaken.  As  soon  as  we  had  dismounted,  how- 
ever, and  gone  in,  he  showed  us  from  the  window  a  man 
loitering  near;  and  this  confirmation  of  our  alarm  sending 
as  to  our  expedients  again,  while  Maignan  remained  watch- 
ing in  a  room  without  a  light,  I  suggested  that  I  might 
pass  myself  off,  though  ten  years  older,  for, my  companion. 

'Alas! '  he  said,  drumming  with  his  fingers  on  the  table, 
'there  are  too  many  here  who  know  me  to  make  that  possi- 
ble. I  thank  you  all  the  same.' 

'Could  you  escape  on  foot?  Or  pass  the  wall  anywhere, 
or  slip  through  the  gates  early? '  I  suggested. 

'They  might  tell  us  at  the  Bleeding  Heart,'  he  answered. 
'But  I  doubt  it.  I  was  a  fool,  sir,  to  put  my  neck  into 
Mendoza's  halter,  and  that  is  a  fact.  But  here  is  Maignan. 
What  is  it,  man?  '  he  continued  eagerly. 

'The  watcher  is  gone,  my  lord,'  the  equerry  answered. 

'And  has  left  no  one? ' 

'No  one  that  I  can  see.' 

We  both  went  into  the  next  room  and  looked  from  the 
windows.  The  man  was  certainly  not  where  we  had  seen 
him  before.  But  the  rain  was  falling  heavily,  the  eaves 
were  dripping,  the  street  was  a  dark  cavern  with  only  here 


M.   DE  RAMBOUILLET  155 

and  there  a  spark  of  light,  and  the  fellow  might  be  lurking 
elsewhere.  Maignan,  being  questioned,  however,  believed 
he  had  gone  off  of  set  purpose. 

'Which  may  be  read  half  a  dozen  ways,'- 1  remarked. 

'At  any  rate,  we  are  fasting,'  M.  de  Rosny  answered. 
'Give  me  a  full  man  in  a  fight.  Let  us  sit  down  and  eat. 
It  is  no  good  jumping  in  the  dark,  or  meeting  troubles  half 
way.' 

We  were  not  through  our  meal,  however,  Simon  Fleix 
waiting  on  us  with  a  pale  face,  when  Maignan  came  in  again 
from  the  dark  room.  'My  lord,'  he  said  quietly,  'three 
men  have  appeared.  Two  of  them  remain  twenty  paces 
away.  The  third  has  come  to  the  door.' 

As  he  spoke  we  heard  a  cautious  summons  below.  Mai- 
gnan was  for  going  down,  but  his  master  bade  him  stand. 
'Let  the  woman  of  the  house  go,'  he  said. 

I  remarked  and  long  remembered  M.  de  Kosny's  sangfroid 
on  this  occasion.  His  pistols  he  had  already  laid  on  a 
chair  beside  him,  throwing  his  cloak  over  them;  and  now, 
while  we  waited,  listening  in  breathless  silence,  I  saw  him 
hand  a  large  slice  of  bread-and-meat  to  his  equerry,  who, 
standing  behind  his  chair,  began  eating  it  with  the  same 
coolness.  Simon  Fleix,  on  the  other  hand,  stood  gazing  at 
the  door,  trembling  in  every  limb,  and  with  so  much  of 
excitement  and  surprise  in  his  attitude  that  I  took  the  pre- 
caution of  bidding  him,  in  a  low  voice,  do  nothing  without 
orders.  At  the  same  moment  it  occurred  to  me  to  extin- 
guish two  of  the  four  candles  which  had  been  lighted;  and 
I  did  so,  M.  de  Rosny  nodding  assent,  just  as  the  muttered 
conversation  which  was  being  carried  on  below  ceased,  and 
a  man's  tread  sounded  on  the  stairs. 

It  was  followed  immediately  by  a  knock  on  the  outside  of 
our  door.  Obeying  my  companion's  look,  I  cried,  'Enter! ' 

A  slender  man  of  middle  height,  booted  and  wrapped  up, 
with  his  face  almost  entirely  hidden  by  a  fold  of  his  cloak, 
came  in  quickly,  and,  closing  the  door  behind  him,  advanced 
towards  the  table.  'Which  is  M.  de  Rosny?  '  he  said. 


156  A   GENTLEMAN'  OF  FRANCE 

Eosny  had  carefully  turned  his  face  from  the  light,  but 
at  the  sound  of  the  other's  voice  he  sprang  up  with  a  cry  of 
relief.  He  was  about  to  speak,  when  the  new-comer,  rais- 
ing his  hand  peremptorily,  'continued,  'No  names,  I  beg. 
Yours,  I  suppose,  is  known  here.  Mine  is  not,  nor  do  I 
desire  it  should  be.  I  want  speech  of  you,  that  is  all.' 

'I  am  greatly  honoured/  M.  de  Rosny  replied,  gazing  at 
him  eagerly.  'Yet,  who  told  you  I  was  here? ' 

'I  saw  you  pass  under  a  lamp  in  the  street,'  the  stranger 
answered.  'I  knew  your  horse  first,  and  you  afterwards, 
and  bade  a  groom  follow  you.  Believe  me,'  he  added,  with 
a  gesture  of  the  hand,  'you  have  nothing  to  fear  from  me.' 

'I  accept  the  assurance  in  the  spirit  in  which  it  is 
offered,'  my  companion  answered  with  a  graceful  bow,  'and 
think  myself  fortunate  in  being  recognised ' — he  paused 
a  moment  and  then  continued — 'by  a  Frenchman  and  a  man 
of  honour. ' 

The  stranger  shrugged  his  shoulders.  'Your  pardon, 
then,'  he  said,  'if  I  seem  abrupt.  My  time  is  short.  I 
want  to  do  the  best  with  it  I  can.  Will  you  favour  me? ' 

I  was  for  withdrawing,  but  M.  de  Rosny  ordered  Mai- 
gnan  to  place  lights  in  the  next  room,  and,  apologising  to 
me  very  graciously,  retired  thither  with  the  stranger;  leav- 
ing me  relieved  indeed  by  these  peaceful  appearances,  but 
full  of  wonder  and  conjectures  who  this  might  be,  and  what 
the  visit  portended.  At  one  moment  I  was  inclined  to 
identify  the  stranger  with  M.  de  Rosny 's  brother;  at  an- 
other with  the  English  ambassador ;  and  then,  again,  a  wild 
idea  that  he  might  be  M.  de  Bruhl  occurred  to  me.  The 
two  remained  together  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour  and  then 
came  out,  the  stranger  leading  the  way,  and  saluting  me 
politely  as  he  passed  through  the  room.  At  the  door  he 
turned  to  say,  'At  nine  o'clock,  then?' 

'At  nine  o'clock,'  M.  de  Rosny  replied,  holding  the  door 
open.  'You  will  excuse  me  if  I  do  not  descend,  Marquis?' 

'Yes,  go  back,  my  friend,'  the  stranger  answered.  And, 
lighted  by  Maignan,  whose  face  on  such  occasions  could 


M.   DE  RAMBOUILLEJ  157 

assume  the  most  stolid  air  in  the  world,  he  disappeared 
down  the  stairs,  and  I  heard  him  go  out. 

M.  de  Rosny  turned  to  me,  his  eyes  sparkling  with  joy, 
his  face  and  mien  full  of  animation.  'The  King  of 
Navarre  is  better,'  he  said.  'He  is  said  to  be  out  of 
danger.  What  do  you  think  of  that,  my  friend? ' 

'That  is  the  best  news  I  have  heard  for  many  a  day,'  I 
answered.  And  I  hastened  to  add,  that  France  and  the 
Religion  had  reason  to  thank  God  for  His  mercy. 

'Amen  to  that,'  my  patron  replied  reverently.  'But  that 
is  not  all — that  is  not  all.'  And  he  began  to  walk  up  and 
down  the  room  humming  the  118th  Psalm  a  little  above  his 

breath — 

La  voici  1'heureuse  join-ne'e 

Que  Dieu  a  faite  a  pleiu  dtisir ; 
Par  nous  soit  joie  dfimenee, 

Et  preuons  en  elle  plaisir. 

He  continued,  indeed,  to  walk  up  and  down  the  floor  so 
long,  and  with  so  joyful  a  countenance  and  demeanour, 
that  I  ventured  at  last  to  remind  him  of  my  presence, 
which  he  had  clearly  forgotten.  'Ha!  to  be  sure,'  he  said, 
stopping  short  and  looking  at  me  with  the  utmost  good- 
humour.  'What  time  is  it?  Seven.  Then  until  nine 
o'clock,  my  friend,  I  crave  your  indulgence.  In  fine,  until 
that  time  I  must  keep  counsel.  Come,  I  am  hungry  still. 
Let  us  sit  down,  and  this  time  I  hope  we  may  not  be  inter- 
rupted. Simon,  set  us  on  a  fresh  bottle.  Ha!  ha!  Vivent 
le  Roi  et  le  Roi  de  Navarre ! '  And  again  he  fell  to  hum 
ming  the  same  psalm — 

O  Dier  6ternel,  je  te  prie, 

Je  te  prie,  ton  roi  maintiens: 
O  Dieu,  je  te  prie  et  reprie, 

Sauve  ton  roi  et  1'entretiens  ! 

doing  so  with  a  light  in  his  eyes  and  a  joyous  emphasis, 
which  impressed  me  the  more  in  a  man  ordinarily  so  calm 
and  self-contained.  I  saw  that  something  had  occurred  to 


158  A    GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

gratify  him  beyond  measure,  and,  believing  his  statement 
that  this  was  not  the  good  news  from  La  Ganache  only,  I 
waited  with  the  utmost  interest  and  anxiety  for  the  hour  of 
nine,  which  had  no  sooner  struck  than  oar  former  visitor 
appeared  with  the  same  air  of  mystery  and  disguise  which 
had  attended  him  before. 

M.  de  Rosny,  who  had  risen  on  hearing  his  step  and  had 
taken  up  his  cloak,  paused  with  it  half  on  and  half  off,  to 
cry  anxiously,  'All  is  well,  is  it  not?' 

'Perfectly,'  the  stranger  replied,  with  a  nod. 

'And  my  friend?' 

'Yes,  on  condition  that  you  answer  for  his  discretion  and 
fidelity.'  And  the  stranger  glanced  involuntarily  at  me, 
who  stood  uncertain,  whether  to  hold  my  ground  or  retire. 

'Good,'  M.  de  Rosny  cried.  Then  he  turned  to  me  with 
a  mingled  air  of  dignity  and  kindness,  and  continued :  '  This 
is  the  gentleman.  M.  de  Marsac,  I  am  honoured  with  per- 
mission to  present  you  to  the  Marquis  de  Rambouillet, 
whose  interest  and  protection  I  beg  you  to  deserve,  for  he 
is  a  true  Frenchman  and  a  patriot  whom  I  respect.' 

M.  de  Rambouillet  saluted  me  politely.  '  Of  a  Brittany 
family,  I  think? >  he  said. 

I  assented;  and  he  replied  with  something  compliment- 
ary.  But  afterwards  he  continued  to  look  at  me  in  silence 
with  a  keenness  and  curiosity  I  did  not  understand.  At 
last,  when  M.  de  Rosny's  impatience  had  reached  a  high 
pitch,  the  marquis  seemed  impelled  to  add  something. 
'You  quite  understand,  M.  de  Rosny?'  he  said.  'Without 
saying  anything  disparaging  of  M.  de  Marsac,  who  is,  no 
doubt,  a  man  of  honour ' — and  he  bowed  to  me  very  low — 
'this  is  a  delicate  matter,  and  you  will  introduce  no  one 
into  it,  I  am  sure,  whom  you  cannot  trust  as  yourself.' 

'Precisely,'  M.  de  Rosny  replied,  speaking  drily,  yet  with 
a  grand  air  which  fully  matched  his  companion's.  'I  am 
prepared  to  trust  this  gentleman  not  only  with  my  life  but 
with  my  honour.' 

'Nothing  more  remains  to  be  said  then,'  the  marquis  re4 


M.   DE  RAMBOUILLET  159 

joined,  bowing  to  me  again.  'I  am  glad  to  have  been  the 
occasion  of  a  declaration  so  nattering  to  you,  sir. ' 

I  returned  his  salute  in  silence,  and  obeying  M.  de 
Rosny's  muttered  direction  put  on  my  cloak  and  sword. 
M.  de  Rosny  took  up  his  pistols. 

'You  will  have  no  need  of  those,'  the  marquis  said  with 
a  high  glance. 

'Where  we  are  going,  no,'  my  companion  answered, 
calmly  continuing  to  dispose  them  about  him.  'But  the 
streets  are  dark  and  not  too  safe.' 

M.  de  Rambouillet  laughed.  'That  is  the  worst  of  yon 
Huguenots,'  he  said.  'You  never  know  when  to  lay  sus- 
picion aside.' 

A  hundred  retorts  sprang  to  my  lips.  I  thought  of  the 
Bartholomew,  of  the  French  fury  of  Antwerp,  of  half  a 
dozen  things  which  make  my  blood  boil  to  this  day.  But 
M.  de  Rosny's  answer  was  the  finest  of  all.  'That  is  true, 
I  am  afraid,'  he  said  quietly.  'On  the  other  hand,  you 
Catholics — take  the  late  M.  de  Guise  for  instance — have 
the  habit  of  erring  on  the  other  side,  I  think,  and  some- 
times trust  too  far.' 

The  marquis,  without  making  any  answer  to  this  home- 
thrust,  led  the  way  out,  and  we  followed,  being  joined  at 
the  door  of  the  house  by  a  couple  of  armed  lackeys,  who 
fell  in  behind  us.  We  went  on  foot.  The  night  was  dark, 
and  the  prospect  out  of  doors  was  not  cheering.  The 
streets  were  wet  and  dirty,  and  notwithstanding  all  our  care 
we  fell  continually  into  pitfalls  or  over  unseen  obstacles. 
Crossing  the  parvis  of  the  cathedral,  which  I  remembered, 
we  plunged  in  silence  into  an  obscure  street  near  the  river, 
and  so  narrow  that  the  decrepit  houses  shut  out  almost  all 
view  of  the  sky.  The  gloom  of  our  surroundings,  no  less 
than  my  ignorance  of  the  errand  on  which  we  were  bound, 
filled  me  with  anxiety  and  foreboding.  My  companions 
keeping  strict  silence,  however,  and  taking  every  precau- 
tion to  avoid  being  recognised,  I  had  no  choice  but  to  do 
likewise. 


160  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

I  could  think,  and  no  more.  I  felt  myself  borne  along 
by  an  irresistible  current,  whither  and  for  what  purpose  I 
could  not  tell ;  an  experience  to  an  extent  strange  at  my  age 
the  influence  of  the  night  and  the  weather.  Twice  we 
stood  aside  to  let  a  party  of  roisterers  go  by,  and  the  exces- 
sive care  M.  de  Eambouillet  evinced  on  these  occasions  to 
avoid  recognition  did  not  tend  to  reassure  me  or  make  me 
think  more  lightly  of  the  unknown  business  on  which  I  was 
bound. 

Reaching  at  last  an  open  space,  our  leader  bade  us  in  a 
low  voice  be  careful  and  follow  him  closely.  We  did  so, 
and  crossed  in  this  way  and  in  single  file  a  narrow  plank  or 
wooden  bridge;  but  whether  water  ran  below  or  a  dry 
ditch  only,  I  could  not  determine.  My  mind  was  taken  up 
at  the  moment  with  the  discovery  which  I  had  just  made, 
that  the  dark  building,  looming  huge  and  black  before  us 
with  a  single  light  twinkling  here  and  there  at  great 
heights,  was  the  Castle  of  Blois. 


CHAPTEE  XV. 

VILAIN    HERODES. 

ALL  the  distaste  and  misliking  I  had  expressed  earlier 
in  the  day  for  the  Court  of  Blois  recurred  with  fresh  force 
in  the  darkness  and  gloom ;  and  though,  booted  and  travel- 
stained  as  we  were,  I  did  not  conceive  it  likely  that  we 
should  be  obtruded  on  the  circle  about  the  king,  I  felt  none 
the  less  an  oppressive  desire  to  be  through  with  our  adven- 
ture, and  away  from  the  ill-omened  precincts  in  which  I 
found  myself.  The  darkness  prevented  me  seeing  the  faces 
of  my  companions ;  but  on  M.  de  Eosny,  who  was  not  quite 
free  himself,  I  think,  from  the  influences  of  the  time  and 
place,  twitching  my  sleeve  to  enforce  vigilance,  I  noted 
that  the  lackeys  had  ceased  to  follow  us,  and  that  we  three 


Vi 'LAIN"  HERODES  161 

were  beginning  to  ascend  a  rough  staircase  cut  in  the  rock. 
I  gathered,  though  the  darkness  limited  my  view  behind  as 
well  as  in  front  to  a  few  twinkling  lights,  that  we  were 
mounting  the  scarp  from  the  moat  to  the  side  wall  of  the 
castle;  and  I  was  not  surprised  when  the  marquis  muttered 
to  us  to  stop,  and  knocked  softly  on  the  wood  of  a  door. 

M.  de  Rosny  might  have  spared  the  touch  he  had  laid  on 
my  sleeve,  for  by  this  time  I  was  fully  and  painfully  sen- 
sible of  the  critical  position  in  which  we  stood,  and  was 
very  little  likely  to  commit  an  indiscretion.  I  trusted  he 
had  not  done  so  already !  No  doubt — it  flashed  across  me 
while  we  waited — he  had  taken  care  to  safeguard  himself. 
But  how  often,  I  reflected,  had  all  safeguards  been  set  aside 
and  all  precautions  eluded  by  those  to  whom  he  was  com- 
mitting himself!  Guise  had  thought  himself  secure  in  this 
very  building,  which  we  were  about  to  enter.  Coligny  had 
received  the  most  absolute  of  safe-conducts  from  those  to 
whom  we  were  apparently  bound.  The  end  in  either  case 
had  been  the  same — the  confidence  of  the  one  proving  of  no 
more  avail  than  the  wisdom  of  the  other.  What  if  the 
King  of  France  thought  to  make  his  peace  with  his  Catho- 
lic subjects — offended  by  the  murder  of  Guise — by  a  second 
murder  of  one  as  obnoxious  to  them  as  he  was  precious  to 
their  arch-enemy  in  the  South?  Eosny  was  sagacious  in- 
deed ;  but  then  I  reflected  with  sudden  misgiving  that  he 
was  young,  ambitious,  and  bold. 

The  opening  of  the  door  interrupted  without  putting  an 
end  to  this  train  of  apprehension.  A  faint  light  shone  out ; 
so  feebly  as  to  illumine  little  more  than  the  stairs  at  our 
feet.  The  marquis  entered  at  once,  M.  de  Eosny  followed, 
I  brought  up  the  rear;  and  the  door  was  closed  by  a  man 
who  stood  behind  it.  We  found  ourselves  crowded  together 
at  the  foot  of  a  very  narrow  staircase,  which  the  doorkeeper 
— a  stolid  pikeman  in  a  grey  uniform,  with  a  small  lanthorn 
swinging  from  the  crosspiece  of  his  halberd — signed  to  us 
to  ascend.  I  said  a  word  to  him,  but  he  only  stared  in 
answer,  and  M.  de  Eambouillet,  looking  back  and  seeing 

ii 


162  A    GENTLEMAN-  OF  FRANCE 

what  I  was  about,  called  to  me  that  it  was  useless,  as  the 
man  was  a  Swiss  and  spoke  no  French. 

'  This  did  not  tend  to  reassure  me ;  any  more  than  did  the 
chill  roughness  of  the  wall  which  my  hand  touched  as  I 
groped  upwards,  or  the  smell  of  bats  which  invaded  my 
nostrils  and  suggested  that  the  staircase  was  little  used  and 
belonged  to  a  part  of  the  castle  fitted  for  dark  and  secret 
doings. 

We  stumbled  in  the  blackness  up  the  steps,  passing  one 
door  and  then  a  second  before  M.  de  Rambouillet  whispered 
to  us  to  stand,  and  knocked  gently  at  a  third. 

The  secrecy,  the  darkness,  and  above  all  the  strange  ar- 
rangements made  to  receive  us,  filled  me  with  the  wildest 
conjectures.  But  when  the  door  opened  and  we  passed  one 
by  one  into  a  bare,  unfurnished,  draughty  gallery,  immedi- 
ately, as  I  judged,  under  the  tiles,  the  reality  agreed  with 
no  one  of  my  anticipations.  The  place  was  a  mere  garret, 
without  a  hearth,  without  a  single  stool.  Three  windows, 
of  which  one  was  roughly  glazed,  while  the  others  were 
filled  with  oiled  paper,  were  set  in  one  wall;  the  others 
displaying  the  stones  and  mortar  without  disguise  or  orna- 
ment. Beside  the  door  through  which  we  had  entered 
stood  a  silent  figure  in  the  grey  uniform  I  had  seen  below, 
his  lanthorn  on  the  floor  at  his  feet.  A  second  door  at  the 
farther  end  of  the  gallery,  which  was  full  twenty  paces 
long,  was  guarded  in  like  manner.  A  couple  of  lanthorns 
stood  in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  and  that  was  all. 

Inside  the  door,  M.  de  Rambouillet  with  his  finger  on  hit 
lip  stopped  us,  and  we  stood  a  little  group  of  three  a  pace 
in  front  of  the  sentry,  and  with  the  empty  room  before  us. 
I  looked  at  M.  de  Rosny,  but  he  was  looking  at  Rambouil- 
let.  The  marquis  had  his  back  towards  me,  the  sentry  was 
gazing  into  vacancy;  so  that  baffled  in  my  attempt  to  learn 
anything  from  the  looks  of  the  other  actors  in  the  scene,  I 
fell  back  on  my  ears.  The  rain  dripped  outside  and  the 
moaning  wind  rattled  the  casements;  but  mingled  with 
these  melancholy  sounds — which  gained  force,  as  such 


VILAfN  HERODES  163 

things  always  do,  from  the  circumstances  in  which  we  were 
placed  and  our  own  silence — I  fancied  I  caught  the  distant 
hum  of  voices  and  music  and  laughter.  And  that,  I  know 
not  why,  brought  M.  de  Guise  again  to  my  mind. 

The  story  of  his  death,  as  I  had  heard  it  from  that 
accursed  monk  in  the  inn  on  the  Claine,  rose  up  in  all  its 
freshness,  with  all  its  details.  I  started  when  M.  de  Ram- 
bouillet  coughed.  I  shivered  when  Rosny  shifted-  his  feet. 
The  silence  grew  oppressive.  Only  the  stolid  men  in  grey 
seemed  unmoved,  unexpectant;  so  that  I  remember  won- 
dering whether  it  was  their  nightly  duty  to  keep  guard  over 
an  empty  garret,  the  floor  strewn  with  scraps  of  mortar  and 
ends  of  tiles. 

The  interruption,  when  it  came  at  last,  came  suddenly. 
The  sentry  at  the  farther  end  of  the  gallery  started  and  fell 
back  a  pace.  Instantly  the  door  beside  him  opened  and  a 
man  came  in,  and  closing  it  quickly  behind  him,  advanced 
up  the  room  with  an  air  of  dignity,  which  even  his  strange 
appearance  and  attire  could  not  wholly  destroy. 

He  was  of  good  stature  and  bearing,  about  forty  years 
old  as  I  judged,  his  wear  a  dress  of  violet  velvet  with  black 
points  cut  in  the  extreme  of  the  fashion.  He  carried  a  sword 
but  no  ruff,  and  had  a  cup  and  ball  of  ivory — a  strange  toy 
much  in  vogue  among  the  idle — suspended  from  his  wrist 
by  a  ribbon.  He  was  lean  and  somewhat  narrow,  but  so 
far  I  found  little  fault  with  him.  It  was  only  when  my 
eye  reached  his  face,  and  saw  it  rouged  like  a  woman's  and 
surmounted  by  a  little  turban,  that  a  feeling  of  scarcely 
understood  disgust  seized  me,  and  I  said  to  myself,  'This 
is  the  stuff  of  which  kings'  minions  are  made ! ' 

To  my  surprise,  however,  M.  de  Rambouillet  went  to 
meet  him  with  the  utmost  respect,  sweeping  the  dirty  floor 
with  his  bonnet,  and  bowing  to  the  very  ground.  The  new- 
comer acknowledged  his  salute  with  negligent  kindness. 
Remarking  pleasantly  'You  have  brought  a  friend,  I  think? ' 
he  looked  towards  us  with  a  smile. 

'Yes,  sire,  he  is  here,'  the  marquis  answered,  stepping 


164  A    GENTLEMAN-  OF  FRANCE 

aside  a  little.  And  with  the  word  I  understood  that  this 
was  no  minion,  but  the  king  himself:  Henry,  the  Third  of 
the  name,  and  the  last  of  the  great  House  of  Valois,  which 
had  ruled  France  by  the  grace  of  God  for  two  centuries  and 
a  half!  I  stared  at  him,  and  stared  at  him,  scarcely  believ- 
ing what  I  saw.  For  the  first  time  in  my  life  I  was  in  the 
presence  of  the  king! 

Meanwhile  M.  de  Eosny,  to  whom  he  was,  of  course,  no 
marvel,  had  gone  forward  and  knelt  on  one  knee.  The 
king  raised  him  graciously,  and  with  an  action  which, 
viewed  apart  from  his  woman's  face  and  silly  turban, 
seemed  royal  and  fitting.  'This  is  good  of  you,  Eosny,' 
he  said.  'But  it  is  only  what  I  expected  of  ye;i.' 

'Sire,'  my  companion  answered,  'your  Majesty  has  no 
more  devoted  servant  than  myself,  unless  it  be  the  king  my 
master. ' 

'By  my  faith,'  Henry  answered  with  energy — 'and  if  I 
am  not  a  good  churchman,  whatever  those  rascally  Paris- 
ians say,  I  am  nothing — by  my  faith,  I  think  I  believe- 
you!'  ' 

'  If  your  Majesty  would  believe  me  in  that  and  in  some 
other  things  also,'  M.  de  Eosny  answered,  'it  would  be 
very  well  for  France.'  Though  he  spoke  courteously,  he 
threw  so  much  weight  and  independence  into  his  words 
that  I  thought  of  the  old  proverb,  'A  good  master,  a  bold 
servant. ' 

'Well,  that  is  what  we  are  here  to  see,'  the  king  replied. 
'But  one  tells  me  one  thing,'  he  went  on  fretfully,  'and 
one  another,  and  which  am  I  to  believe?' 

'I  know  nothing  of  others,  sire,'  Eosny  answered  with 
the  same  spirit.  'But  my  master  has  every  claim  to  be 
believed.  His  interest  in  the  royalty  of  France  is  second 
only  to  your  Majesty's.  He  is  also  a  king  and  a  kinsman, 
and  it  irks  him  to  see  rebels  beard  you,  as  has  happened 
of  late.' 

'Ay,  but  the  chief  of  them?'  Henry  exclaimed,  giving 
way  to  sudden  excitement  and  stamping  furiously  on  the 


VILAIN  H ERODES  165 

floor.     'He  will  trouble  me  no  more.     Has  my  brother 
heard  of  that?    Tell  me,  sir,  has  that  news  reached  him? ' 

'He  has  heard  it,  sire.' 

'And  he  approved?     He  approved,  of  course?' 

'Beyond  doubt  the  man  was  a  traitor,'  M.  de  Rosny 
answered  delicately.  'His  life  was  forfeit,  sire.  Who 
can  question  it? ' 

'And  he  has  paid  the  forfeit,'  the  king  rejoined,  looking 
down  at  the  floor  and  immediately  falling  into  a  moodiness 
as  sudden  as  his  excitement.  His  lips  moved.  He  mut- 
tered something  inaudible,  and  began  to  play  absently  with 
his  cup  and  ball,  his  mind  occupied  apparently  with  a 
gloomy  retrospect.  'M.  de  Guise,  M.  de  Guise,'  he  mur- 
mured at  last,  with  a  sneer  and  an  accent  of  hate  which 
told  of  old  humiliations  long  remembered.  'Well,  damn 
him,  he  is  dead  now.  He  is  dead.  But  being  dead  he  yet 
troubles  us.  Is  not  that  the  verse,  father?  Ha!'  with  a 
start,  'I  was  forgetting.  But  that  is  the  worst  wrong  he 
has  done  me, '  he  continued,  looking  up  and  growing  excited 
again.  'He  has  cut  me  off  from  Mother  Church.  There 
is  hardly  a  priest  comes  near  me  now,  and  presently  they 
will  excommunicate  me.  And,  as  I  hope  for  salvation,  the 
Church  has  no  more  faithful  son  than  me.' 

I  believe  he  was  on  the  point,  forgetting  M.  de  Rosny 's 
presence  there  and  his  errand,  of  giving  way  to  unmanly 
tears,  when  M.  de  Rambouillet,  as  if  by  accident,  let  the 
heel  of  his  scabbard  fall  heavily  on  the  floor.  The  king 
started,  and  passing  his  hand  once  or  twice  across  his  brow, 
seemed  to  recover  himself.  'Well,'  he  said,  'no  doubt  we 
shall  find  a  way  out  of  our  difficulties.' 

'If  your  Majesty,'  Eosny  answered  respectfully,  'would 
accept  the  aid  my  master  proffers,  I  venture  to  think  that 
they  would  vanish  the  quicker.' 

'  You  think  so,'  Henry  rejoined.  •'  Well,  give  me  your 
shoulder.  Let  us  walk  a  little.'  And,  signing  to  E.am- 
bouillet  to  leave  him,  he  began  to  walk  up  and  down  with 
M.  de  Rosny,  talking  familiarly  with  him  in  an  undertone. 


1 66  A   GENTLEMAN-  OF  FRANCE 

Only  such  scraps  of  the  conversation  as  fell  from  them  when 
they  turned  at  my  end  of  the  gallery  now  reached  me. 
Patching  these  together,  however,  I  managed  to  understand 
somewhat.  At  one  turn  I  heard  the  king  say,  'But  then 

Turenne  offers '  At  the  next,  'Trust  him?  Well,  I 

do  not  know  why  I  should  not.  He  promises '  Then 

'A  Eepublic,  Rosny?  That  his  plan?  Pooh!  he  dare  not. 
He  could  not.  France  is  a  kingdom  by  the  ordinance  of 
God  in  my  family.' 

I  gathered  from  these  and  other  chance  words,  which  I 
have  since  forgotten,  that  M.  de  Rosny  was  pressing  the 
king  to  accept  the  help  of  the  King  of  Navarre,  and  warn- 
ing him  against  the  insidious  offers  of  the  Vicomte  de  Tu- 
renne. The  mention  of  a  Eepublic,  however,  seemed  to 
excite  his  Majesty's  wrath  rather  against  Kosny  for  pre- 
suming to  refer  to  such  a  thing  than  against  Turenne,  to 
whom  he  refused  to  credit  it.  He  paused  near  my  end  of 
the  promenade. 

'Prove  it!'  he  said  angrily.  'But  can  you  prove  it? 
Can  you  prove  it?  Mind  you,  I  will  take  no  hearsay  evi- 
dence, sir.  Now,  there  is  Turenne's  agent  here — you  did 
not  know,  I  dare  say,  that  he  had  an  agent  here? ' 

'You  refer,  sire,  to  M.  de  Bruhl,'  Rosny  answered,  with- 
out hesitation.  'I  know  him,  sire.' 

'I  think  you  are  the  devil,'  Henry  answered,  looking 
curiously  at  him.  'You  seem  to  know  most  things.  But 
mind  you,  my  friend,  he  speaks  me  fairly,  and  I  will  not 
take  this  on  hearsay  even  from  your  master.  Though, '  he 
added  after  pausing  a  moment,  'I  love  him.' 

'And  he,  your  Majesty.     He  desires  only  to  prove  it.' 

'Yes,  I  know,  I  know,'  the  king  answered  fretfully.  'I 
believe  he  does.  I  believe  he  does  wish  me  well.  But 
there  will  be  a  devil  of  an  outcry  among  my  people.  And 
Turenne  gives  fair  words  too.  And  I  do  not  know,'  he 
continued,  fidgeting  with  his  cup  and  ball,  'that  it  might 
not  suit  me  better  to  agree  with  him,  you  see. ' 

I  saw  M.  de  Kosny  draw  himself  up.     'Dare  I  speak 


VILAIN  HERODES  167 

openly  to  you,  sire,'  he  said,  with  less  respect  and  more 
energy  than  he  had  hitherto  used.  'As  I  should  to  my 
master? ' 

'Ay,  say  what  you  like,'  Henry  answered.  But  he  spoke 
sullenly,  and  it  seemed  to  me  that  he  looked  less  pleasantly 
at  his  companion. 

'Then  I  will  venture  to  utter  what  is  in  your  Majesty's 
mind,'  my  patron  answered  steadfastly.  'You  fear,  sire, 
lest,  having  accepted  my  master's  offer  and  conquered  your 
enemies,  you  should  not  be  easily  rid  of  him.' 

Henry  looked  relieved!  'Do  you  call  that  diplomacy?' 
he  said  with  a  smile.  'However,  what  if  it  be  so?  What 
do  you  say  to  it?  Methinks  I  have  heard  an  idle  tale  about 
a  horse  which  would  hunt  a  stag;  and  for  the  purpose  set 
a  man  upon  its  back.' 

'This  I  say,  sire,  first,'  Rosny  answered  very  earnestly. 
'That  the  King  of  Navarre  is  popular  only  with  one-third 
of  the  kingdom,  and  is  only  powerful  when  united  with 
you.  Secondly,  sire,  it  is  his  interest  to  support  the  royal 
power,  to  which  he  is  heir.  And,  thirdly,  it  must  be  more 
to  your  Majesty's  honour  to  accept  help  from  a  near  kins- 
man than  from  an  ordinary  subject,  and  one  who,  I  still 
maintain,  sire,  has  no  good  designs  in  his  mind.' 

'The  proof? '  Henry  said  sharply.     'Give  me  that! ' 

'I  can  give  it  in  a  week  from  this  day.' 

'It  must  be  no  idle  tale,  mind  you,'  the  king  continued 
suspiciously. 

'You  shall  have  Turenne's  designs,  sire,  from  one  who 
had  them  from  his  own  mouth. ' 

The  king  looked  startled,  but  after  a  pause  turned  and 
resumed  his  walk.  'Well,'  he  said,  'if  you  do  that,  I  on 
my  part ' 

The  rest  I  lost,  for  the  two  passing  to  the  farther  end  of 
the  gallery,  came  to  a  standstill  there,  balking  my  curiosity 
and  Rambouillet's  also.  The  marquis,  indeed,  began  to 
betray  his  impatience,  and  the  great  clock  immediately 
over  our  heads  presently  striking  the  half -hour  after  ten 


1 68  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

he  started  and  made  as  if  he  would  have  approached  the 
king.  He  checked  the  impulse,  however,  but  still  contin- 
ued to  fidget  uneasily,  losing  his  reserve  by-and-by  so  far  as 
to  whisper  to  me  that  his  Majesty  would  be  missed. 

I  had  been,  up  to  this  point,  a  silent  and  inactive  specta- 
tor of  a  scene  which  appealed  to  my  keenest  interests  and 
aroused  my  most  ardent  curiosity.  Surprise  following 
surprise,  I  had  begun  to  doubt  my  own  identity;  so  little 
had  I  expected  to  find  myself  first  in  the  presence  of  the 
Most  Christian  King — and  that  under  circumstances  as 
strange  and  bizarre  as  could  well  be  imagined — and  then  an 
authorised  witness  at  a  negotiation  upon  which  the  future 
of  all  the  great  land  of  France  stretching  for  so  many  hun- 
dred leagues  on  every  side  of  us,  depended.  I  say  I  could 
scarcely  believe  in  my  own  identity;  or  that  I  was  the  same 
Gaston  de  Marsac  who  had  slunk,  shabby  and  out-at-elbows, 
about  St.  Jean  d'Angely.  I  tasted  the  first  sweetness  of 
secret  power,  which  men  say  is  the  sweetest  of  all  and  the 
last  relinquished;  and,  the  hum  of  distant  voices  and 
laughter  still  reaching  me  at  intervals,  I  began  to  under- 
stand why  we  had  been  admitted  with  so  much  precaution, 
and  to  comprehend  the  gratification  of  M.  de  Kosny  when 
the  promise  of  this  interview  first  presented  to  him  the 
hope  of  effecting  so  much  for  his  master  and  for  France. 

Now  I  was  to  be  drawn  into  the  whirlpool  itself.  I  was 
still  travelling  back  over  the  different  stages  of  the  adven- 
ture which  had  brought  me  to  this  point,  when  I  was  rudely 
awakened  by  M.  de  K-osny  calling  my  name  in  a  raised 
voice.  Seeing,  somewhat  late,  that  he  was  beckoning  to 
me  to  approach,  I  went  forward  in  a  confused  and  hasty 
fashion ;  kneeling  before  the  king  as  I  had  seen  him  kneel, 
and  then  rising  to  give  ear  to  his  Majesty's  commands. 
Albeit,  having  expected  nothing  less  than  to  be  called 
upon,  I  was  not  in  the  clearest  mood  to  receive  them.  Nor 
was  my  bearing  such  as  I  could  have  wished  it  to  be. 

'M.  de  Eosny  tells  me  that  you  desire  a  commission  at 
Court,  sir, '  the  king  said  quickly. 


VILAIN  HERODES  169 

'I,  sire?'  I  stammered,  scarcely  able  to  believe  my  ears. 
I  was  so  completely  taken  aback  that  I  could  say  no  more, 
and  I  stopped  there  with  my  mouth  open. 

'There  are  few  things  I  can  deny  M.  de  Bosny,'  Henry 
continued,  speaking  very  rapidly,  'and  I  am  told  that  you 
are  a  gentleman  of  birth  and  ability.  Out  of  kindness  to 
him,  therefore,  I  grant  you  a  commission  to  raise  twenty 
men  for  my  service.  Rambouillet, '  he  continued,  raising  his 
voice  slightly,  'you  will  introduce  this  gentleman  to  me  pub- 
licly to-morrow,  that  I  may  carry  into  effect  my  intention 
on  his  behalf.  You  may  go  now,  sir.  No  thanks.  And 
M.  de  Rosny,'  he  added,  turning  to  my  companion  and 
speaking  with  energy,  'have  a  care  for  my  sake  that  you 
are  not  recognised  as  you  go.  Kambouillet  must  contrive 
something  to  enable  you  to  leave  without  peril.  I  should 
be  desolated  if  anything  happened  to  you,  my  friend,  for  I 
could  not  protect  you.  I  give  you  my  word  if  Mendoza  or 
Retz  found  you  in  Blois  I  could  not  save  you  from  them 
unless  you  recanted. ' 

'I  will  not  trouble  either  your  Majesty  or  my  conscience,' 
M.  de  Rosiiy  replied,  bowing  low,  'if  my  wits  can  help  me.' 

'Well,  the  saints  keep  you,'  the  king  answered  piously, 
going  towards  the  door  by  which  he  had  entered;  'for  your 
master  and  I  have  both  need  of  you.  Rambouillet,  take 
care  of  him  as  you  love  me.  And  come  early  in  the  morn- 
ing to  my  closet  and  tell  me  how  it  has  fared  with  him. ' 

We  all  stood  bowing  while  he  withdrew,  and  only  turned 
to  retire  when  the  door  closed  behind  him.  Burning  with 
indignation  and  chagrin  as  I  was  at  finding  myself  disposed 
of  in  the  way  I  have  described,  and  pitchforked,  whether  I 
would  or  no,  into  a  service  I  neither  fancied  nor  desired,  I 
still  managed  for  the  present  to  restrain  myself;  and,  per- 
mitting my  companions  to  precede  me,  followed  in  silence, 
listening  sullenly  to  their  jubilations.  The  marquis  seemed 
scarcely  less  pleased  than  M.  de  Rosny;  and  as  the  latter 
evinced  a  strong  desire  to  lessen  any  jealousy  the  former 
might  feel,  and  a  generous  inclination  to  attribute  to  him  a 


i;o  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

full  share  of  the  credit  gained,  I  remained  the  only  person 
dissatisfied  with  the  evening's  events.  We  retired  from 
the  chateau  with  the  same  precautions  which  had  marked 
our  entrance,  and  parting  with  M.  de  Eambouillet  at  the 
door  of  our  lodging — not  without  many  protestations  of 
esteem  on  his  part  and  of  gratitude  on  that  of  M.  de  Kosny 
— mounted  to  the  first-floor  in  single  file  and  in  silence, 
which  I  was  determined  not  to  be  the  first  to  break. 

Doubtless  M.  de  Rosny  knew  my  thoughts,  for,  speedily 
dismissing  Maignan  and  Simon,  who  were  in  waiting,  he 
turned  to  me  without  preface.  'Come,  my  friend,'  he  said, 
laying  his  hand  on  my  shoulder  and  looking  me  in  the  face 
in  a  way  which  all  but  disarmed  me  at  once,  'do  not  let  us 
misunderstand  one  another.  You  think  you  have  cause  to  be 
angry  with  me.  I  cannot  suffer  that,  for  the  King  of  Navarre 
had  never  greater  need  of  your  services  than  now.' 

'You  have  played  me  an  unworthy  trick,  sir,'  I  answered, 
thinking  he  would  cozen  me  with  fair  speeches. 

'Tut,  tut! '  he  replied.     'You  do  not  understand.' 

'I  understand  well  enough,'  I  answered,  with  bitterness, 
'that,  having  done  the  King  of  Navarre's  work,  he  would 
now  be  rid  of  me.' 

'Have  I  not  told  you,'  M.  de  Rosny  replied,  betraying 
for  the  first  time  some  irritation,  'that  he  has  greater  need 
of  your  services  than  ever?  Come,  man,  be  reasonable,  or, 
better  still,  listen  to  me.'  And  turning  from  me,  he  began 
to  walk  up  and  down  the  room,  his  hands  behind  him. 
'The  King  of  France — I  want  to  make  it  as  clear  to  you  as 
possible — '  he  said,  'cannot  make  head  against  the  League 
without  help,  and,  willy-nilly,  must  look  for  it  to  the 
Huguenots  whom  he  has  so  long  persecuted.  The  King  of 
Navarre,  their  acknowledged  leader,  has  offered  that  help; 
and  so,  to  spite  my  master,  and  prevent  a  combination  so 
happy  for  France,  has  M.  de  Turenne,  who  would  fain  raise 
the  faction  he  commands  to  eminence,  and  knows  well  how 
to  make  his  profit  out  of  the  dissensions  of  his  country. 
Are  you  clear  so  far,  sirt ' 


VILAIN  HERODES  171 

I  assented.     I  was  becoming  absorbed  in  spite  of  myself. 

'Very  well,'  lie  resumed.  'This  evening — never  did  any- 
thing fall  out  more  happily  than  Rambouillet's  meeting 
with  me — he  is  a  good  man! — I  have  brought  the  king  to 
this :  that  if  proof  of  the  selfish  nature  of  Turenne's  designs 
be  laid  before  him  he  will  hesitate  no  longer.  That  proof 
exists.  A  fortnight  ago  it  was  here;  but  it  is  not  here 
now.' 

'That  is  unlucky!'  I  exclaimed.  I  was  so  much  inter- 
ested in  his  story,  as  well  as  flattered  by  the  confidence  he 
was  placing  in  me,  that  my  ill-humour  vanished.  I  went 
and  stood  with  my  shoulder  against  the  mantelpiece,  and 
ne,  passing  to  and  fro  between  me  and  the  light,  continued 
his  tale. 

'A  word  about  this  proof,'  he  said.  'It  came  into  the 
King  of  Navarre's  hands  before  its  full  value  was  known 
to  us,  for  that  only  accrued  to  it  on  M.  de  Guise's  death. 
A  month  ago  it — this  piece  of  evidence  I  mean — was  at 
Chize.  A  fortnight  or  so  ago  it  was  here  in  Blois.  It  is 
now,  M.  de  Marsac,'  he  continued,  facing  me  suddenly  as 
he  came  opposite  me,  'in  my  house  at  Eosny.' 

I  started.    'You  mean  Mademoiselle  de  la  Vire? '  I  cried. 

'I  mean  Mademoiselle  de  la  Vire!'  he  answered,  'who, 
some  month  or  two  ago,  overheard  M.  de  Turenne's  plans, 
and  contrived  to  communicate  with  the  King  of  Navarre. 
Before  the  latter  could  arrange  a  private  interview,  how- 
ever, M.  de  Turenne  got  wind  of  her  dangerous  knowledge, 
and  swept  her  off  to  Chize.  The  rest  you  know,  M.  de 
Marsac,  if  any  man  knows  it.' 

'But  what  will  you  do ? '  I  asked.     'She  is  at  Rosny.' 

'Maignan,  whom  1  trust  implicitly,  as  far  as  his  lights 
go,  will  start  to  fetch  her  to-morrow.  At  the  same  hour  I 
start  southwards.  You,  M.  de  Marsac,  will  remain  here  as 
my  agent,  to  watch  over  my  interests,  to  receive  Mademoi- 
selle on  her  arrival,  to  secure  for  her  a  secret  interview  with 
the  king,  to  guard  her  while  she  remains  here.  Do  you 
anderstand? ' 


172  A    GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

Did  I  understand?  I  could  not  find  words  in  which  to 
thank  him.  My  remorse  and  gratitude,  my  sense  of  the 
wrong  I  had  done  him,  and  of  the  honour  he  was  doing  me, 
were  such  that  I  stood  mute  before  him  as  I  had  stood 
before  the  king.  'You  accept,  then?'  he  said,  smiling. 
'You  do  not  deem  the  adventure  beneath  you,  my  friend? ' 

'I  deserve  your  confidence  so  little,  sir,'  I  answered, 
stricken  to  the  ground,  'that  I  beg  you  to  speak,  while  I 
listen.  By  attending  exactly  to  your  instructions  I  may 
prove  worthy  of  th.3  trust  reposed  in  me.  And  only  so.' 

He  embraced  me  again  and  again,  with  a  kindness  which 
moved  me  almost  to  tears.  'You  are  a  man  after  my  own 
heart,'  he  said,  'and  if  God  wills  I  will  make  your  fortune. 
Now  listen,  my  friend.  To-inorrow  at  Court,  as  a  stranger 
and  a  man  introduced  by  Eambouillet,  you  will  be  the 
cynosure  of  all  eyes.  Bear  yourself  bravely.  Pay  court 
to  the  women,  but  attach  yourself  to  no  one  in  particular. 
Keep  aloof  from  Retz  and  the  Spanish  faction,  but  beware 
especially  of  Bruhl.  He  alone  will  have  your  secret,  and 
may  suspect  your  design.  Mademoiselle  should  be  here 
in  a  week;  while  she  is  with  you,  and  until  she  has  seen 
the  king,  trust  no  one,  suspect  everyone,  fear  all  things. 
Consider  the  battle  won  only  when  the  king  says,  "1  am 
satisfied."  ' 

Much  more  he  told  me,  which  served  its  purpose  and  has 
been  forgotten.  Finally  he  honoured  me  by  bidding  me 
share  his  pallet  with  him,  that  we  might  talk  without  re- 
straint, and  that  if  anything  occurred  to  him  in  the  night 
he  might  communicate  it  to  me. 

'But  will  not  Bruhl  denounce  me  as  a  Huguenot?'  I 
asked  him. 

'He  will  not  dare  to  do  so,'  M.  de  Kosny  answered,  'both 
as  a  Huguenot  himself,  and  as  his  master's  representa- 
tive; and,  further,  because  it  would  displease  the  king. 
No,  but  whatever  secret  harm  one  man  can  do  another,  that 
you  have  to  fear.  Maignan,  when  he  returns  with  made- 
moiselle, will  leave  two  men.  with  you;  until  they  come  I 


IN  THE  KING^S  CHAMBER  173 

should  borrow  a  couple  of  stout  fellows  from  Rambouillet, 
Do  not  go  out  alone  after  dark,  and  beware  of  doorways, 
especially  your  own.' 

A  little  later,  when  I  thought  him  asleep,  I  heard  him 
chuckle;  and  rising  on  my  elbow  I  asked  him  what  it  was. 
'Oh,  it  is  your  affair,'  he  answered,  still  laughing  silently, 
so  that  I  felt  the  mattress  shake  under  him.  'I  don't  envy 
you  one  part  of  your  task,  my  friend. ' 

'What  is  that?'  I  said  suspiciously. 

'Mademoiselle,'  he  answered,  stilling  with  difficulty  a 
burst  of  laughter.  And  after  that  he  would  not  say  an- 
other word,  bad,  good,  or  indifferent,  though  I  felt  the 
bed  shake  more  than  once,  and  knew  that  he  was  digesting 
his  pleasantry. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

IN   THE    KING'S    CHAMBER. 

M.  DE  ROSNY  had  risen  from  my  side  and  started  on  hi& 
journey  when  I  opened  my  eyes  in  the  morning,  and  awoke 
to  the  memory  of  the  task  which  had  been  so  strangely 
imposed  upon  me ;  and  which  might,  according  as  the  events 
of  the  next  fortnight  shaped  themselves,  raise  me  to  high 
position  or  put  an  end  to  my  career.  He  had  not  forgotten 
to  leave  a  souvenir  behind  him,  for  I  found  beside  my 
pillow  a  handsome  silver-mounted  pistol,  bearing  the  letter 
'  R.'  and  a  coronet ;  nor  had  I  more  than  discovered  this 
instance  of  his  kindness  before  Simon  Fleix  came  in  to 
tell  me  that  M.  de  Rosny  had  left  two  hundred  crowns  in 
his  hands  for  me. 

1  Any  message  with  it  ? '  I  asked  the  lad. 

'  Only  that  he  had  taken  a  keepsake  in  exchange,'  Simon 
answered,  opening  the  window  as  he  spoke. 

In  some  wonder  I  began  to  search,  but  I  could  not  dis- 
cover that  anything  was  missing  until  I  came  to  put  on  my 


174  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

doublet,  when  I  found  that  the  knot  of  ribbon  which 
mademoiselle  had  flung  to  me  at  my  departure  from  Rosny 
was  gone  from  the  inside  of  the  breast,  where  I  had  pinned 
it  for  safety  with  a  long  thorn.  The  discovery  that  M.  de 
Rosny  had  taken  this  was  displeasing  to  me  on  more  than 
one  account.  In  the  first  place,  whether  mademoiselle  had 
merely  wished  to  plague  me  (as  was  most  probable)  or  not, 
I  was  loth  to  lose  it,  my  day  for  ladies'  favours  being  past 
and  gone ;  in  the  second,  I  misdoubted  the  motive  which 
had  led  him  to  purloin  it,  and  tormented  myself  with  think- 
ing of  the  different  constructions  he  might  put  upon  it,  and 
the  disparaging  view  of  my  trustworthiness  which  it  might 
lead  him  to  take.  I  blamed  myself  much  for  my  carelessness 
in  leaving  it  where  a  chance  eye  might  rest  upon  it ;  and 
more  when,  questioning  Simon  further,  I  learned  that  M.  de 
Rosny  had  added,  while  mounting  at  the  door,  '  Tell  your 
master,  safe  bind,  safe  find ;  and  a  careless  lover  makes  a 
loose  mistress.' 

I  felt  my  cheek  burn  in  a  manner  unbecoming  my  years 
while  Simon  with  some  touch  of  malice  repeated  this  ;  and 
I  made  a  vow  on  the  spot,  which  I  kept  until  I  was  tempted 
to  break  it,  to  have  no  more  to  do  with  such  trifles.  Mean- 
while, I  had  to  make  the  best  of  it ;  and  brisking  up,  and  bid- 
ding Simon,  who  seemed  depressed  by  the  baron's  departure, 
brisk  up  also,  I  set  about  my  preparations  for  making  such 
a  figure  at  Court  as  became  me :  procuring  a  black  velvet 
suit,  and  a  cap  and  feather  to  match  ;  item,  a  jewelled  clasp 
to  secure  the  feather ;  with  a  yard  or  two  of  lace  and  two 
changes  of  fine  linen. 

Simon  had  grown  sleek  at  Kosny,  and  losing  something 
of  the  wildness  which  had  marked  him,  presented  in  the 
dress  M.  de  Rosny  had  given  him  a  very  creditable  appear- 
ance ;  being  also,  I  fancy,  the  only  equerry  in  Blois  who 
could  write.  A  groom  I  engaged  on  the  recommendation  of 
M.  de  Rambouillet's  master  of  the  horse ;  and  1  gave  out 
also  that  I  required  a  couple  of  valets.  It  needed  only  an 
hour  under  the  barber's  hands  and  a  set  of  new  trappings 


IN  THE  KING^S  CHAMBER  175 

for  the  Cid  to  enable  me  to  make  a  fair  show,  such  as 
might  be  taken  to  indicate  a  man  of  ten  or  twelve  thousand 
livres  a  year. 

In  this  way  I  expended  a  hundred  and  fifteen  crowns. 
Reflecting  that  this  was  a  large  sum,  and  that  I  must 
keep  some  money  for  play,  I  was  glad  to  learn  that  in  the 
crowded  state  of  the  city  even  men  with  high  rank  were 
putting  up  with  poor  lodging;  I  determined,  therefore,  to 
combine  economy  with  a  scheme  which  I  had  in  my  head 
by  taking  the  rooms  in  which  my  mother  died,  with  one 
room  below  them.  This  I  did,  hiring  such  furniture  as  I 
needed,  which  was  not  a  great  deal.  To  Simon  Fleix, 
whose  assistance  in  these  matters  was  invaluable,  I  passed 
on  much  of  M.  de  Rosny's  advice,  bidding  him  ruffle  it 
with  the  best  in  his  station,  and  inciting  him  to  labour  for 
my  advancement  by  promising  to  make  his  fortune  when- 
ever my  own  should  be  assured.  I  hoped,  indeed,  to  derive 
no  little  advantage  from  the  quickness  oi  wit  which  had 
attracted  M.  de  Rosny's  attention ;  although  I  did  not  fail 
to  take  into  account  at  the  same  time  that  the  lad  was 
wayward  and  fitful,  prone  at  one  time  to  depression,  and 
at  another  to  giddiness,  and  equally  uncertain  in  either 
mood. 

M.  de  Rambouillet  being  unable  to  attend  the  levte,  had 
appointed  me  to  wait  upon  him  at  six  in  the  evening;  at 
which  hour  I  presented  myself  at  his  lodgings,  attended  by 
Simon  Fleix.  I  found  him  in  the  midst  of  half  a  dozen 
gentlemen  whose  habit  it  was  to  attend  him  upon  all  public 
occasions ;  and  these  gallants,  greeting  me  with  the  same 
curious  and  suspicious  glances  which  I  have  seen  hounds 
bestow  on  a  strange  dog  introduced  into  their  kennel,  I  was 
speedily  made  to  feel  that  it  is  one  thing  to  have  business 
at  Court,  and  another  to  be  well  received  there. 

M.  de  Rambouillet,  somewhat  to  my  surprise,  did  nothing 
to  remove  this  impression.  On  all  ordinary  occasions  a 
man  oi'  stiff  and  haughty  bearing,  and  thoroughly  disliking, 
though  he  could  not  prevent,  the  intrusion  of  a  third  party 


I  ;6  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

into  a  transaction  which  promised  an  infinity  of  credit,  he 
received  me  so  coldly  and  with  so  much  reserve  as  for  the 
moment  to  dash  my  spirits  and  throw  me  back  on  myself. 

During  the  journey  to  the  castle,  however,  which  we  per- 
formed on  foot,  attended  by  half  a  dozen  armed  servants 
bearing  torches,  I  had  time  to  recall  M.  de  Rosny's  advice, 
and  to  bethink  me  of  the  intimacy  which  that  great  man 
had  permitted  me ;  with  so  much  effect  in  the  way  of  heart- 
ening me,  that  as  we  crossed  the  courtyard  of  the  castle  I 
advanced  myself,  not  without  some  murmuring  on  the  part 
of  others,  to  Rambouillet's  elbow,  considering  that  as  I  was 
attached  to  him  by  the  king's  command,  this  was  my  proper 
place.  I  had  no  desire  to  quarrel,  however,  and  persisted 
for  some  time  in  disregarding  the  nudges  and  muttered 
words  which  were  exchanged  round  me,  and  even  the  efforts 
which  were  made  as  we  mounted  the  stairs  to  oust  me  from 
my  position.  But  a  young  gentleman,  who  showed  himself 
very  forward  in  these  attempts,  presently  stumbling  against 
me,  I  found  it  necessary  to  look  at  him. 

'  Sir,'  he  said,  in  a  small  and  lisping  voice,  '  you  trod  on 
my  toe.' 

Though  I  had  not  done  so,  I  begged  his  parddn  very 
politely.  But  as  his  only  acknowledgment  of  this  courtesy 
consisted  in  an  attempt  to  get  his  knee  in  front  of  mine — 
we  were  mounting  very  slowly,  the  stairs  being  cumbered 
with  a  multitude  of  servants,  who  stood  on  either  hand — I 
did  tread  on  his  toe,  with  a  force  and  directness  which 
made  him  cry  out. 

1  What  is  the  matter  ? '  Eambouillet  asked,  looking  back 
hastily. 

'Nothing,  M.  le  Marquis,'  I  answered,  pressing  on  stead- 
fastly. 

'  Sir,'  my  young  friend  said  again,  in  the  same  lisping 
voice,  '  you  trod  on  my  toe.' 

'  I  believe  I  did,  sir,'  I  answered. 

'You  have  not  yet  apologised,'  he  murmured  gently  in 
my  ear. 


IN  THE  KING^S  CHAMBER  177 

,  there  you  are  wrong,'  I  rejoined  bluntly,  'for  it  is 
always  my  habit  to  apologise  first  and  tread  afterwards.' 

He  smiled  as  at  a  pleasant  joke  ;  and  I  am  bound  to  say 
that  his  bearing  was  so  admirable  that  if  he  had  been  my 
son  I  could  have  hugged  him.  'Good!'  he  answered.  'No 
doubt  your  sword  is  as  sharp  as  your  wits,  sir.  I  see,'  he 
continued,  glancing  naively  at  my  old  scabbard — he  was 
himself  the  very  gem  of  a  courtier,  a  slender  youth  with  a 
pink-and- white  complexion,  a  dark  line  for  a  moustache, 
and  a  pearl-drop  in  his  ear — '  it  is  longing  to  be  out.  Per- 
haps you  will  take  a  turn  in  the  tennis-court  to-morrow  ? ' 

'  With  pleasure,  sir,'  I  answered,  '  if  you  have  a  father, 
or  your  elder  brother  is  grown  up.' 

What  answer  he  would  have  made  to  this  gibe  I  do  not 
know,  for  at  that  moment  we  reached  the  door  of  the  ante- 
chamber ;  and  this  being  narrow,  and  a  sentry  in  the  grey 
uniform  of  the  Swiss  Guard  compelling  all  to  enter  in 
single  file,  my  young  friend  was  forced  to  fall  back,  leaving 
me  free  to  enter  alone,  and  admire  at  my  leisure  a  scene  at 
once  brilliant  and  sombre. 

The  Court  being  in  mourning  for  the  Queen-mother,  black 
predominated  in  the  dresses  of  those  present,  and  set  off 
very  finely  the  gleaming  jewels  and  gemmed  sword-hilts 
which  were  worn  by  the  more  important  personages.  The 
room  was  spacious  and  lofty,  hung  with  arras,  and  lit  by 
candles  burning  in  silver  sconces ;  it  rang  as  we  entered 
with  the  shrill  screaming  of  a  parrot,  which  was  being 
teased  by  a  group  occupying  the  farther  of  the  two  hearths. 
Near  them  play  was  going  on  at  one  table,  and  primero  at 
a  second.  In  a  corner  were  three  or  four  ladies,  in  a  circle 
about  a  red-faced,  plebeian-looking  man,  who  was  playing 
at  forfeits  with  one  of  their  number ;  while  the  middle  of 
the  room  seemed  dominated  by  a  middle-sized  man  with  a 
peculiarly  inflamed  and  passionate  countenance,  who,  seated 
on  a  table,  was  inveighing  against  someone  or  something  in 
the  most  violent  terms,  his  language  being  interlarded  with 
all  kinds  of  strange  and  forcible  oaths.  Two  or  three  gen- 


178  A   GENTLEMAN-  OF  FRANCE 

tlemen,  who  had  the  air  of  being  his  followers,  stood  about 
him,  listening  between  submission  and  embarrassment ; 
while  beside  the  nearer  fireplace,  but  at  some  distance  from 
him,  lounged  a  nobleman,  very  richly  dressed,  and  wearing 
on  his  breast  the  Cross  of  the  Holy  Ghost ;  who  seemed  to 
be  the  object  of  his  invective,  but  affecting  to  ignore  it  was 
engaged  in  conversation  with  a  companion.  A  bystander 
muttering  that  Crillon  had  been  drinking,  I  discovered  with 
immense  surprise  that  the  declaimer  on  the  table  was  that 
famous  soldier;  and  I  was  still  looking  at  him  in  wonder — 
for  I  had  been  accustomed  all  my  life  to  associate  courage 
with  modesty — -when,  the  door  of  the  chamber  suddenly 
opening,  a  general  movement  in  that  direction  took  place. 
Crillon,  disregarding  all  precedency,  sprang  from  his  table 
and  hurried  first  to  the  threshold.  The  Baron  de  Biron,  on 
the  other  hand — for  the  gentleman  by  the  fire  was  no  other 
— waited,  in  apparent  ignorance  of  the  slight  which  was 
being  put  upon  him,  until  M.  de  Rambouillet  came  up ; 
then  he  went  forward  with  him.  Keeping  close  to  my 
patron's  elbow,  I  entered  the  chamber  immediately  behind 
him. 

Crillon  had  already  seized  upon  the  king,  and,  when  we 
entered,  was  stating  his  grievance  in  a  voice  not  much 
lower  than  that  which  he  had  used  outside.  M.  de  Biron, 
seeing  this,  parted  from  the  marquis,  and,  going  aside 
with  his  former  companion,  sat  down  on  a  trunk  against 
the  wall;  while  Rambouillet,  followed  by  myself  and 
three  or  four  gentlemen  of  his  train,  advanced  to  the  king, 
who  was  standing  near  the  alcove.  His  Majesty  see- 
ing him,  and  thankful,  I  think,  for  the  excuse,  waved 
Crillon  off.  '  Tut,  tut ! .  You  told  me  all  that  this  morning/ 
he  said  good-naturedly.  'And  here  is  Rambouillet,  who 
has,  I  hope,  something  fresh  to  tell.  Let  him  speak  to  me. 
Sanctus  !  Don't  look  at  me  as  if  you  would  run  me  through, 
man.  Go  and  quarrel  with  someone  of  your  own  size.' 

Crillon  at  this  retired  grumbling,  and  Henry,  who  had 
just  risen  from  primero  with  the  Duke  of  Nevers,  nodded 


IN  THE  KIKG^S  CHAMBER  179 

to  Rambouillet.  '  Well,  my  friend,  anything  fresh  ? '  he 
cried.  He  was  more  at  his  ease  and  looked  more  cheerful 
than  at  our  former  interview ;  yet  still  care  and  suspicion 
lurked  about  his  peevish  mouth,  and  in  the  hollows  under 
his  gloomy  eyes.  'A  new  guest,  a  new  face,  or  a  new  game 
— which  have  you  brought  ?  ' 

'In  a  sense,  sire,  a  new  face,'  the  marquis  answered, 
bowing,  and  standing  somewhat  aside  that  I  might  have 
place. 

'  Well,  I  cannot  say  much  for  the  pretty  baggage,'  quoth 
the  king  quickly.  And  amid  a  general  titter  he  extended 
his  hand  to  me.  '  I'll  be  sworn,  though,'  he  continued,  as 
I  rose  from  my  knee,  'that  you  want  something,  my 
friend  ? ' 

'Nay,  sire,'  I  answered,  holding  up  my  head  boldly — 
for  Oillon's  behaviour  had  been  a  further  lesson  to  me — 
'  I  have,  by  your  leave,  the  advantage.  For  your  Majesty 
has  supplied  me  with  a  new  jest.  I  see  many  new  faces 
round  me,  and  I  have  need  only  of  a  new  game.  If  your 
Majesty  would  be  pleased  to  grant  me ' 

1  There  !  Said  I  not  so  ?  '  cried  the  king,  raising  his 
hand  with  a  laugh.  'He  does  want  something.  But  he 
seems  not  undeserving.  What  does  he  pray,  Rambouillet  ?' 

'  A  small  command,'  M.  de  Rambouillet  answered,  readily 
playing  his  part.  'And  your  Majesty  would  oblige  me  if 
you  could  grant  the  Sieur  de  Marsac's  petition.  I  will 
answer  for  it  he  is  a  man  of  experience.5 

'  Chut !  A  small  command  ? '  Henry  ejaculated,  sitting 
down  suddenly  in  apparent  ill-humour.  '  It  is  what  every- 
one wants — when  they  do  not  want  big  ones.  Still,  I 
suppose,'  he  continued,  taking  up  a  comfit-box,  which  lay 
beside  him,  and  opening  it,  'if  you  do  not  get  what  you 
want  for  him  you  will  sulk  like  the  rest,  my  friend.' 

'  Your  Majesty  has  never  had  cause  to  complain  of  me,' 
quoth  the  marquis,  forgetting  his  rdle,  or  too  proud  to 
play  it. 

'  Tut,  tut,  tut,  tut !     Take  it,  and  trouble  me  no  more/ 

M? 


the  king  rejoined.  '  Will  pay  for  twenty  men  do  for  him  ? 
Very  well  then.  There,  M.  de  Marsac,'  he  continued, 
nodding  at  me  and  yawning,  'your  request  is  granted.  You 
will  find  some  other  pretty  baggages  over  there.  Go  to 
them.  And  now,  Rambouillet,'  he  went  on,  resuming  his 
spirits  as  he  turned  to  matters  of  more  importance,  '  here  is 
a  new  sweetmeat  Zamet  has  sent  me.  I  have  made  Zizi 
sick  with  it.  Will  you  try  it  ?  It  is  flavoured  with  white 
mulberries.' 

Thus  dismissed,  I  fell  back ;  and  stood  for  a  moment,  at 
a  loss  whither  to  turn,  in  the  absence  of  either  friends  or 
acquaintances.  His  Majesty,  it  is  true,  had  bidden  me  go 
to  certain  pretty  baggages,  meaning,  apparently,  five  ladies 
who  were  seated  at  the  farther  end  of  the  room,  diverting 
themselves  with  as  many  cavaliers ;  but  the  compactness 
of  this  party,  the  beauty  of  the  ladies,  and  the  merry  peals 
of  laughter  which  proceeded  from  them,  telling  of  a  wit 
and  vivacity  beyond  the  ordinary,  sapped  the  resolution 
which  had  borne  me  well  hitherto.  I  felt  that  to  attack 
such  a  phalanx,  even  with  a  king's  good  will,  was  bey  on  \ 
the  daring  of  a  Crillon,  and  I  looked  round  to  see  whether 
I  could  not  amuse  myself  in  some  more  modest  fashion. 

The  material  was  not  lacking.  Crillon,  still  mouthing 
out  his  anger,  strode  up  and  down  in  front  of  the  trunk  on 
which  M.  de  Biron  was  seated;  but  the  latter  was,  or 
affected  to  be,  asleep.  'Crillon  is  for  ever  going  into  rages 
now,'  a  courtier  beside  me  whispered. 

'Yes,'  his  fellow  answered,  with  a  shrug  of  the  shoulder; 
'it  is  a  pity  there  is  no  one  to  tame  him.  But  he  has  such 
a  long  reach,  morbleu  ! ' 

'It  is  not  that  so  much  as  the  fellow's  fury,'  the  first 
speaker  rejoined  under  his  breath.  '  He  fights  like  a  mad 
thing;  fencing  is  no  use  against  him.' 

The  other  nodded.  For  a  moment  the  wild  idea  of  win- 
ning renown  by  taming  M.  de  Crillon  occurred  to  me  as  I 
stood  alone  in  the  middle  of  the  floor ;  but  it  had  not  more 
than  passed  through  my  brain  when  I  felt  my  elbow 


IN  THE  KING'S  CHAMBER  181 

touched,  and  turned  to  find  the  young  gentleman  whom  I 
had  encountered  on  the  stairs  standing  by  my  side. 

'Sir,'  he  lisped,  in  the  same  small  voice,  'I  think  you 
trod  on  my  toe  a  while  ago  ? ' 

I  stared  at  him,  wondering  what  he  meant  by  this  ab- 
surd repetition.  'Well,  sir,'  I  answered  drily,  'and  if  I 
did?' 

'Perhaps,'  he  said,  stroking  his  chin  with  his  jewelled 
fingers,  'pending  our  meeting  to-morrow,  you  would  allow 
me  to  consider  it  as  a  kind  of  introduction  ? ' 

'If  it  please  you,'  I  answered,  bowing  stiffly,  and  wonder- 
ing what  he  would  be  at. 

'Thank  you/  he  answered.  'It  does  please  me,  under 
the  circumstances ;  for  there  is  a  lady  here  who  desires  a 
word  with  you.  I  took  up  her  challenge.  Will  you  follow 
me?' 

He  bowed,  and  turned  in  his  languid  fashion.  I,  turning 
too,  saw,  with  secret  dismay,  that  the  five  ladies,  referred  to 
above,  were  all  now  gazing  at  me,  as  expecting  my  ap- 
proach; and  this  with  such  sportive  glances  as  told  only 
too  certainly  of  some  plot  already  in  progress  or  some  trick 
to  be  presently  played  me.  Yet  I  could  not  see  that  I  had 
any  choice  save  to  obey,  and,  following  my  leader  with  as 
much  dignity  as  I  could  compass,  I  presently  found  myself 
bowing  before  the  lady  who  sat  nearest,  and  who  seemed  to 
be  the  leader  of  these  nymphs. 

'Kay,  sir,'  she  said,  eyeing  me  curiously,  yet  with  a 
merry  face,  '  I  do  not  need  you ;  I  do  not  look  so  high ! ' 

Turning  in  confusion  to  the  next,  I  was  surprised  to  see 
before  me  the  lady  whose  lodging  I  had  invaded  in  my 
search  for  Mademoiselle  de  la  Vire — she,  I  mean,  who, 
having  picked  up  the  velvet  knot,  had  dropped  it  so  provi- 
dentially where  Simon  Fleix  found  it.  She  looked  at  me, 
blushing  and  laughing,  and  the  young  gentleman,  who  had 
done  her  errand,  presenting  me  by  name,  she  asked  me, 
while  the  others  listened,  whether  I  had  found  my  mistress. 

Before  I  could  answer,  the  lady  to  whom  I  had  first  ad- 


1 82  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

dressed  myself  interposed.  'Stop,  sir!'  she  cried.  <What 
is  this — a  tale,  a  jest,  a  game,  or  a  forfeit  ? ' 

vAn  adventure,  madam/  I  answered,  bowing  low. 

'Of  gallantry,  I'll  be  bound/  she  exclaimed.  'Fie, 
Madame  de  Bruhl,  and  you  but  six  months  married ! ' 

Madame  de  Bruhl  protested,  laughing,  that  she  had  no 
more  to  do  with  it  than  Mercury.  'At  the  worst/  she  said, 
'I  carried  the  poulets!  But  I  can  assure  you,  duchess,  this 
gentleman  should  be  able  to  tell  us  a  very  fine  stovy,  if  he 
would.' 

The  duchess  and  all  the  other  ladies  clapping  their 
hands  at  this,  and  crying  out  that  the  story  must  and 
should  be  told,  I  found  myself  in  a  prodigious  quandary; 
and  one  wherein  my  wits  derived  as  little  assistance  as 
possible  from  the  bright  eyes  and  saucy  looks  which  en- 
vironed me.  Moreover,  the  commotion  attracting  other 
listeners,  I  found  my  position,  while  I  tried  to  extricate 
myself,  growing  each  moment  worse,  so  that  I  began  to 
fear  that  as  I  had  little  imagination  I  should  perforce  have 
to  tell  the  truth.  The  mere  thought  of  this  threw  me  into 
a  cold  perspiration,  lest  I  should  let  slip  something  of  conse- 
quence, and  prove  myself  unworthy  of  the  trust  which  M. 
de  Rosny  had  reposed  in  me. 

At  the  moment  when,  despairing  of  extricating  myself,  I 
was  stooping  over  Madame  de  Bruhl  begging  her  to  assist 
me,  I  heard,  amid  the  babel  of  laughter  and  raillery  which 
surrounded  me — certain  of  the  courtiers  having  already 
formed  hands  in  a  circle  and  sworn  I  should  not  depart 
without  satisfying  the  ladies — a  voice  which  struck  a  chord 
in  my  memory.  I  turned  to  see  who  the  speaker  was,  and 
encountered  no  other  than  M.  de  Bruhl  himself ;  who,  with 
a  flushed  and  angry  face,  was  listening  to  the  explanation 
which  a  friend  was  pouring  into  his  ear.  Standing  at  the 
moment  with  my  knee  on  Madame  de  Bruhl's  stool,  and 
remembering  very  well  the  meeting  on  the  stairs,  I  coii- 
ceived  in  a  flash  that  the  man  was  jealous  ;  but  whether 
he  had  yet  heard  my  name,  or  had  any  clew  to  link  me  with 


IN  THE  KING^S  CHAMBER  183 

the  person  who  had  rescued  Mademoiselle  de  la  Vire  from 
his  clutches,  I  could  not  tell.  Nevertheless  his  presence 
led  my  thoughts  into  a  new  channel.  The  determination 
to  punish  him  began  to  take  form  in  my  mind,  and  very 
quickly  I  regained  my  composure.  Still  I  was  for  giving  him 
one  chance.  Accordingly  I  stooped  once  more  to  Madame 
de  Bruhl's  ear,  and  begged  her  to  spare  me  the  embarrass- 
ment of  telling  my  tale.  But  then,  finding  her  pitiless,  as 
I  expected,  and  the  rest  of  the  company  growing  more  and 
more  insistent,  I  hardened  my  heart  to  go  through  with  t>he 
fantastic  notion  which  had  occurred  to  me. 

Indicating  by  a  gesture  that  I  was  prepared  to  obey,  and 
the  duchess  crying  for  a  hearing,  this  was  presently  ob- 
tained, the  sudden  silence  adding  the  king  himself  to  my 
audience.  'What  is  it?'  he  asked,  coming  up  effusively, 
with  a  lap-dog  in  his  arms.  '  A  new  scandal,  eh  ? ' 

'  No,  sire,  a  new  tale-teller,3  the  duchess  answered  pertly. 
'  If  your  Majesty  will  sit,  we  shall  hear  him  the  sooner.' 

He  pinched  her  ear  and  sat  down  in  the  chair  which  a 
page  presented.  'What?  is  it  Eambouillet's  grison  again?' 
he  said  with  some  surprise.  'Well,  fire  away,  man.  But 
who  brought  you  forward  as  a  Rabelais  ? ' 

There  was  a  general  cry  of  '  Madame  de  Bruhl ! '  whereat 
that  lady  shook  her  fair  hair  about  her  face,  and  cried  out 
for  someone  to  bring  her  a  mask. 

'  Ha,  I  see ! '  said  the  king  drily,  looking  pointedly  at  M. 
de  Bruhl,  who  was  as  black  as  thunder.  '  But  go  on,  man.' 

The  king's  advent,  by  affording  me  a  brief  respite,  had 
enabled  me  to  collect  my  thoughts,  and,  disregarding  the 
ribald  interruptions,  which  at  first  were  frequent,  I  began  as 
follows:  'I  am  no  Rabelais,  sire,'  I  said,  'but  droll  things 
happen  to  the  most  unlikely.  Once  upon  a  time  it  was  the 
fortune  of  a  certain  swain,  whom  I  will  call  Dromio,  to 
arrive  in  a  town  not  a  hundred  miles  from  Blois,  having  in 
his  company  a  nymph  of  great  beauty,  who  had  been  en- 
trusted to  his  care  by  her  parents.  He  had  not  more  than 
lodged  her  in  his  apartments,  however,  before  she  was 


1 84  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

decoyed  away  by  a  trick,  and  borne  off  against  her  will  by 
a  young  gallant,  who  had  seen  her  and  been  smitten  by  her 
charms.  Dromio,  returning,  and  finding  his  mistress  gone, 
gave  way  to  the  most  poignant  grief.  He  ran  up  and  down 
the  city,  seeking  her  in  every  place,  and  filling  all  places 
with  his  lamentations  ;  but  for  a  time  in  vain,  until  chance 
led  him  to  a  certain  street,  where,  in  an  almost  incredible 
manner,  he  found  a  clew  to  her  by  discovering  underfoot  a 
knot  of  velvet,  bearing  Phyllida's  name  wrought  011  it  in 
deMcate  needlework,  with  the  words,  "A  moi!": 

'  Sanctus ! '  cried  the  king,  amid  a  general  murmur  of  sur- 
prise, '  that  is  well  devised !  Proceed,  sir.  Go  on  like  that, 
and  we  will  make  your  twenty  men  twenty-five.' 

'Dromio,'  I  continued,  -'at  sight  of  this  trifle  experienced 
the  most  diverse  emotions,  for  while  he  possessed  in  it  a 
clew  to  his  mistress's  fate,  he  had  still  to  use  it  so  as  to  dis- 
cover the  place  whither  she  had  been  hurried.  It  occurred 
to  him  at  last  to  begin  his  search  with  the  house  before 
which  the  knot  had  lain.  Ascending  accordingly  to  the 
second-floor,  he  found  there  a  fair  lady  reclining  on  a  couch, 
who  started  up  in  affright  at  his  appearance.  He  hastened 
to  reassure  her,  and  to  explain  the  purpose  of  his  coming, 
and  learned  after  a  conversation  with  which  I  will  not 
trouble  your  Majesty,  though  it  was  sufficiently  diverting, 
that  the  lady  had  found  the  velvet  knot  in  another  part  of 
the  town,  and  had  herself  dropped  it  again  in  front  of  her 
own  house.' 

'  Pourquoi  ?  '  the  king  asked,  interrupting  me. 

'  The  swain,  sire,'  I  answered,  '  was  too  much  taken  up 
with  his  own  troubles  to  bear  that  in  mind,  even  if  he 
learned  it.  But  this  delicacy  did  not  save  him  from  mis- 
conception, for  as  he  descended  from  the  lady's  apartment 
he  met  her  husband  on  the  stairs.' 

'Good!'  the  king  exclaimed,  rubbing  his  hands  in  glee. 
1  The  husband ! '  And  under  cover  of  the  gibe  and  the 
courtly  laugh  which  followed  it  M.  de  Bruhl's  start  of  sur- 
prise passed  unnoticed  save  by  me. 


IN  THE  KING^S  CHAMBER  185 

'  The  husband,'  I  resumed,  '  seeing  a  stranger  descending 
his  staircase,  was  for  stopping  him  .and  learning  the  reason 
of  his  presence;  but  Dromio,  whose  mind  was  with  Phyllida, 
refused  to  stop,  and,  evading  his  questions,  hurried  to  the 
part  of  the  town  where  the  lady  had  told  him  she  found  the 
velvet  knot.  Here,  sire,  at  the  corner  of  a  lane  running 
between  garden-walls,  he  found  a  great  house,  barred  and 
gloomy,  and  well  adapted  to  the  abductor's  purpose.  More- 
over, scanning  it  on  every  side,  he  presently  discovered,  tied 
about  the  bars  of  an  upper  window,  a  knot  of  white  linen, 
the  very  counterpart  of  that  velvet  one  which  he  bore  in 
his  breast.  Thus  he  knew  that  the  nymph  was  imprisoned 
in  that  room ! ' 

'  I  will  make,  it  twenty-five,  as  I  am  a  good  Churchman  ! ' 
his  Majesty  exclaimed,  dropping  the  little  dog  he  was 
nursing  into  the  duchess's  lap,  and  taking  out  his  comfit- 
box.  '  Rambouillet,'  he  added  languidly,  '  your  friend  is  a 
treasure ! ' 

I  bowed  my  acknowledgments,  and  took  occasion  as  I  did 
so  to  step  a  pace  aside,  so  as  to  command  a  view  of 
Madame  de  Bruhl,  as  well  as  her  husband.  Hitherto 
madame,  willing  to  be  accounted  a  part  in  so  pretty  a 
romance,  and  ready  enough  also,  unless  I  was  mistaken,  to 
cause  her  husband  a  little  mild  jealousy,  had  listened  to  the 
story  with  a  certain  sly  demureness.  But  this  I  foresaw 
would  not  last  long ;  and  I  felt  something  like  compunction 
as  the  moment  for  striking  the  blow  approached.  But  I 
had  now  no  choice.  '  The  best  is  yet  to  come,  sire,'  I  went 
on,  'as  I  think  you  will  acknowledge  in  a  moment. 
Dromio,  though  he  had  discovered  his  mistress,  was  still  in 
the  depths  of  despair.  He  wandered  round  and  round  the 
house,  seeking  ingress  and  finding  none,  until  at  length, 
sunset  approaching,  and  darkness  redoubling  his  fears  for 
the  nymph,  fortune  took  pity  on  him.  As  he  stood  in 
front  of  the  house  he  saw  the  abductor  come  out,  lighted 
by  two  servants.  Judge  of  his  surprise,  sire,'  I  continued, 
looking  round  and  speaking  slowly,  to  give  full  effect  to  my 


1 86  A  GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

words,  '  when  he  recognised  in  him  no  other  than  the 
husband  of  the  lady  who,  by  picking  up  and  again 
dropping  the  velvet  knot,  had  contributed  so  much  to  the 
success  of  his  search  ! ' 

'  Ha !  these  husbands  ! '  cried  the  king.  And  slapping  his 
knee  in  an  ecstasy  at  his  own  acuteness,  he  laughed  in  his  seat 
till  he  rolled  again.  '  These  husbands  !  Did  I  not  say  so  ? ' 

The  whole  Court  gave  way  to  like  applause,  and  clapped 
their  hands  as  well,  so  that  few  save  those  who  stood 
nearest  took  notice  of  Madame  de  Bruhl's  faint  cry,  and 
still  fewer  understood  why  she  rose  up  suddenly  from  her 
stool  and  stood  gazing  at  her  husband  with  burning  cheeks 
and  clenched  hands.  She  took  no  heed  of  me,  much  less  of 
the  laughing  crowd  round  her,  but  looked  only  at  him  with 
her  soul  in  her  eyes.  He,  after  uttering  one  hoarse  curse, 
seemed  to  have  no  thought  for  any  but  me.  To  have  the 
knowledge  that  his  own  wife  had  baulked  him  brought 
home  to  him  in  this  mocking  fashion,  to  find  how  little  a 
thing  had  tripped  him  that  day,  to  learn  how  blindly  he 
had  played  into  the  hands  of  fate,  above  all  to  be  exposed 
at  once  to  his  wife's  resentment  and  the  ridicule  of  the 
Court — for  he  could  not  be  sure  that  I  should  not  the  next 
moment  disclose  his  name — all  so  wrought  on  him  that  fcr 
a  moment  I  thought  he  would  strike  me  in  the  presence. 

His  rage,  indeed,  did  what  I  had  not  meant  to  do.  For 
the  king,  catching  sight  of  his  face,  and  remembering  that 
Madame  de  Bruhl  had  elicited  the  story,  screamed  suddenly, 
*  Haro  ! 5  and  pointed  ruthlessly  at  him  with  his  tinger. 
After  that  I  had  no  need  to  speak,  the  story  leaping  from 
eye  to  eye,  and  every  eye  settling  on  Bruhl,  who  sought  in 
vain  to  compose  his  features.  Madame,  who  surpassed  him, 
as  women  commonly  do  surpass  men,  in  self-control,  was  the 
first  to  recover  herself,  and  sitting  down  as  quickly  as  she 
had  risen,  confronted  alike  her  husband  and  her  rivals  with 
a  pale  smile. 

For  a  moment  curiosity  and  excitement  kept  all  breath' 
less,  the  eye  alone  busy.  Then  the  king  laughed  mia- 


IN  THE  KING^S  CHAMBER  187 

chievously.  '  Come,  M.  de  Bruhl/  he  cried,  '  perhaps  you 
will  finish  the  tale  for  us  ?  :  And  he  threw  himself  back 
in  his  chair,  a  sneer  on  his  lips. 

1  Or  why  not  Madame  de  Bruhl  ?  '  said  the  duchess,  with 
her  head  on  one  side  and  her  eyes  glittering  over  her  fan. 
'  Madame  would,  I  am  sure,  tell  it  so  well.' 

But  madame  only  shook  her  head,  smiling  always  that 
forced  smile.  For  Bruhl  himself,  glaring  from  face  to  face 
like  a  bull  about  to  charge,  I  have  never  seen  a  man  more 
out  of  countenance,  or  more  completely  brought  to  bay. 
His  discomposure,  exposed  as  he  was  to  the  ridicule  of  all 
present,  was  such  that  the  presence  in  which  he  stood 
scarcely  hindered  him  from  some  violent  attack;  and  his 
eyes,  which  had  wandered  from  me  at  the  king's  word, 
presently  returning  to  me  again,  he  so  far  forgot  himself  as 
to  raise  his  hand  furiously,  uttering  at  the  same  time  a 
savage  oath. 

The  king  cried  out  angrily,  '  Have  a  care,  sir ! '  But 
Bruhl  only  heeded  this  so  far  as  to  thrust  aside  those  who 
stood  round  him  and  push  his  way  hurriedly  through  the 
eii  jle. 

'  Arnidieu ! '  cried  the  king,  when  he  was  gone.  '  This  is 
fine  conduct !  I  have  half  a  mind  to  send  after  him  and 
have  him  put  where  his  hot  blood  would  cool  a  little. 
Or—' 

He  stopped  abruptly,  his  eyes  resting  on  me.  The 
relative  positions  of  Bruhl  and  myself  as  the  agents  of  Rosny 
and  Turenne  occurred  to  him  for  the  first  time,  I  think, 
and  suggested  the  idea,  perhaps,  that  I  had  laid  a  trap  for 
him,  and  that  he  had  fallen  into  it.  At  any  rate  his  face 
grew  darker  and  darker,  and  at  last,  '  A  nice  kettle  of  fish 
this  is  you  have  prepared  for  us,  sir  ! '  he  muttered,  gazing 
at  me  gloomily. 

The  sudden  change  in  his  humour  took  even  courtiers  by 
surprise.  Faces  a  moment  before  broad  with  smiles  grew 
long  again.  The  less  important  personages  looked  uncom- 
fortably at  one  another,  and  with  one  accord  frowned  on 


1 88  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

me.  '  If  your  Majesty  would  please  to  hear  the  end  of  the 
story  at  another  time?'  I  suggested  humbly,  beginning  to 
wish  with  all  my  heart  that  I  had  never  said  a  word. 

( Chut ! '  he  answered,  rising,  his  face  still  betraying  his 
perturbation.  '  Well,  be  it  so.  For  the  present  you  may 
go,  sir.  Duchess,  give  me  Zizi,  and  come  to  my  closet.  I 
want  you  to  see  my  puppies.  Retz,  my  good  friend,  do  you 
come  too.  I  have  something  to  say  to  you.  Gentlemen, 
you  need  not  wait.  It  is  likely  I  shall  be  late.' 

And,  with  the  utmost  abruptness,  he  broke  up  the  circle. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

THE    JACOBIN   MONK. 

HAD  I  needed  any  reminder  of  the  uncertainty  of  Court 
favour,  or  an  instance  whence  I  might  learn  the  lesson  of 
modesty,  and  so  stand  in  less  danger  of  presuming  on  my 
new  and  precarious  prosperity,  I  had  it  in  this  episode,  and 
in  the  demeanour  of  the  company  round  me.  On  the  circle 
breaking  up  in  confusion,  I  found  myself  the  centre  of 
general  regard,  but  regard  of  so  dubious  a  character,  the 
persons  who  would  have  been  the  first  to  compliment  me 
had  the  king  retired  earlier,  standing  farthest  aloof  now, 
that  I  felt  myself  rather  insulted  than  honoured  by  it. 
One  or  two,  indeed,  of  the  more  cautious  spirits  did  ap- 
proach me ;  but  it  was  with  the  air  of  men  providing  against 
a  danger  particularly  remote,  their  half-hearted  speeches 
serving  only  to  fix  them  in  my  memory  as  belonging  to  a 
class,  especially  abhorrent  to  me — the  class,  I  mean,  of 
those  who  would  run  at  once  with  the  hare  and  the  hounds. 

I  was  rejoiced  to  find  that  on  one  person,  and  that  the  one 
whose  disposition  towards  me  was,  next  to  the  king's,  of 
first  importance,  this  episode  had  produced  a  different  im- 
pression. Feeling,  as  I  made  for  the  door,  a  touch  on  my 


THE  JACOBIN  MONK  189 

arm,  I  turned  to  find  M.  de  Eambouillet  at  my  elbow,  re- 
garding me  with  a  glance  of  mingled  esteem  and  amuse- 
ment; in  fine,  with  a  very  different  look  from  that  which 
had  been  my  welcome  earlier  in  the  evening.  I  was  driven 
to  suppose  that  he  was  too  great  a  man,  or  too  sure  of  his 
favour  with  the  king,  to  be  swayed  by  the  petty  motives 
which  actuated  the  Court  generally,  for  he  laid  his  hand 
familiarly  on  my  shoulder,  and  walked  on  beside  me. 

'Well,  my  friend,'  he  said/  you  have  distinguished  your- 
self finely !  I  do  not  know  that  I  ever  remember  a  pretty 
woman  making  more  stir  in  one  evening.  But  if  you  are 
wise  you  will  not  go  home  alone  to-night.' 

'I  have  my  sword,  M.  le  Marquis,'  I  answered,  some- 
what proudly. 

'Which  will  avail  you  little  against  a  knife  in  the  back! ' 
he  retorted  drily.  'What  attendance  have  you?  ' 

'My  equerry,  Simon  Fleix,  is  on  the  stairs.' 

'Good,  so  far,  but  not  enough,'  he  replied,  as  we  reached 
the  head  of  the  staircase.  'You  had  better  come  home  with 
me  now,  and  two  or  three  of  my  fellows  shall  go  on  to  your 
lodging  with  you.  Do  you  know,  my  friend,'  he  continued, 
looking  at  me  keenly,  'you  are  either  a  very  clever  or  a 
very  foolish  man? ' 

I  made  answer  modestly.  'Neither  the  one,  I  fear,  nor 
the  other,  I  hope,  sir,'  I  said. 

'Well,  you  have  done  a  very  pertinent  thing,'  he  replied, 
'for  good  or  evil.  You  have  let  the  enemy  know  what  he 
has  to  expect,  and  he  is  not  one,  I  warn  you,  to  be  despised. 
But  whether  you  have  been  very  wise  or  very  foolish  in 
declaring  open  war  remains  to  be  seen.' 

'A  week  will  show,'  I  answered. 

He  turned  and  looked  at  me.  'You  take  it  coolly,'  he 
said. 

'I  have  been  knocking  about  the  world  for  forty  years, 
marquis,'  I  rejoined. 

He  muttered  something  about  Rosny  having  a  good  eye, 
and  then  stopped  to  adjust  his  cloak.  We  were  by  this 


190  A    GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

time  in  the  street.  Making  me  go  hand  in  hand  with  him, 
he  requested  the  other  gentlemen  to  draw  their  swords; 
and  the  servants  being  likewise  armed  and  numbering  half 
a-  score  or  more,  with  pikes  and  torches,  we  made  up  a  very 
formidable  party,  and  caused,  I  think,  more  alarm  as  we 
passed,  through  the  streets  to  Rambouillet's  lodging  than 
we  had  any  reason  to  feel.  Not  that  we  had  it  all  to  our- 
selves, for  the  attendance  at  Court  that  evening  being  large, 
and  the  circle  breaking  up  as  I  have  described  more  abruptly 
than  usual,  the  vicinity  of  the  castle  was  in  a  ferment,  and. 
the  streets  leading  from  it  were  alive  with  the  lights  and 
laughter  of  parties  similar  to  our  own. 

At  the  door  of  the  marquis's  lodging  I  prepared  to  take 
leave  of  him  with  many  expressions  of  gratitude,  but  he 
would  have  me  enter  and  sit  down  with  him  to  a  light 
refection,  which  it  was  his  habit  to  take  before  retiring. 
Two  of  his  gentlemen  sat  down  with  us,  and  a  valet,  who 
was  in  his  confidence,  waiting  on  us,  we  made  very  merry 
over  the  scene  in  the  presence.  I  learned  that  M.  de  Bruhl 
was  far  from  popular  at  Court ;  but  being  known  to  possess 
some  kind  of  hold  over  the  king,  and  enjoying  besides  a 
great  reputation  for  recklessness  and  skill  with  the  sword, 
he  had  played  a  high  part  for  a  length  of  time,  and  attached 
to  himself,  especially  since  the  death  of  Guise,  a  considera- 
ble number  of  followers. 

'The  truth  is,'  one  of  the  marquis's  gentlemen,  who  was 
a  little  heated  with  wine,  observed,  'there  is  nothing  at  this 
moment  which  a  bold  and  unscrupulous  man  may  not  win 
in  France! ' 

'Nor  a  bold  and  Christian  gentleman  for  France ! '  replied 
M.  de  Rambouillet  with  some  asperity.  'By  the  wayr'  he 
continued,  turning  abruptly  to  the  servant,  'where  is  M. 
Francpis? ' 

The  valet  answered  that  he  had  not  returned  with  us  from 
the  castle.  The  Marquis  expressed  himself  annoyed  at  this, 
and  I  gathered,  firstly,  that  the  missing  man  was  his  near 
kinsman,  and,  secondly,  that  he  was  also  the  young  spark 


THE  JACOBIN  MONK  191 

who  had  been  so  forward  to  quarrel  with  me  earlier  in  the 
evening.  Determining  to  refer  the  matter,  should  it  be- 
come pressing,  to  Eambouillet  for  adjustment,  I  took  leave 
of  him,  and  attended  by  two  of  his  servants,  whom  he 
kindly  transferred  to  my  service  for  the  present,  I  started 
towards  my  lodging  a  little  before  midnight. 

The  moon  had  risen  while  we  were  at  supper,  and  its 
light,  which  whitened  the  gables  on  one  side  of  the  street, 
diffused  a  glimmer  below  sufficient  to  enable  us  to  avoid  the 
kennel.  Seeing  this,  I  bade  the  men  put  out  our  torch. 
Frost  had  set  in,  and  a  keen  wind  was  blowing,  so  that  we 
were  glad  to  hurry  on  at  a  good  pace ;  and  the  streets  being 
quite  deserted  at  this  late  hour,  or  haunted  only  by  those 
who  had  come  to  dread  the  town  marshal,  we  -met  no  one 
and  saw  no  lights.  I  fell  to  thinking,  for  my  part,  of  the 
evening  I  had  spent  searching  Blois  for  Mademoiselle,  and 
of  the  difference  between  then  and  now.  Nor  did  I  fail 
while  on  this  track  to  retrace  it  still  farther  to  the  evening 
of  our  arrival  at  my  mother's;  whence,  as  a  source,  such 
kindly  and  gentle  thoughts  welled  up  in  my  mind  as  were 
natural,  and  the  unfailing  affection  of  that  gracious  woman 
required.  These,  taking  the  place  for  the  moment  of  the 
anxious  calculations  and  stern  purposes  which  had  of  late 
engrossed  me,  were  only  ousted  by  something  which,  hap- 
pening under  my  eyes,  brought  me  violently  and  abruptly 
to  myself. 

This  was  the  sudden  appearance  of  three  men,  who 
issued  one  by  one  from  an  alley  a  score  of  yards  in  front  of 
us,  and  after  pausing  a  second  to  look  back  the  way  they 
had  conie,  flitted  on  in  single  file  along  the  street,  disap- 
pearing, as  far  as  the  darkness  permitted  me  to  judge,  round 
a  second  corner.  I  by  no  means  liked  their  appearance, 
and  as  a  scream  and  the  clash  of  arms  rang  out  next 
moment  from  the  direction  in  which  they  had  gone,  I  cried 
lustily  to  Simon  Fleix  to  follow,  and  ran  on,  believing  from 
the  rascals'  movements  that  they  were  after  no  good,  but 
that  rather  some  honest  man  was  like  to  be  sore  beset. 


192  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

On  reaching  the  lane  down  which  they  had  plunged,  how- 
ever, I  paused  a  moment,  considering  not  so  much  its  black- 
ness, which  was  intense,  the  eaves  nearly  meeting  overhead, 
as  the  small  chance  I  had  of  distinguishing  between  attack- 
ers and  attacked.  But  Simon  and  the  men  overtaking  me, 
and  the  sounds  of  a  sharp  tussle  still  continuing,  I  decided 
to  venture,  and  plunged  into  the  alley,  my  left  arm  well 
advanced,  with  the  skirt  of  my  cloak  thrown  over  it,  and 
my  sword  drawn  back.  I  shouted  as  I  ran,  thinking  that 
the  knaves  might  desist  on  hearing  me;  and  this  was  what 
happened,  for  as  I  arrived  on  the  scene  of  action — the  far- 
ther end  of  the  alley — two  men  took  to  their  heels,  while 
of  two  who  remained,  one  lay  at  length  in  the  kennel,  and 
another  rose  slowly  from  his  knees. 

'You  are  just  in  time,  sir,'  the  latter  said,  breathing 
hard,  but  speaking  with  a  preciseness  which  sounded  famil- 
iar. 'I  am  obliged  to  you,  sir,  whoever  you  are.  The 
villains  had  got  me  down,  and  in  a  few  minutes  more 
would  have  made  my  mother  childless.  By  the  way, 
you  have  no  light,  have  you? '  he  continued,  lisping  like 
a  woman. 

One  of  M.  de  Rambouillet's  men,  who  had  by  this  time 
come  up,  cried  out  that  it  was  Monsieur  Franqois. 

'Yes,  blockhead! '  the  young  gentleman  answered  with 
the  utmost  coolness.  'But  I  asked  for  a  light,  not  for  my 
name. ' 

'I  trust  you  are  not  hurt,  sir? '  I  said,  putting  up  my 
sword. 

'  Scratched  only , '  he  answered,  betraying  no  surprise  on 
learning  who  it  was  had  come  up  so  opportunely;  as  he  no 
doubt  did  learn  from  my  voice,  for  he  continued  with  a 
bow,  'A  slight  price  to  pay  for  the  knowledge  that  M.  de 
Marsac  is  as  forward  on  the  field  as  on  the  stairs.' 

I  bowed  my  acknowledgments. 

'This  fellow,'  I  said,  'is  he  much  hurt?' 

'Tut,  tut!  I  thought  I  had  saved  the  marshal  all  trouble/ 
M.  FranQois  replied.  'Is  he  not  dead,  Gil? ' 


THE  JACOBIN  MONK  193 

The  poor  wretch  made  answer  for  himself,  crying  out 
piteously  and  in  a  choking  voice,  for  a  priest  to  shrive  him. 
At  that  moment  Simon  Fleix  returned  with  our  torch, 
which  he  had  lighted  at  the  nearest  cross-streets,  where 
there  was  a  brazier,  and  we  saw  by  this  light  that  the  man 
wa.s  coughing  up  blood,  and  might  live  perhaps  half  an 
hour. 

'Mordieu!  That  comes  of  thrusting  too  high!'  M. 
Francois  muttered,  regretfully.  'An.  inch  lower,  and  there 
would  have  been  none  of  this  trouble!  I  suppose  some- 
body must  fetch  one.  Gil,'  he  continued,  'run,  man,  to  the 
sacristy  in  the  Rue  St.  Denys,  and  get  a  Father.  Or — stay ! 
Help  to  lift  him  under  the  lee  of  the  wall  there.  The  wind 
cuts  like  a  knife  here. ' 

The  street  being  on  the  slope  of  the  hill,  the  lower  part 
of  the  house  nearest  us  stood  a  few  feet  from  the  ground, 
on  wooden  piles,  and  the  space  underneath  it,  being  en- 
closed at  the  back  and  sides,  was  used  as  a  cart-house.  The 
servants  moved  the  dying  man  into  this  rude  shelter,  and  I. 
accompanied  them,  being  unwilling  to  leave  the  young 
gentleman  alone.  Not  wishing,  however,  to  seem  to  inter- 
fere, I  walked  to  the  farther  end,  and  sat  down  on  the  shaft 
of  a  cart,  whence  I  idly  admired  the  strange  aspect  of  the 
group  I  had  left,  as  the  glare  of  the  torch  brought  now  one 
and  now  another  into  prominence,  and  sometimes  shone 
on  M.  Franqois'  jewelled  fingers  toying  with  his  tiny 
moustache,  and  sometimes  on  the  writhing  features  of  the 
man  at  his  feet. 

On  a  sudden,  and  before  Gil  had  started  on  his  errand,  I 
saw  there  was  a  priest  among  them.  I  had  not  seen  him 
enter,  nor  had  I  any  idea  whence  he  came.  My  first  im- 
pression was  only  that  here  was  a  priest,  and  that  he  was 
looking  at  me — not  at  the  man  craving  his  assistance  on  the 
floor,  or  at  those  who  stood  round  him,  but  at  me,  who  sat 
away  in  the  shadow  beyond  the  ring  of  light ! 

This  was  surprising;  but  a  second  glance  explained  it, 
for  then  I  saw  that  he  was  the  Jacobin  monk  who  had 


194  A    GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

haunted  my  mother's  dying  hours.  And,  amazed  as  much 
at  this  strange  rencontre,  as  at  the  man's  boldness,  I  sprang 
up  and  strode  forwards,  forgetting,  in  an  impulse  of  right- 
eous anger,  the  office  he  came  to  do.  And  this  the  more  as 
his  face,  still  turned  to  me,  seemed  instinct  to  my  eyes 
with  triumphant  malice.  As  I  moved  towards  him,  how- 
ever, with  a  fierce  exclamation  on  my  lips,  he  suddenly 
dropped  his  eyes  and  knelt.  Immediately  M.  Franqois 
cried  'Hush! '  and  the  men  turned  to  me  with  scandalised 
faces.  I  fell  back.  Yet  even  then,  whispering  on  his 
knees  by  the  dying  man,  the  knave  was  thinking,  I  felt 
sure,  of  me,  glorying  at  once  in  his  immunity  and  the 
power  it  gave  him  to  tantalise  me  without  fear. 

I  determined,  whatever  the  result,  to  intercept  him  when 
all  was  over;  and  on  the  man  dying  a  few  minutes  later, 
I  walked  resolutely  to  the  open  side  of  the  shed,  thinking 
it  likely  he  might  try  to  slip  away  as  mysteriously  as  he 
had  come.  He  stood  a  moment  speaking  to  M.  Francois, 
however,  and  then,  accompanied  by  him,  advanced  boldly 
to  meet  me,  a  lean  smile  on  his  face. 

'Father  Antoine,'M.  d'Agen  said  politely,  'tells  me  that 
he  knows  you,  M.  de  Marsac,  and  desires  to  speak  to  you, 
mal-d,-propos  as  is  the  occasion.' 

'And  I  to  him,'  I  answered,  trembling  with  rage,  and 
only  restraining  by  an  effort  the  impulse  which  would  have 
had  me  dash  my  hand  in  the  priest's  pale,  smirking  face. 
'I  have  waited1  long  for  this  moment,'  I  continued,  eyeing 
him  steadily,  as  M.  Frangois  withdrew  out  of  hearing,  'and 
had  you  tried  to  avoid  me,  I  would  have  dragged  you  back, 
though  all  your  tribe  were  here  to  protect  you. ' 

His  presence  so  maddened  me  that  I  scarcely  knew  what  I 
said.  I  felt  my  breath  come  quickly,  I  felt  the  blood  surge 
to  my  head,  and  it  was  with  difficulty  I  restrained  myself 
when  he  answered  with  well-affected  sanctity,  'Like  mother, 
like  son,  I  fear, 'sir.  Huguenots  both.' 

I  choked  with  rage.  'What! '  I  said,  'you  dare  t& 
threaten  me  as  you  threatened  my  mother?  Fool!  know 


THE  JACOBIN  MONK  195 

that  only  to-day  for  the  purpose  of  discovering  and  punish- 
ing you  I  took  the  rooms  in  which  my  mother  died. ' 

'I  know  it,'  he  answered  quietly.  And  then  in  a  second, 
as  by  magic,  he  altered  his  demeanour  completely,  raising 
his  head  and  looking  me  in  the  face.  'That,  and  so  much 
besides,  I  know,'  he  continued,  giving  me,  to  my  astonish- 
ment, frown  for  frown,  'that  if  you  will  listen  to  me  for  a 
moment,  M.  de  Marsac,  and  listen  quietly,  1  will  convince 
you  that  the  folly  is  not  on  my  side.' 

Amazed  at  his  new  manner,  in  which  there  was  none  of 
the  madness  that  had  marked  him  at  our  first  meeting,  but 
a  strange  air  of  authority,  unlike  anything  I  had  associated 
with  him  before,  I  signed  to  him  to  proceed. 

'You  think  that  I  am  in  your  power? '  he  said,  smiling. 

'I  think,'  I  retorted  swiftly,  'that,  escaping  me  now,  you 
will  have  at  your  heels  henceforth  a  worse  enemy  than  even 
your  own  sins.' 

'Just  so,'  he  answered,  nodding.  'Well,  I  am  going  to 
show  you  that  the  reverse  is  the  case ;  and  that  you  are  as 
completely  in  my  hands,  to  spare  or  to  break,  as  this  straw. 
In  the  first  place,  you  are  here  in  Blois,  a  Huguenot ! ' 

'Chut! '  I  exclaimed  contemptuously,  affecting  a  confi- 
dence I  was  far  from  feeling.  'A  little  while  back  that 
might  have  availed  you.  But  we  are  in  Blois,  not  Paris. 
It  is  not  far  to  the  Loire,  and  you  have  to  deal  with  a  man 
now,  not  with  a  woman.  It  is  you  who  have  cause  to  trem- 
ble, not  I.' 

'You  think  to  be  protected,'  he  answered  with  a  sour 
smile,  'even  on  this  side  of  the  Loire,  I  see.  But  one  word 
to  the  Pope's  Legate,  or  to  the  Duke  of  Nevers,  and  you 
would  see  the  inside  of  a  dungeon,  if  not  worse.  For  the 
king ' 

'King  or  no  king! '  I  answered,  interrupting  him  with 
more  assurance  than  I  felt,  seeing  that  I  remembered  only 
too  well  Henry's  remark  that  Rosny  must  not  look  to  him 
for  protection,  'I  fear  you  not  a  whit!  And  that  reminds 
me.  I  have  heard  you  talk  treason — rank,  black  treason, 

N2 


196  A    GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

priest,  as  ever  sent  man  to  rope,  and  I  will  give  you  up. 
By  heaven  I  will ! '  I  cried,  my  rage  increasing,  as  I  dis- 
cerned, more  and  more  clearly,  the  dangerous  hold  he  had 
over  me.  'You  have  threatened  me!  One  word,  and  I  will 
send  you  to  the  gallows ! ' 

'Sh!'  he  answered,  indicating  M.  Francois  by  a  gesture 
of  the  hand.  'For  your  own  sake,  not  mine.  This  is  tine 
talking,  but  you  have  not  yet  heard  all  I  know.  Would 
you  like  to  hear  how  you  have  spent  the  last  month?  Two 
days  after  Christmas,  M.  de  Marsac,  you  left  Chize  with  a 
young  lady — I  can  give  you  her  name,  if  you  please.  Four 
days  afterwards  you  reached  Blois,  and  took  her  to  your 
mother's  lodging.  Next  morning  she  left  you  for  M.  de 
Bruhl.  Two  days  later  you  tracked  her  to  a  house  in  the 
Ruelle  d'Arcy,  and  freed  her,  but  lost  her  in  the  moment  of 
victory.  Then  you  stayed  in  Blois  until  your  mother's  death, 
going  a  day  or  two  later  to  M.  de  Eosny's  house  by  Mantes, 
where  mademoiselle  still  is.  Yesterday  you  arrived  in 
Blois  with  M.  de  Rosny ;  you  went  to  his  lodging;  you ' 

'Proceed,  sir,'  I  muttered,  leaning  forward.  Under 
cover  of  my  cloak  I  drew  my  dagger  half-way  from  its 
sheath.  'Proceed,  sir,  I  pray,'  I  repeated  with  dry  lips. 

'You  slept  there,'  he  continued,  holding  his  ground,  but 
shuddering  slightly,  either  from  cold  or  because  he  per- 
ceived my  movement  and  read  my  design  in  my  eyes. 
'This  morning  you  remained  here  in  attendance  on  M.  de 
Eambouillet. ' 

For  the  moment  I  breathed  freely  again,  perceiving  that 
though  he  knew  much,  the  one  thing  on  which  M.  de  Rosny's 
design  turned  had  escaped  him.  The  secret  interview  with 
the  king,  which  compromised  alike  Henry  himself  and  M. 
de  Eambouillet,  had  apparently  passed  unnoticed  and  un- 
suspected. With  a  sigh  of  intense  relief  I  slid  back  the 
dagger,  which  I  had  fully  made  up  my  mind  to  use  had  he 
known  all,  and  drew  my  cloak  round  me  with  a  shrug  of 
feigned  indifference.  I  sweated  to  think  what  he  did  know, 
but  our  interview  with  the  king  having  escaped  him,  I 
breathed  again. 


THE  JACOBIN  MONK  197 

'Well,  sir,'  I  said  curtly,  'I  liave  listened.  And  now, 
what  is  the  purpose  of  all  this? ' 

'My  purpose?'  he  answered,  his  eyes  glittering.  'To 
show  you  that  you  are  in  my  power.  You  are  the  agent  of 
M.  de  Rosiiy.  I,  the  agent,  however  humble,  of  the  Holy 
Catholic  League.  Of  your  movements  I  know  all.  What 
do  you  know  of  mine? ' 

'Knowledge,'  I  made  grim  answer,  fis  not  everything,  sir 
priest.' 

'It  is  more  than  it  was,'  he  said,  smiling  his  thin-lipped 
smile.  'It  is  going  to  be  more  than  it  is.  And  I  know 
much — about  you,  M.  de  Marsac.' 

'You  know  too  much!'  I  retorted,  feeling  his  covert 
threats  close  round  me  like  the  folds  of  some  great  serpent. 
'But  you  are  imprudent,  I  think.  Will  you  tell  me  what 
is  to  prevent  me  striking  you  through  where  you  stand, 
and  ridding  myself  at  a  blow  of  so  much  knowledge?  ' 

'The  presence  of  three  men,  M.  de  Marsac,'  he  answered 
lightly,  waving  his  hand  towards  M.  Francois  and  the 
others,  'every  one  of  whom  would  give  you  up  to  justice. 
You  forget  that  you  are  north  of  the  Loire,  and  that  priests 
are  not  to  be  massacred  here  with  impunity,  as  in  your 
lawless  south-country.  However,  enough.  The  night  is 
cold,  and  M.  d'Agen  grows  suspicious  as  well  as  impatient. 
We  have,  perhaps,  spoken  too  long  already.  Permit  me' 
— he  bowed  and  drew  back  a  step — 'to  resume  this  discus- 
sion to-morrow.' 

Despite  his  politeness  and  the  hollow  civility  with  which 
he  thus  sought  to  close  the  interview,  the  light  of  triumph 
which  shone  in  his  eyes,  as  the  glare  of  the  torch  fell 
athwart  them,  no  less  than  the  assured  tone  of  his  voice, 
told  me  clearly  that  he  knew  his  pow^r.  He  seemed,  in- 
deed, transformed:  no  longer  a  slinking,  peaceful  clerk, 
preying  on  a  woman's  fears,  but  a  bold  and  crafty  schemer, 
skilled  and  unscrupulous,  possessed  of  hidden  knowledge 
and  hidden  resources;  the  personification  of  evil  intellect. 
For  a  moment,  knowing  all  I  knew,  and  particularly  the 


198  A    GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

responsibilities  which  lay  before  me,  and  the  interests  com- 
mitted to  my  hands,  I  quailed,  confessing  myself  unequal 
to  him.  I  forgot  the  righteous  vengeance  I  owed  him;  I 
cried  out  helplessly  against  the  ill-fortune  which  had 
brought  him  across  my  path.  I  saw  myself  enmeshed  and 
fettered  beyond  hope  of  escape,  and  by  an  effort  only  con- 
trolled the  despair  I  felt. 

'To-morrow? '  I  muttered  hoarsely.  'At  what  time?  ' 
He  shook  his  head  with  a  cunning  smile.  'A  thousand 
thanks,  but  I  will  settle  that  myself  I'  lie  answered.  'Au 
revoir! '  And  muttering  a  word  of  leave-taking  to  M. 
Francois  d'Agen,  he  blessed  the  two  servants,  and  went  out 
into  the  night. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

THE  OFFER,  OF  THE  LEAGUE. 

WHEN  the  last  sound  of  his  footsteps  died  away,  I  awoke 
as  from  an  evil  dream,  and  becoming  conscious  of  the  pres- 
ence of  M.  Franqois  and  the  servants,  recollected  mechani- 
cally that  I  owed  the  former  an  apology  for  my  discourtesy 
in  keeping  him  standing  in  the  cold.  I  began  to  offer  it ; 
but  my  distress  and  confusion  of  mind  were  such  that  in 
the  middle  of  a  set  phrase  I  broke  off,  and  stood  looking 
fixedly  at  him,  my  trouble  so  plain  that  he  asked  me  civilly 
if  anything  ailed  me. 

'No,'  I  answered,  turning  from  him  impatiently;  'noth- 
ing, nothing,  sir.  Or  tell  me, '  I  continued,  with  an  abrupt 
change  of  mind,  'who  is  that  who  has  just  left  us?' 

'Father  Antoine,  do  you  mean?' 

'Ay,  Father  Antoine,  Father  Judas,  call  him  what  you 
like,'  I  rejoined  bitterly 

'Then  if  you  leave  the  choice  to  me,'  M.  Francois  an- 
swered with  grave  politeness,  'I  would  rather  call  him 
something  more  pleasant,  M.  de  Marsac — James  or  John, 


THE  OFFER   OF  THE  LEAGUE  199 

let  us  say.  For  there  is  little  said  here  which  does  not 
come  back  to  him.  If  walls  have  ears,  the  walls  of  Blois 
are  in  his  pay.  But  I  thought  you  knew  him/  he  contin- 
ued. 'He  is  secretary,  confidant,  chaplain,  what  you  will, 
to  Cardinal  Retz,  and  one  of  those  whom — in  your  ear — 
greater  men  court  and  more  powerful  men  lean  on.  If  I  had 
to  choose  between  them,  I  would  rather  cross  M.  de  Crillon.' 

'I  am  obliged  to  you,'  I  muttered,  checked  as  much  by 
his  manner  as  his  words. 

'Not  at  all,'  he  answered  more  lightly.  'Any  informa- 
tion I  have  is  at  your  disposal. ' 

However,  I  saw  the  imprudence  of  venturing  farther,  and 
hastened  to  take  leave  of  him,  persuading  him  to  allow  one 
of  M.  de  Rambouillet's  servants  to  accompany  him  home. 
He  said  that  he  should  call  on  me  in  the  morning;  and 
forcing  myself  to  answer  him  in  a  suitable  manner,  I  saw 
him  depart  one  way,  and  myself,  accompanied  by  Simon 
Fleix,  went  off  another.  My  feet  were  frozen  with  long 
standing — I  think  the  corpse  we  left  was  scarce  colder — but 
niy  head  was  hot  with  feverish  doubts  and  fears.  The  moon 
had  sunk  and  the  streets  were  dark.  Our  torch  had  burned 
out,  and  we  had  no  light.  But  where  my  followers  saw 
only  blackness  and  vacancy,  I  saw  an  evil  smile  and  a  lean 
visage  fraught  with  menace  and  exultation. 

For  the  more  closely  I  directed  my  mind  to  the  position 
in  which  I  stood,  the  graver  it  seemed.  Pitted  against 
Bruhl  alone,  amid  strange  surroundings  and  in  an  atmos- 
phere of  Court  intrigue,  I  had  thought  my  task  sufficiently 
difficult  and  the  disadvantages  under  which  I  laboured  suffi- 
ciently serious  before  this  interview.  Conscious  of  a  cer- 
tain rustiness  and  a  distaste  for  finesse,  with  resources  so 
inferior  to  BruhPs  that  even  M.  de  Eosny's  liberality  had 
not  done  much  to  make  up  the  difference,  I  had  accepted 
the  post  offered  me  rather  readily  than  sanguinely;  with 
joy,  seeing  that  it  held  out  the  hope  of  high  reward,  but 
with  no  certain  expectation  of  success.  Still,  matched 
with  a  man  of  violent  and  headstrong  character,  I  had  seen 


200  A    GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

no  reason  to  despair;  nor  any  why  I  might  not  arrange  the 
secret  meeting  between  the  king  and  mademoiselle  with 
safety,  and  conduct  to  its  end  an  intrigue  simple  and  unsus- 
pected, and  requiring  for  its  execution  rather  courage  and 
caution  than  address  or  experience. 

Now,  however,  I  found  that  Bruhl  was  not  my  only  or 
my  most  dangerous  antagonist.  Another  was  in  the  field — 
or,  to  speak  more  correctly,  was  waiting  outside  the  arena, 
ready  to  snatch  the  prize  when  we  should  have  disabled 
one  another.  From  a  dream  of  Bruhl  and  myself  as  en- 
gaged in  a  competition  for  the  king's  favour,  wherein 
neither  could  expose  the  other  nor  appeal  even  in  the  last 
resort  to  the  joint-enemies  of  his  Majesty  and  ourselves,  I 
awoke  to  a  very  different  state  of  things;  I  awoke  to  find 
those  enemies  the  masters  of  the  situation,  possessed  of 
the  clue  to  our  plans,  and  permitting  them  only  as  long  as 
they  seemed  to  threaten  no  serious  peril  to  themselves. 

No  discovery  could  be  more  mortifying  or  more  fraught 
with  terror.  The  perspiration  stood  on  my  brow  as  I  re- 
called the  warning  which  M.  de  Rosny  had  uttered  against 
Cardinal  Retz,  or  noted  down  the  various  points  of  knowl- 
edge which  were  in  Father  Antoine's  possession.  He  knew 
every  event  of  the  last  month,  with  one  exception,  and 
could  tell,  I  verily  believed,  how  many  crowns  I  had  in  my ' 
pouch.  Conceding  this,  and  the  secret  sources  of  informa- 
tion he  must  possess,  what  hope  had  I  of  keeping  my 
future  movements  from  him?  Mademoiselle's  arrival  would 
be  known  to  him  before  she  had  well  passed  the  gates ;  nor 
was  it  likely,  or  even  possible,  that  I  should  again  succeed 
in  reaching  the  king's  presence  untraced  and  unsuspected. 
In  fine,  I  saw  myself,  equally  with  Bruhl,  a  puppet  in  this 
man's  hands,  my  goings  out  and  my  coinings  in  watched 
and  reported  to  him,  his  mercy  the  only  bar  between  my- 
self and  destruction.  At  any  moment  I  might  be  arrested 
as  a  Huguenot,  the  enterprise  in  which  I  was  engaged 
ruined,  and  Mademoiselle  de  la  Vire  exposed  to  the  violence 
of  Bruhl  or  the  equally  dangerous  intrigues  of  the  League. 


THE  OFFER  OF  THE  LEAGUE  201 

Under  these  circumstances  I  fancied  sleep  impossible; 
but  habit  and  weariness  are  strong  persuaders,  and  when  I 
reached  my  lodging  I  slept  long  and  soundly,  as  became  a 
man  who  had  looked  danger  in  the  face  more  than  once. 
The  morning  light  too  brought  an  accession  both  of  courage 
and  hope.  I  reflected  on  the  misery  of  my  condition  at  St. 
Jean  d'Angely,  without  friends  or  resources,  and  driven  to 
herd  with  such  a  man  as  Fresnoy.  And  telling  myself  that 
the  gold  crowns  which  M.  de  Rosny  had  lavished  upon  me 
were  not  for  nothing,  nor  the  more  precious  friendship  with 
which  he  had  honoured  me  a  gift  that  called  for  no  return, 
I  rose  with  .new  spirit  and  a  countenance  which  threw 
Simon  Fleix — who  had  seen  me  lie  down  the  picture  of 
despair — into  the  utmost  astonishment. 

'You  have  had  good  dreams,'  he  said,  eyeing  me  jealously 
and  with  a  disturbed  air. 

'I  had  a  very  evil  one  last  night,'  I  answered  lightly, 
wondering  a  little  why  he  looked  at  me  so,  and  why  he 
seemed  to  resent  my  return  to  hopefulness  and  courage.  I 
might  have  followed  this  train  of  thought  farther  with 
advantage,  since  I  possessed  a  clue  to  his  state  of  mind; 
but  at  that  moment  a  summons  at  the  door  called  him  away 
to  it,  and  he  presently  ushered  in  M.  d'Agen,  who,  salut- 
ing me  with  punctilious  politeness,  had  not  said  fifty  words 
before  he  introduced  the  subject  of  his  toe — no  longer,  how- 
-ever,  in  a  hostile  spirit,  but  as  the  happy  medium  which 
had  led  him  to  recognise  the  worth  and  sterling  qualities — 
-so  he  was  pleased  to  say — of  his  preserver. 

I  was  delighted  to  find  him  in  this  frame  of  mind,  and 
told  him  frankly  that  the  friendship  with  which  his  kins- 
man, M.  de  Eambouillet,  honoured  me  would  prevent  me 
giving  him  satisfaction  save  in  the  last  resort.  He  replied 
that  the  service  I  had  done  him  was  such  as  to  render  this 
immaterial,  unless  I  had  myself  cause  of  offence;  which  1 
was  forward  to  deny. 

We  were  paying  one  another  compliments  after  this 
fashion,  while  I  regarded  him  with  the  interest  which  the 


202  A    GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

middle-aged  bestow  on  the  yoxxng  and  gallant  in  whom 
they  see  their  own  youth  and  hopes  mirrored,  when  the 
door  was  again  opened,  and  after  a  moment's  pause  ad- 
mitted, equally,  I  think,  to  the  disgust  of  M.  Francois  and 
myself,  the  form  of  Father  Antoine. 

Seldom  have  two  men  more  diverse  stood,  I  believe,  in  a 
room  together;  seldom  has  any  greater  contrast  been  pre- 
sented to  a  man's  eyes  than  that  opened  to  mine  on  this 
occasion.  On  the  one  side  the  gay  young  spark,  with  his 
short  cloak,  his  fine  suit  of  black-and-silver,  his  trim  limbs 
and  jewelled  hilt  and  chased  comfit-box;  on  the  other,  the 
tall,  stooping  monk,  lean-jawed  and  bright-eyed,  whose 
gown  hung  about  him  in  coarse,  ungainly  folds.  And  M. 
Franqois'  sentiment  on  first  seeing  the  other  was  certainly 
dislike.  In  spite  of  this,  however,  he  bestowed  a  greeting 
on  the  new-comer  which  evidenced  a  secret  awe,  and  in 
other  ways  showed  so  plain  a  desire  to  please  that  I  felt  my 
fears  of  the  priest  return  in  force.  I  reflected  that  the 
talents  which  in  such  a  garb  could  win  the  respect  of  M. 
Franqois  d'Agen — a  brilliant  star  among  the  younger  court- 
iers, and  one  of  a  class  much  given  to  thinking  scorn  of 
their  fathers'  roughness — must  be  both  great  and  formida- 
ble; and,  so  considering,  I  received  the  monk  with  a  dis- 
tant courtesy  which  I  had  once  little  thought  to  extend  to 
him.  I  put  aside  for  the  moment  the  private  grudge  I 
bore  him  with  so  much  justice,  and  remembered  only  the 
burden  which  lay  on  me  in  my  contest  with  him. 

I  conjectured  without  difficulty  that  he  chose  to  come  at 
this  time,  when  M.  Francois  was  with  me,  out  of  a  cunning 
regard  to  his  own  safety;  and  I  was  not  surprised  when  M. 
Franqois,  beginning  to  make  his  adieux,  Father  Antoine 
begged  him  to  wait  below,  adding  that  he  had  something  of 
importance  to  communicate.  He  advanced  his  request  in 
terms  of  politeness  bordering  on  humility;  but  I  could 
clearly  see  that,  in  assenting  to  it,  M.  d'Agen  bowed  to  a 
will  stronger  than  his  own,  and  would,  had  he  dared  to 
follow  his  own  bent,  have  given  a  very  different  answer. 


THE  OFFER   OF  THE  LEAGUE  203 

As  it  was  he  retired — nominally  to  give  an  order  to  his 
lackey — with  a  species  of  impatient  self-restraint  which  it 
was  not  difficult  to  construe. 

Left  alone  with  me,  and  assured  that  we  had  no  listeners, 
the  monk  was  not  slow  in  coming  to  the  point. 

'You  have  thought  over  what  I  told  you  last  night? '  he 
said  brusquely,  dropping  in  a  moment  the  suave  manner 
which  he  had  maintained  in  M.  Francois's  presence. 

I  replied  coldly  that  I  had. 

'And  you  understand  the  position? '  he  continued  quickly, 
looking  at  me  from  under  his  brows  as  he  stood  before  me, 
with  one  clenched  fist  on  the  table.  'Or  shall  I  tell  you 
more?  Shall  I  tell  you  how  poor  and  despised  you  were 
some  weeks  ago,  M.  de  Marsac — you  who  now  go  in  velvet, 
and  have  three  men  at  your  back?  Or  whose  gold  it  is  has 
brought  you  here,  and  made  you  this?  Chut!  Do  not  let 
us  trifle.  You  are  here  as  the  secret  agent  of  the  King  of 
Navarre.  It  is  my  business  to  learn  your  plans  and  his 
intentions,  and  I  propose  to  do  so.' 

'Well? '  I  said. 

'I  am  prepared  to  buy  them,'  he  answered;  and  his  eyes 
sparkled  as  he  spoke,  with  a  greed  which  set  me  yet  more 
on  my  guard. 

Tor  whom? '  I  asked.  Having  made  up  my  mind  that 
I  must  use  the  same  weapons  as  my  adversary,  I  reflected 
that  to  express  indignation,  such  as  might  become  a  you ^g 
man  new  to  the  world,  could  help  me  not  a  whit.  'Foi 
whom? '  I  repeated,  seeing  that  he  hesitated. 

'That  is  my  business,'  he  replied  slowly. 

'You  want  to  know  too  much  and  tell  too  little,'  I  re- 
torted, yawning. 

'And  you  are  playing  with  me,'  he  cried,  looking  at  me 
suddenly,  with  so  piercing  a  gaze  and  so  dark  a  counte- 
nance that  I  checked  a  shudder  with  difficulty.  '  So  much 
the  worse  for  you,  so  much  the  worse  for  you! '  he  contin- 
ued fiercely.  'I  am  here  to  buy  the  information  you  hold, 
but  if  you  will  not  sell,  there  is  another  way.  At  an  hour's 


204  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

notice  I  can  ruin  your  plans,  and  send  you  to  a  dungeon! 
You  are  like  a  fish  caught  in  a  net  not  yet  drawn.  It 
thrusts  its  nose  this  way  and  that,  and  touches  the  mesh, 
but  is  slow  to  take  the  alarm  until  the  net  is  drawn — and 
then  it  is  too  late.  So  it  is  with  you,  and  so  it  is,'  he 
added,  falling  into  the  ecstatic  mood  which  marked  him  at 
times,  and  left  me  in  doubt  whether  he  were  all  knave  or 
in  part  enthusiast,  'with  all  those  who  set  themselves 
against  St.  Peter  and  his  Church ! ' 

'I  have  heard  you  say  much  the  same  of  the  King  of 
France,'  I  said  derisively. 

'You  trust  in  him?'  he  retorted,  his  eyes  gleaming. 
'You  have  been  up  there,  and  seen  his  crowded  chamber, 
and  counted  his  forty-five  gentlemen  and  his  grey-coated 
Swiss?  I  tell  you  the  splendour  you  saw  was  a  dream, 
and  will  vanish  as  a  dream.  The  man's  strength  and  his 
glory  shall  go  from  him,  and  that  soon.  Have  you  no  eyes 
to  see  that  he  is  beside  the  question?  There  are  but  two 
powers  in  France — the  Holy  Union,  which  still  prevails, 
and  the  accursed  Huguenot ;  and  between  them  is  the  battle.' 

'Now  you  are  telling  me  more,'  I  said. 

He  grew  sober  in  a  moment,  looking  at  me  with  a  vicious 
anger  hard  to  describe. 

'Tut  tut,'  he  said,  showing  his  yellow  teeth,  'the  dead 
tell  no  tales.  And  for  Henry  of  Valois,  he  so  loves  a  monk 
that  you  might  better  accuse  his  mistress.  But  for  you,  I 
have  only  to  cry  "  Ho !  a  Huguenot  and  a  sp3T !  "  and  though 
he  loved  you  more  than  he  loved  Quelus  or  Maugiron,  he 
dare  not  stretch  out  a  finger  to  save  you ! ' 

I  knew  that  he  spoke  the  truth,  and  with  difficulty  main- 
tained the  air  of  indifference  with  which  I  had  entered  on 
the  interview. 

'But  what  if  I  leave  Blois?'  I  ventured,  merely  to  see 
what  he  would  say. 

He  laughed.  'You  cannot,'  he  answered.  'The  net  is 
round  you,  M.  de  Marsac,  and  there  are  those  at  every  gate 
who  know  you  and  have  their  instructions.  I  can  destroy 


THE  OFFER   OF  THE  LEAGUE  205 

you,  but  I  would  fain  have  your  information,  and  for  that 
I  will  pay  you  five  hundred  crowns  and  let  you  go.' 

'To  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  King  of  Navarre? ' 

'He  will  disown  you,  in  any  case,'  he  answered  eagerly. 
'He  had  that  in  his  mind,  my  friend,  when  he  selected  an 
agent  so  obscure.  He  will  disown  you.  Ah,  mon  Dieul 
had  I  been  an  hour  quicker  I  had  caught  Rosny — Rosny 
himself! ' 

'There  is  one  thing  lacking  still,'  1.  replied.  'How  am  I 
to  be  sure  that,  when  I  have  told  you  what  I  know,  you 
will  pay  me  the  money  or  let  me  go? ' 

'I  will  swear  to  it! '  he  answered  earnestly,  deceived  into 
thinking  I  was  about  to  surrender.  'I  will  give  you  my 
oath,  M.  de  Marsac! ' 

'I  would  as  soon  have  your  shoe-lace! '  I  exclaimed,  the 
indignation  I  could  not  entirely  repress  finding  vent  in  that 
phrase.  'A  Churchman's  vow  is  worth  a  candle — or  a  can- 
dle and  a  half,  is  it?  '  I  continued  ironically.  'I  must  have 
some  security  a  great  deal  more  substantial  than  that, 
father. ' 

'What?'  he  asked,  looking  at  me  gloomily. 

Seeing  an  opening,  I  cudgelled  my  brains  to  think  of  any 
condition  which,  being  fulfilled,  might  turn  the  table  on 
him  and  place  him  in  my  power.  But  his  position  was  so 
strong,  or  my  wits  so  weak,  that  nothing  occurred  to  me 
at  the  time,  and  I  sat  looking  at  him,  my  mind  gradually 
passing  from  the  possibility  of  escape  to  the  actual  danger 
in  which  I  stood,  and  which  encompassed  also  Simon  Fleix, 
and,  in  a  degree,  doubtless,  M.  de  Rambouillet.  In  four  or 
five  days,  too,  Mademoiselle  de  la  Vire  would  arrive.  I  won- 
dered if  I  could  send  any  warning  to  her ;  and  then,  again, 
I  doubted  the  wisdom  of  interfering  with  M.  de  Rosny's 
plans,  the  more  as  Maignan,  who  had  gone  to  fetch  made- 
moiselle, was  of  a  kind  to  disregard  any  orders  save  his 
master's. 

'Well! '  said  the  monk,  impatiently  recalling  me  to  my- 
self, 'what  security  do  you  want?' 


206  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

'I  am  not  quite  sure  at  this  moment,'  I  made  answer 
slowly.  'I  am  in  a  difficult  position.  I  must  have  some 
time  to  consider.' 

'And  to  rid  yourself  of  me,  if  it  be  possible,'  he  said  with 
irony.  'I  quite  understand.  But  I  warn  you  that  you  are 
watched;  and  that  wherever  you  go  and  whatever  you  do, 
eyes  which  are  mine  are  upon  you. ' 

'I,  too,  understand,'  I  said  coolly. 

He  stood  awhile  uncertain,  regarding  me  with  mingled 
doubt  and  malevolence,  tortured  on  the  one  hand  by  fear 
of  losing  the  prize  if  he  granted  delay,  on  the  other  of  fail- 
ing as  utterly  if  he  exerted  his  power  and  did  not  succeed  in 
subduing  my  resolution.  I  watched  him,  too,  and  gauging 
his  eagerness  and  the  value  of  the  stake  for  which  he  was 
striving  by  the  strength  of  his  emotions,  drew  small  com- 
fort from  the  sight.  More  than  once  it  had  occurred  to  me, 
and  now  it  occurred  to  me  again,  to  extricate  myself  by  a 
blow.  But  a  natural  reluctance  to  strike  an  unarmed  man, 
however  vile  and  knavish,  and  the  belief  that  he  had  not 
trusted  himself  in  my  power  without  taking  the  fullest  pre- 
cautions, withheld  me.  When  he  grudgingly,  and  with 
many  dark  threats,  proposed  to  wait  three  days — and  not  an 
hour  more — for  my  answer,  I  accepted;  for  I  saw  no  other 
alternative  open.  And  on  these  terms,  but  not  without 
some  short  discussion,  we  parted,  and  I  heard  his  stealthy 
footstep  go  sneaking  down  the  stairs. 


CHAPTER   XIX. 

MEN    CALL    IT    CHANCE. 


IF  I  were  telling  more  than  the  truth,  or  had  it  in  my 
mind  to  embellish  my  adventures,  I  could,  doubtless,  by  the 
exercise  of  a  little  ingenuity  make  it  appear  that  I  owed 
my  escape  from  Father  Antoine's  meshes  to  my  own  craft ; 


MEN  CALL  IT  CHANCE  207 

and  tell,  in  fine,  as  pretty  a  story  of  plots  and  counterplots 
as'  M.  de  Brantome  has  ever  woven.  Having  no  desire, 
however,  to  magnify  myself,  and,  at  this  time  of  day, 
scarcely  any  reason,  I  am  fain  to  confess  that  the  reverse 
was  the  case ;  and  that  while  no  man  ever  did  less  to  free 
himself  than  I  did,  my  adversary  retained  his  grasp  to  the 
end,  and  had  surely,  but  for  a  strange  interposition,  effected 
my  ruin.  How  relief  came,  and  from  what  quarter,  I  might 
defy  the  most  ingenious  person,  after  reading  my  memoirs 
to  this  point,  to  say ;  and  this  not  so  much  by  reason  of  any 
subtle  device,  as  because  the  hand  of  Providence  was  for 
once  directly  manifest. 

The  three  days  of  grace  which  the  priest  had  granted  I 
passed  in  anxious  but  futile  search  for  some  means  of  escape, 
every  plan  I  conceived  dying  stillborn,  and  not  the  least  of 
my  miseries  lying  in  the  fact  that  I  could  discern  no  better 
course  than  still  to  sit  and  think,  and  seemed  doomed  to 
perpetual  inaction.  M.  de  Rambouillet  being  a  strict 
Catholic,  though  in  all  other  respects  a  patriotic  man,  I 
knew  better  than  to  have  recourse  to  him;  and  the  priest's 
influence  over  M.  d'Agen  I  had  myself  witnessed.  For 
similar  reasons  I  rejected  the  idea  of  applying  to  the  king ; 
and  this  exhausting  the  list  of  those  on  whom  I  had  any 
claim,  I  found  myself  thrown  on  my  own  resources,  which ' 
seemed  limited — my  wits  failing  me  at  this  pinch — to  rny 
sword  and  Simon  Fleix. 

Assured  that  I  must  break  out  of  Blois  if  I  would  save, 
not  myself  only,  but  others  more  precious  because  entrusted 
to  my  charge,  I  thought  it  no  disgrace  to  appeal  to  Simon ; 
describing  in  a  lively  fashion  the  danger  which  threatened 
us,  and  inciting  the  lad  by  every  argument  which  I  thought 
likely  to  have  weight  with  him  to  devise  some  way  of 
escape. 

'Now  is  the  time,  my  friend,'  I  said,  'to  show  your  wits, 
and  prove  that  M.  de  Rosuy,  who  said  you  had  a  cunning 
above  the  ordinary,  was  right.  If  your  brain  can  ever  save 
your  head,  now  is  the  time  !  For  I  tell  you  plainly,  if  you 


208  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

cannot  find  some  way  to  outmanoauvre  this  villain  before 
to-morrow,  I  am  spent.  You  can  judge  for  yourself  what 
chance  you  will  have  of  going  free.' 

I  paused  at  that,  waiting  for  him  to  make  some  sugges- 
tion. To  my  chagrin  he  remained  silent,  leaning  his  head 
on  his  hand,  and  studying  the  table  with  his  eyes  in  a 
sullen  fashion ;  so  that  I  began  to  regret  the  condescension 
I  had  evinced  in  letting  him  be  seated,  and  found  it  neces- 
sary to  remind  him  that  he  had  taken  service  with  me,  and 
must  do  my  bidding. 

'  Well,'  he  said  morosely,  and  without  looking  up,  '  I  am 
ready  to  do  it.  But  I  do  not  like  priests,  and  this  one  least 
of  all.  I  know  him,  and  I  will  not  meddle  with  him  ! ' 

'You  will  not  meddle  with  him  ?'  I  cried,  almost  beside 
myself  with  dismay. 

'No,  I  won't,'  he  replied,  retaining  his  listless  attitude. 
'I  know  him,  and  I  am  afraid  of  him.  I  am  no  match  for 
him.' 

'  Then  M.  de  Rosny  was  wrong,  was  he  ? '  I  said,  giving 
way  to  my  anger. 

'  If  it  please  you,'  he  answered  pertly. 

This  was  too  much  for  me.  My  riding-switch  lay  handy, 
and  I  snatched  it  up.  Before  he  knew  what  I  would  be  at, 
'  I  fell  upon  him,  and  gave  him  such  a  sound  wholesome  drub- 
bing as  speedily  brought  him  to  his  senses.  When  he  cried 
for  mercy — which  he  did  not  for  a  good  space,  being  still 
possessed  by  the  peevish  devil  which  had  ridden  him  ever 
since  his  departure  from  Eosny —  I  put  it  to  him  again 
whether  M.  de  Rosny  was  not  right.  When  he  at  last 
admitted  this,  but  not  till  then,  I  threw  the  whip  away  and 
let  him  go,  but  did  not  cease  to  reproach  him  as  he  deserved. 

'Did  you  think,'  I  said,  'that  I  was  going  to  be  ruined 
because  you  would  not  use  your  lazy  brains  ?  That  I  was 
going  to  sit  still,  and  let  you  sulk,  while  mademoiselle 
walked  blindfold  into  the  toils  ?  Not  at  all,  my  friend ! ' 

'  Mademoiselle ! '  he  exclaimed,  looking  at  me  with  a 
sudden  change  of  countenance,  and  ceasing  to  rub  himself 


MEN  CALL  IT  CHANCE  209 

and  scowl,  as  he  had  been  doing.  '  She  is  not  here,  and 
is  in  no  danger.' 

'  She  will  be  here  to-morrow,  or  the  next  day,'  I  said. 

'  You  did  not  tell  me  that ! '  he  replied,  his  eyes  glittering. 
(  Does  Father  Antoine  know  it  ? ' 

'  He  will  know  it  the  moment  she  enters  the  town,'  I 
answered. 

Noting  the  change  which  the  introduction  of  mademoi- 
selle's name  into  the  affair  had  wrought  in  him,  I  felt 
something  like  humiliation.  But  at  the  moment  I  had  no 
choice ;  it  was  my  business  to  use  such  instruments  as  came 
to  my  hand,  and  not,  mademoiselle's  safety  being  at  stake,  to 
pick  and  choose  too  nicely.  In  a  few  minutes  our  posi- 
tions were  reversed.  The  lad  had  grown  as  hot  as  I  cold, 
as  keenly  excited  as  I  critical.  When  he  .presently  came 
to  a  stand  in  front  of  me,  I  saw  a  strange  likeness  between 
his  face  and  the  priest's  ;  nor  was  I  astonished  when  he 
presently  made  just  such  a  proposal  as  I  should  have  ex- 
pected from  Father  Antoine  himself. 

'  There  is  only  one  thing  for  it/  he  muttered,  trembling 
all  over.  '  He  must  be  got  rid  of  ! ' 

'  Fine  talking  ! '  I  said,  contemptuously.  ( If  he  were  a 
soldier  he  might  be  brought  to  it.  But  he  is  a  priest,  my 
friend,  and  does  not  fight.' 

'  Fight  ?  Who  wants  him  to  fight  ?  '  the  lad  answered, 
his  face  dark,  his  hands  moving  restlessly.  '  It  is  the 
easier  done.  A  blow  in  the  back,  and  he  will  trouble  us  no 
more.' 

'  Who  is  to  strike  it  ?  '  I  asked  drily. 

Simon  trembled  and  hesitated  ;  but  presently,  heaving  a 
deep  si;?h,  he  said,  '  I  will.' 

'  It  might  not  be  difficult,'  I  muttered,  thinking  it  over. 

'  It  would  be  easy,'  he  answered  under  his  breath.  His 
eyes  shone,  his  lips  were  white,  and  his  long  dark  hair 
hung  wet  over  his  forehead. 

I  reflected ;  and  the  longer  I  did  so  the  more  feasible 
seemed  the  suggestion.  A  single  wordt  and  I  might  sweep 


210  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

from  my  path  the  man  whose  existence  threatened  mine; 
who  would  not  meet  me  fairly,  but,  working  against  me 
darkly  and  treacherously,  deserved  no  better  treatment  at 
my  hands  than  that  which  a  detected  spy  receives.  He  had 
wronged  my  mother ;  he  would  fain  destroy  my  friends  ! 

And,  doubtless,  I  shall  be  blamed  by  some  and  ridiculed 
by  more  for  indulging  in  scruples  at  such  a  time.  But  I 
have  all  my  life  long  been  prejudiced  against  that  form  of 
underhand  violence  which  I  have  heard  old  men  contend 
came  into  fashion  in  our  country  in  modern  times,  and 
which  certainly  seems  to  be  alien  from  the  French  charac- 
ter. Without  judging  others  too  harshly,  or  saying  that 
the  poniard  is  never  excusable — for  then  might  some 
wrongs  done  to  women  and  the  helpless  go  without  remedy 
— I  have  set  my  face  against  its  use  as  unworthy  of  a 
soldier.  At  the  time,  moreover,  of  which  I  am  now  writ- 
ing the  extent  to  which  our  enemies  had  lately  resorted  to 
it  tended  to  fix  this  feeling  with  peculiar  firmness  in  my 
mind  ;  and,  but  for  the  very  desperate  dilemma  in  which  I 
stood  at  the  moment — and  not  I  alone — I  do  not  think  that 
I  should  have  entertained  Simon's  proposal  for  a  minute. 

As  it  was,  I  presently  answered  him  in  a  way  which  left 
him  in  no  doubt  of  my  sentiments.  '  Simon,  my  friend,'  I 
said — and  I  remember  I  was  a  little  moved — 'you  have 
something  still  to  learn,  both  as  a  soldier  and  a  Huguenot. 
Neither  the  one  nor  the  other  strikes  at  the  back.' 

'  But  if  he  will  not  tight  ? '  the  lad  retorted  rebelliously. 
'  What  then  ?  ' 

It  was  so  clear  that  our  adversary  gained  an  unfair  advan- 
tage in  this  way  that  I  could  not  answer  the  question.  I 
let  it  pass,  therefore,  and  merely  repeating  my  former 
injunction,  bade  Simon  think  out  another  way. 

He  promised  reluctantly  to  do  so,  and,  after  spending 
some  moments  in  thought,  went  out  to  learn  whether  the 
house  was  being  watched. 

When  he  returned,  his  countenance  wore  so  new  an  expres- 
sion that  I  saw  at  once  that  something  had  happened.  He  did 


MEN  CALL  IT  CHANCE  21 1 

not  meet  my  eye,  however,  and  did  not  explain,  but  made  as  if 
he  would  go  out  again,  with  something  of  confusion  in  his 
manner.  Before  finally  disappearing,  however,  he  seemed  to 
change  his  mind  once  more ;  for,  inarching  up  to  me  where  I 
stood  eyeing  him  with  the  utmost  astonishment,  he  stopped 
before  me,  and  suddenly  drawing  out  his  hand,  thrust  some- 
thing into  mine. 

'  What  is  it,  man  ? '  I  said  mechanically. 

'  Look ! '  he  answered  rudely,  breaking  silence  for  the  first 
time.  '  You  should  know.  Why  ask  me  ?  What  have  I  to 
do  with  it  ? ' 

I  looked  then,  and  saw  that  he  had  given  me  a  knot  of 
velvet  precisely  similar  in  shape,  size,  and  material  to  that 
well-remembered  one  which  had  aided  me  so  opportunely  in 
my  search  for  mademoiselle.  This  differed  from  that  a  lit- 
tle in  colour,  but  in  nothing  else,  the  fashion  of  the  bow 
being  the  same,  and  one  lappet  bearing  the  initials  '  C.  d.  1. 
V.,'  while  the  other  had  the  words,  '  A  moi.'  I  gazed  at  it 
in  wonder.  'But,  Simon,'  I  said,  'what  does  it  mean? 
Where  did  you  get  it?' 

'  Where  should  I  get  it  ? '  he  answered  jealously.  Then, 
seeming  to  recollect  himself,  he  changed  his  tone.  'A 
woman  gave  it  to  me  in  the  street,'  he  said. 

I  asked  him  what  woman. 

'  How  should  I  know  ? '  he  answered,  his  eyes  gleaming 
with  anger.  '  It  Avas  a  woman  in  a  mask.' 

'Was  it  Fanchette  ?'  I  said  sternly. 

'  It  might  have  been.     I  do  not  know,*  he  responded. 

I  concluded  at  first  that  mademoiselle  and  her  escort  had 
arrived  in  the  outskirts  of  the  city,  and  that  Maignan  had 
justified  his  reputation  for  discretion  by  sending  in  to  learn 
from  me  whether  the  way  was  clear  before  he  entered.  In 
this  notion  I  was  partly  confirmed  and  partly  shaken  by  the 
accompanying  message ;  which  Simon,  from  whom  every 
scrap  of  information  had  to  be  dragged  as  blood  from  a 
«tone,  presently  delivered. 

'  You  are  to  meet  the  sender  half  an  hour  after  sunset 

o2 


212  A   GENTLEMAN"  OF  FRANCE 

to-morrow  evening/  he  said,  'on  the  Parvis  at  the  north-east 
corner  of  the  cathedral.' 

'  To-morrow  evening  ? ' 

'  Yes,  when  else  ?  '  the  lad  answered  ungraciously.  '  I 
said  to-morrow  evening.' 

I  thought  this  strange.  I  could  understand  why  Maignan 
should  prefer  to  keep  his  charge  outside  the  walls  until  he 
heard  from  me,  but  not  why  he  should  postpone  a  meeting 
so  long.  The  message,  too,  seemed  unnecessarily  meagre,  and 
I  began  to  think  Simon  was  still  withholding  something. 

'  Was  that  all  ? '  I  asked  him. 

'  Yes,  all,'  he  answered,  '  except ' 

'  Except  what  ? '  I  said  sternly. 

'  Except  that  the  woman  showed  me  the  gold  token  Made- 
moiselle de  la  Vire  used  to  carry,'  he  answered  reluctantly, 
'and  said,  if  you  wanted  further  assurance  that  would  sat- 
isfy you.' 

'  Did  you  see  the  coin  ? '  I  cried  eagerly. 

1  To  be  sure,'  he  answered. 

'  Then,  mon  dieu  ! '  I  retorted,  '  either  you  are  deceiving 
me,  or  the  woman  you  saw  deceived  you.  For  mademoiselle 
has  not  got  the  token !  I  have  it ;  here,  in  my  possession ! 
Now,  do  you  still  say  you  saw  it,  man  ? ' 

'  I  saw  one  like  it,'  he  answered,  trembling,  his  face  damp. 
'  That  I  will  swear.  And  the  woman  told  me  what  I  have 
told  you.  And  no  more.' 

'Then  it  is  clear,'  I  answered,  'that  mademoiselle  has 
nothing  to  do  with  this,  and  is  doubtless  many  a  league 
away.  This  is  one  of  M.  de  Bruhl's  tricks.  Fresnoy  gave 
him  the  token  he  stole  from  me.  And  I  told  him  the  story 
of  the  velvet  knot  myself.  This  is  a  trap ;  and  had  I  fallen 
into  it,  and  gone  to  the  Parvis  to-morrow  evening,  I  had 
never  kept  another  assignation,  my  lad.' 

Simon  looked  thoughtful.  Presently  he  said,  with  a 
crestfallen  air, '  You  were  to  go  alone.  The  woman  said  that.' 

Though  I  knew  well  why  he  had  suppressed  this  item,  I 
forbore  to  blame  him.  '  What  was  the  woman  like  ? '  I  said. 


MEN  CALL  IT  CHANCE  213 

'  She  had  very  much  of  Fanchette's  ^gure,'  he  answered 
He  could  not  go  beyond  that.  Blinded  by  the  idea  that  the 
woman  was  mademoiselle's  attendant,  and  no  one  else,  he 
had  taken  little  heed  of  her,  and  could  not  even  say  for 
certain  that  she  was  not  a  man  in  woman's  clothes. 

I  thought  the  matter  over  and  discussed  it  with  him ;  and 
was  heartily  minded  to  punish  M.  de  Bruhl,  if  I  could  dis- 
cover a  way  of  turning  his  treacherous  plot  against  him- 
self. But  the  lack  of  any  precise  knowledge  of  his  plans 
prevented  me  stirring  in  the  matter ;  the  more  as  I  felt  no 
certainty  that  I  should  be  master  of  my  actions  when  the 
time  came. 

Strange  to  say  the  discovery  of  this  movement  on  the 
part  of  Bruhl,  who  had  sedulously  kept  himself  in  the  back- 
ground since  the  scene  in  the  king's  presence,  far  from  in- 
creasing my  anxieties,  had  the  effect  of  administering  a 
fillip  to  my  spirits;  which  the  cold  and  unyielding  pressure 
of  the  Jacobin  had  reduced  to  a  low  point.  Here  was  some- 
thing I  could  understand,  resist,  and  guard  against.  The 
feeling  that  I  had  once  more  to  do  with  a  man  of  like 
aims  and  passions  with  myself  quickly  restored  me  to  the 
use  of  my  faculties ;  as  I  have  heard  that  a  swordsman 
opposed  to  the  powers  of  evil  regains  his  vigour  on  finding 
himself  engaged  with  a  mortal  foe.  Though  I  knew  that 
the  hours  of  grace  were  fast  running  to  a  close,  and  that  on 
the  morrow  the  priest  would  call  for  an  answer,  I  experi- 
enced that  evening  an  unreasonable  lightness  and  cheerful- 
ness. I  retired  to  rest  with  confidence,  and  slept  in  comfort, 
supported  in  part,  perhaps,  by  the  assurance  that  in  that 
room  where  my  mother  died  her  persecutor  could  have  no 
power  to  harm  me. 

Upon  Simon  Fleix,  on  the  other  hand,  the  discovery  that 
Bruhl  was  moving,  and  that  consequently  peril  threatened 
us  from  a  new  quarter,  had  a  different  effect.  He  fell  into 
a  state  of  extreme  excitement,  and  spent  the  evening  and  a 
great  part  of  the  night  in  walking  restlessly  up  and  down 
the  room,  wrestling  with  the  fears  and  anxieties  which  beset 


214  A    GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

us,  and  now  talking  fast  to  himself,  now  biting  his  nails  in 
an  agony  of  impatience.  In  vain  I  adjured  him  not  to  meet 
troubles  halfway ;  or,  pointing  to  the  pallet  which  he  occu- 
pied at  the  foot  of  my  couch,  bade  him,  if  he  could  not 
devise  a  way  of  escape,  at  least  to  let  the  matter  rest  until 
morning.  He  had  no  power  to  obey,  but,  tortured  by  the 
vivid  anticipations  which  it  was  his  nature  to  entertain,  he 
continued  to  ramble  to  and  fro  in  a  fever  of  the  nerves,  and 
had  no  sooner  lain  down  than  he  was  up  again.  Remem- 
bering, however,  how  well  he  had  borne  himself  on  the 
night  of  mademoiselle's  escape  from  Blois,  I  refrained  from 
calling  him  a  coward ;  and  contented  myself  instead  with 
the  reflection  that  nothing  sits  worse  on  a  fighting-man  than 
too  much  knowledge — except,  perhaps,  a  lively  imagination. 

I  thought  it  possible  that  mademoiselle  n.ight  arrive  next 
day  before  Father  Antoine  called  to  receive  his  answer.  In 
this  event  I  hoped  to  have  the  support  of  Maignan's  ex- 
perience. But  the  party  did  not  arrive.  I  had  to  rely  on 
myself  and  my  own  resources,  and,  this  being  so,  determined 
to  refuse  the  priest's  offer,  but  in  all  other  things  to  be 
guided  by  circumstances. 

About  noon  he  came,  attended,  as  was  his  practice,  by  two 
friends,  whom  he  left  outside.  He  looked  paler  and  more 
shadowy  than  before,  I  thought,  his  hands  thinner,  and  his 
cheeks  more  transparent.  I  could  draw  no  good  augury, 
however,  from  these  signs  of  frailty,  for  the  brightness  of 
his  eyes  and  the  unusual  elation  of  his  manner  told  plainly 
of  a  spirit  assured  of  the  mastery.  He  entered  the  room 
with  an  air  of  confidence,  and  addressed  me  in  a  tone  of 
patronage  which  left  me  in  no  doubt  of  his  intentions ;  the 
frankness  with  which  he  now  laid  bare  his  plans  going  far 
to  prove  that  already  he  considered  me  no  better  than  his 
tool. 

I  did  not  at  once  undeceive  him,  but  allowed  him  to  pro- 
ceed, and  even  to  bring  out  the  five  hundred  crowns  which 
he  had  promised  me,  and  the  sight  of  which  he  doubtless 
supposed  would  clench  the  matter. 


MEN  CALL  IT  CHANCE  215 

Seeing  this  he  became  still  less  reticent,  and  spoke  so 
largely  that  I  presently  felt  myself  impelled  to  ask  him  if 
he  would  answer  a  question. 

'  That  is  as  may  be,  M.  de  Marsac,'  he  answered  lightly. 
'You  may  ask  it.' 

'You  hint  at  great  schemes  which  you  have  in  hand, 
father,'  I  said.  '  You  speak  of  France  and  Spain  and  Na- 
varre, and  kings  and  Leagues  and  cardinals !  You  talk  of 
secret  strings,  and  would  have  me  believe  that  if  I  comply 
with  your  wishes  I  shall  find  you  as  powerful  a  patron  as 
M.  de  Rosny.  But — one  moment,  if  you  please/  I  contin- 
ued hastily,  seeing  that  he  was  about  to  interrupt  me  with 
such  eager  assurances  as  I  had  already  heard;  'tell  me 
this.  With  so  many  irons  in  the  fire,  why  did  you  interfere 
with  one  old  gentlewoman — for  the  sake  of  a  few  crowns  ? ' 

'  I  will  tell  you  even  that,'  he  answered,  his  face  flushing 
at  my  tone.  '  Have  you  ever  heard  of  an  elephant  ?  Yes. 
Well,  it  has  a  trunk,  you  know,  with  which  it  can  either 
drag  an  oak  from  the  earth  or  lift  a  groat  from  the  ground. 
It  is  so  with  me.  But  again  you  ask,'  he  continued  with  an 
airy  grimace,  '  why  I  wanted  a  few  crowns.  Enough  that 
I  did.  There  are  going  to  be  two  things  in  the  world,  and 
two  only,  M.  de  Marsac :  brains  and  money.  The  former  I 
have,  and  had  :  the  latter  I  needed — and  toolL' 

'  Money  and  brains  ? '  I  said,  looking  at  him  thought- 
fully. 

'  Yes,'  he  answered,  his  eyes  sparkling,  his  thin  nostrils 
beginning  to  dilate.  '  Give  me  these  two,  and  I  will  rule 
France ! ' 

'  You  will  rule  France  ? '  I  exclaimed,  amazed  beyond 
measure  by  his  audacity.  '  You,  man  ?  ' 

'Yes,  I,'  he  answered,  with  abominable  coolness.  'I, 
priest,  monk,  Churchman,  clerk.  You  look  surprised,  but 
mark  you,  sir,  there  is  a  change  going  on.  Our  time  is 
coming,  and  yours  is  going.  What  hampers  our  lord  the 
king  and  shuts  him  up  in  Blois,  while  rebellions  stalk 
through  France  ?  Lack  of  men  ?  No ;  but  lack  of  money; 


216  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

Who  can  get  the  money  for  him — you  the  soldier,  or  I  the 
clerk  ?  A  thousand  times,  I !  Therefore,  my  time  is  coin- 
ing, and  before  you  die  you  will  see  a  priest  rule  France.' 

'God  forbid  it  should  be  you,'  I  answered  scornfully. 

'As  you  please/  he  answered,  shrugging  his  shoulders, 
and  assuming  in  a  breath  a  mask  of  humility  which  sat  as 
ill  on  his  monstrous  conceit  as  ever  nun's  veil  on  a  trooper. 
'  Yet  it  may  even  be  I ;  by  the  favour  of  the  Holy  Catholic 
Church,  whose  humble  minister  I  am.' 

I  sprang  up  with  a  great  oath  at  that,  having  no  stomach 
for  more  of  the  strange  transformations,  in  which  this  man 
delighted,  and  whereof  the  last  had  ever  the  air  of  being 
the  most  hateful.  'You  villain!'  I  cried,  twisting  my 
moustaches,  a  habit  I  have  when  enraged.  '  And  so  you 
would  make  me  a  stepping-stone  to  your  greatness.  You 
would  bribe  me — a  soldier  and  a  gentleman.  Go,  before  I 
do  you  a  mischief.  That  is  all  I  have  to  say  to  you.  Go  ! 
You  have  your  answer.  I  will  tell  you  nothing — not  a  jot 
or  a  tittle.  Begone  from  my  room  ! ' 

He  fell  back  a  step  in  his  surprise,  and  stood  against  the 
table  biting  his  nails  and  scowling  at  me,  fear  and  chagrin 
contending  with  half  a  dozen  devils  for  the  possession  of 
his  face.  '  So  you  have  been  deceiving  me,'  he  said  slowly, 
and  at  last.  * 

'  I  have  let  you  deceive  yourself,'  I  answered,  looking  at 
him  with  scorn,  but  with  none  of  the  fear  with  which  he 
had  for  a  while  inspired  me.  '  Begone,  and  do  your 
worst.' 

'  You  know  what  you  are  doing,'  he  said.  '  I  have  that 
will  hang  you,  M.  de  Marsac — or  worse.' 

'  Go  ! '  I  cried. 

'You  have  thought  of  your  friends,'  he  continued 
mockingly. 

'  Go ! '  I  said. 

'  Of  Mademoiselle  de  la  Vire,  if  by  any  chance  she  fall 
into  my  hands  ?  It  will  not  be  hanging  for  her.  You 
remember  the  two  Foucauds  ?  ' — and  he  laughed. 


MEN-  CALL  IT  CHANCE  217 

The  vile  threat,  which  I  knew  he  had  used  to  my  mother, 
so  worked  upon  me  that  I  strode  forward  unable  to  control 
myself  longer.  In  another  moment  I  had  certainly  taken 
him  by  the  throat  and  squeezed  the  life  out  of  his  miserable 
carcase,  had  not  Providence  in  its  goodness  intervened  to 
save  me.  The  door,  on  which  he  had  already  laid  his  hand 
in  terror,  opened  suddenly.  It  admitted  Simon,  who, 
closing  it  behind  him,  stood  looking  from  one  to  the  other 
of  us  in  nervous  doubt ;  divided  between  that  respect  for 
the  priest  which  a  training  at  the  Sorbonne  had  instilled 
into  him,  and  the  rage  which  despair  arouses  in  the 
weakest. 

His  presence,  while  it  checked  me  in  my  purpose,  seemed 
to  give  Father  Antoine  courage,  for  the  priest  stood  his 
ground,  and  even  turned  to  me  a  second  time,  his  face  dark 
with  spite  and  disappointment.  '  Good,'  he  said  hoarsely. 
'  Destroy  yourself  if  you  will !  I  advise  you  to  bar  your 
door,  for  in  an  hour  the  guards  will  be  here  to  fetch  you  to 
the  question.' 

Simon  cried  out  at  the  threat,  so  that  I  turned  and 
looked  at  the  lad.  His  knees  were  shaking,  his  hair  stood 
on  end. 

The  priest  saw  his  terror  and  his  own  opportunity.  '  Ay, 
in  an  hour,'  he  continued  slowly,  looking  at  him  with  cruel 
eyes.  '  In  an  hour,  lad !  You  must  be  fond  of  pain  to 
court  it,  and  out  of  humour  with  life  to  throw  it  away. 
Or  stay,'  he  continued  abruptly,  after  considering  Simon's 
agony  for  a  moment,  and  doubtless  deducing  from  it  a  last 
hope,  '  I  will  be  merciful.  I  will  give  you  one  more 
chance.' 

'And  yourself  ? '  I  said  with  a  sneer. 

'As  you  please,'  he  answered,  declining  to  be  diverted 
from  the  trembling  lad,  whom  his  gaze  seemed  to  fascinate. 
'  I  will  give  you  until  half  an  hour  after  sunset  this 
evening  to  reconsider  the  matter.  If  you  make  up  your 
minds  to  accept  my  terms,  meet  me  then.  I  leave  to-night 
for  Paris,  and  I  will  give  yo«  \intil  the  last  moment.  But,' 


218  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FKANCE 

he  continued  grimly,  '  if  you  do  not  meet  me,  or,  meeting 
me,  remain  obstinate — God  do  so  to  me,  and  more  also,  if 
you  see  the  sun  rise  thrice.' 

Some  impulse,  I  know  not  what,  seeing  that  I  had  no 
thought  of  accepting  his  terms  or  meeting  him,  led  me  to 
ask  briefly,  '  Where  ?  ' 

'On  the  Parvis  of  the  Cathedral,'  he  answered  after  a 
moment's  calculation.  'At  the  north-east  corner,  half  an 
hour  after  sunset.  It  is  a  quiet  spot.' 

Simon  uttered  a  stifled  exclamation.  And  then  for  a 
moment  there  was  silence  in  the  room,  while  the  lad 
breathed  hard  and  irregularly,  and  I  stood  rooted  to  the 
spot,  looking  so  long  and  so  strangely  at  the  priest  that 
Father  Antoine  laid  his  hand  again  on  the  door  and  glanced 
uneasily  behind  him.  Nor  was  he  content  until  he  had  hit 
on,  as  he  fancied,  the  cause  of  my  strange  regard. 

'  Ha ! '  he  said,  his  thin  lip  curling  in  conceit  at  his 
astuteness,  '  I  understand.  You  think  to  kill  me  to-night  ? 
Let  me  tell  you,  this  house  is  watched.  If  you  leave  here 
to  meet  me  with  any  companion — unless  it  be  M.  d'Agen, 
whom  I  can  trust — I  shall  be  warned,  and  be  gone  before 
you  reach  the  rendezvous.  And  gone,  mind  you,'  he  added, 
with  a  grim  smile,  '  to  sign  your  death-warrant.' 

He  went  out  with  that,  closing  the  door  behind  him ;  and 
we  heard  his  step  go  softly  down  the  staircase.  I  gazed  at 
Simon,  and  he  at  me,  with  all  the  astonishment  and  awe 
which  it  was  natural  we  should  feel  in  presence  of  so 
remarkable  a  coincidence. 

For  by  a  marvel  the  priest  had  named  the  same  spot  and 
the  same  time  as  the  sender  of  the  velvet  knot ! 

'He  will  go,'  Simon  said,  his  face  flushed  and  his  voice 
trembling,  'and  they  will  go.' 

'And  in  the  dark  t^ey  will  not  know  him,'  I  muttered. 
'He  is  about  my  height.  They  will  take  him  for  me!' 

'And  kill  him!'  Simon  cried  hysterically.  'They  will 
kill  him !  He  goes  to  his  death,  monsieur.  It  is  the  finger 
of  God.' 


THE  KING^S  FACE  219 

CHAPTER  XX. 
THE  KING'S  FACE. 

IT  seemed  so  necessary  to  bring  home  the  crime  to  Bruhl 
should  the  priest  really  perish  in  the  trap  laid  for  me,  that 
I  came  near  to  falling  into  one  of  those  mistakes  to  which 
men  of  action  are  prone.  For  my  first  impulse  was  to  follow 
the  priest  to  the  Parvis,  closely  enough,  if  possible,  to  detect 
the  assassins  in  the  act,  and  with  sufficient  force,  if  I  could 
muster  it,  to  arrest  them.  The  credit  of  dissuading  me 
from  this  course  lies  with  Simon,  who  pointed  out  its  dan- 
gers in  so  convincing  a  manner  that  I  was  brought  with 
little  difficulty  to  relinquish  it. 

Instead,  acting  on  his  advice,  I  sent  him  to  M.  d'Agen's 
lodging,  to  beg  that  young  gentleman  to  call  upon  me  before 
evening.  After  searching  the  lodging  and  other  places  in 
vain,  Simon  found  M.  d'Agen  in  the  tennis-court  at  the 
Castle,  and,  inventing  a  crafty  excuse,  brought  him  to  my 
lodging  a  full  hour  before  the  time. 

My  visitor  was  naturally  surprised  to  find  that  I  had 
nothing  particular  to  say  to  him.  I  dared  not  tell  him 
what  occupied  my  thoughts,  and  for  the  rest  invention 
failed  me.  But  his  gaiety  and  those  pretty  affectations  on 
which  he  spent  an  infinity  of  pains,  for  the  purpose,  appar- 
ently, of  hiding  the  sterling  worth  of  a  character  deficient 
neither  in  courage  nor  backbone,  were  united  to  much  good 
nature.  Believing  at  last  that  I  had  sent  for  him  in  a  fit  of 
the  vapours,  he  devoted  himself  to  amusing  me  and  abusing 
Bruhl — a  very  favourite  pastime  with  him.  And  in  this 
way  he  made  out  a  call  of  two  hours. 

I  had  not  long  to  wait  for  proof  of  Simon's  wisdom  in 
taking  this  precaution.  We  thought  it  prudent  to  keep 
within  doors  after  our  guest's  departure,  and  so  passed  the 
night  in  ignorance  whether  anything  had  happened  or  not. 
But  about  seven  next  morning  one  of  the  Marquis's  servants, 


220  A   GENTLEMAN"  OF  FRANCE 

despatched  by  M.  d'Agen,  burst  in  upon  us  with  the  news 
— which  was  no  news  from  the  moment  his  hurried  footstep 
sounded  on  the  stairs — that  Father  Antoine  had  been  set 
upon  and  killed  the  previous  evening ! 

I  heard  this  confirmation  of  my  hopes  with  grave  thank- 
fulness ;  Simon  with  so  much  emotion  that  when  the  mes- 
senger was  gone  he  sat  down  on  a  stool  and  began  to  sob 
and  tremble  as  if  he  had  lost  his  mother,  instead  of  a  mortal 
foe.  I  took  advantage  of  the  occasion  to  read  him  a  sermon 
on  the  end  of  crooked  courses;  nor  could  I  myself  recall 
without  a  shudder  the  man's  last  words  to  me ;  or  the  law- 
less and  evil  designs  in  which  he  had  rejoiced,  while  standing 
Gin  the  very  brink  of  the  pit  which  was  to  swallow  up  both 
him  and  them  in  everlasting  darkness. 

Naturally,  the  uppermost  feeling  in  my  mind  was  relief. 
1  was  free  once  more.  In  all  probability  the  priest  had 
kept  his  knowledge  to  himself,  and  without  him  his  agents 
would  be  powerless.  Simon,  it  is  true,  heard  that  the  town 
•yas  much  excited  by  the  event ;  and  that  many  attributed 
ifc  to  the  Huguenots.  But  we  did  not  suffer  ourselves  to  be 
depressed  by  this,  nor  had  I  any  foreboding  until  the  sound 
of  a  second  hurried  footstep  mounting  the  stairs  reached 
our  ears. 

I  knew  the  step  in  a  moment  for  M.  d'Agen's,  and  some- 
thing ominous  in  its  ring  brought  me  to  my  feet  before  he 
opened  the  door.  Significant  'as  was  his  first  hasty  look 
round  the  room,  he  recovered  at  sight  of  me  all  his  habitual 
sang-froid.  He  saluted  me,  and  spoke  coolly,  though  rapidly. 
But  he  panted,  and  I  noticed  in  a  moment  that  he  had  lost 
his  lisp. 

<I  am  happy  in  finding  you,'  he  said,  closing  the  door 
carefully  behind  him,  'for  I  am  the  bearer  of  ill  news,  and 
there  is  not  a  moment  to  be  lost.  The  king  has  signed  an 
order  for  your  instant  consignment  to  prison,  M.  de  Marsac, 
and,  once  there,  it  is  difficult  to  say  what  may  not  happen.' 

'  My  consignment  ?  '  I  exclaimed.  I  may  be  pardoned 
if  the  news  for  a  moment  found  me  unprepared. 


THE  KfNG^S  FACE  221 

*  Yes,'  he  replied  quickly.      '  The  king  has  signed  it  at 
the  instance  of  Marshal  Retz.' 

*  But  for  what  ? '  I  cried  in  amazement. 

'  The  murder  of  Father  Antoine.  You  will  pardon  me/ 
he  continued  urgently,  'but  this  is  no  time  for  words.  The 
Provost-Marshal  is  even  now  on-  his  way  to  arrest  you. 
Your  only  hope  is  to  evade  him,  and  gain  an  audience  of 
the  king.  I  have  persuaded  my  uncle  to  go  with  you,  and 
he  is  waiting  at  his  lodgings.  There  is  not  a  moment  to  be 
lost,  however,  if  you  would  reach  the  king's  presence  before 
you  are  arrested.' 

'But  I  am  innocent ! '  I  cried. 

'  I  know  it,'  M.  d'Agen  answered,  '  and  can  prove  it. 
But  if  you  cannot  get  speech  of  the  king  innocence  will 
avail  you  nothing.  You  have  powerful  enemies.  Come 
without  more  ado,  M.  de  Marsac,  I  pray,'  he  added. 

His  manner,  even  more  than  his  words,  impressed  me 
with  a  sense  of  urgency ;  and  postponing  for  a  time  my  own 
judgment,  I  hurriedly  thanked  him  for  his  friendly  offices. 
Snatching  up  my  sword,  which  lay  on  a  chair,  I  buckled 
it  on ;  for  Simon's  fingers  trembled  so  violently  he  could 
give  me  no  help.  This  done  I  nodded  to  M.  d'Agen  to  go 
first,  and  followed  him  from  the  room,  Simon  attending  us 
of  his  own  motion.  It  would  be  then  about  eleven  o'clock 
in  the  forenoon. 

My  companion  ran  down  the  stairs  without  ceremony, 
and  so  quickly  it  was  all  I  could  do  to  keep  up  with  him. 
At  the  outer  door  he  signed  me  to  stand,  and  darting  him- 
self into  the  street,  he  looked  anxiously  in  the  direction  of 
the  Rue  St.  Denys.  Fortunately  the  coast  was  still  clear, 
and  he  beckoned  to  me  to  follow  him.  I  did  so  and  start- 
ing to  walk  in  the  opposite  direction  as  fast  as  we  could,  in 
less  than  a  minute  we  had  put  a  corner  between  us  and  the 
house. 

Our  hopes  of  escaping  unseen,  however,  were  promptly 
dashed.  The  house,  I  have  said,  stood  in  a  quiet  by-street, 
which  was  bounded  on  the  farther  side  by  a  garden-wall  but- 


222  A    GENTLEMAAT  OF  FRANCE 

tressed  at  intervals.  We  had  scarcely  gone  a  dozen  paces 
from  my  door  when  a  man  slipped  from  the  shelter  of  one  of 
these  buttresses,  and  after  a  single  glance  at  us,  set  off  to 
run  towards  the  Hue  St.  Denys. 

M.  d'Agen  looked  back  and  nodded.  'There  goes  the 
news,'  he  said.  '  They  will  try  to  cut  us  off,  but  I  think  we 
have  the  start  of  them.' 

I  made  no  reply,  feeling  that  I  had  resigned  myself 
entirely  into  his  hands.  But  as  we  passed  through  the  Hue 
de  Valois,  in  part  of  which  a  market  was  held  at  this  hour, 
attracting  a  considerable  concourse  of  peasants  and  others, 
I  fancied  I  detected  signs  of  unusual  bustle  and  excitement. 
It  seemed  unlikely  that  news  of  the  priest's  murder  should 
affect  so  many  people  and  to  such  a  degree,  and  I  asked 
M.  d'Agen  what  it  meant. 

'  There  is  a  rumour  abroad,'  he  answered,  without  slack- 
ening speed,  '  that  the  king  intends  to  move  south  to  Tours 
at  once.' 

I  muttered  my  surprise  and  satisfaction.  '  He  will  come 
to  terms  with  the  Huguenots  then  ?  '  I  said. 

'  It  looks  like  it,'  M.  d'Agen  rejoined.  '  Retz's  party  are 
in  an  ill-humour  on  that  account,  and  will  wreak  it  on  you  if 
they  get  a  chance.  On  guard  ! '  he  added  abruptly.  '  Here 
are  two  of  them  ! ' 

As  he  spoke  we  emerged  from  the  crowd,  and  I  saw,  hah' 
a  dozen  paces  in  front  of  us,  and  coming  to  meet  us,  a 
couple  of  Court  gallants,  attended  by  as  many  servants, 
They  espied  us  at  the  same  moment,  and  came  across  thf* 
street,  which  was  tolerably  wide  at  that  part,  with  the 
evident  intention  of  stopping  us.  Simultaneously,  however, 
we  crossed  to  take  their  side,  and  so  met  them  face  to  face 
in  the  middle  of  the  way. 

'  M.  d'Agen,'  the  foremost  exclaimed,  speaking  in  a  haughty 
tone,  and  with  a  dark  side  glance  at  me,  '  I  am  sorry  to  see 
you  in  such  company !  Doubtless  you  are  not  aware  that 
this  gentleman  is  the  subject  of  an  order  which  has  even 
now  been  issued  to  the  Provost-Marshal.' 


THE  KING^S  FACE  223 

<  And  if  so,  sir  ?  What  of  that  ? '  my  companion  lisped 
in  his  silkiest  tone. 

'  What  of  that  ? '  the  other  cried,  frowning,  and  pushing 
slightly  forward. 

'  Precisely,'  M.  d'Agen  repeated,  laying  his  hand  on  his 
hilt  and  declining  to  give  back.  '  I  am  not  aware  that  his 
Majesty  has  appointed  you  Provost-Marshal,  or  that  you 
have  any  warrant,  M.  Villequier,  empowering  you  to  stop 
gentlemen  in  the  public  streets.' 

M.  Villequier  reddened  with  anger.  '  You  are  young, 
M.  d'Agen,'  he  said,  his  voice  quivering,  '  or  I  would  make 
you  pay  dearly  for  that ! ' 

'My  friend  is  not  young,'  M.  d'Agen  retorted,  bowing. 
•He  is  a  gentleman  of  birth,  M.  Villequier;  by  repute,  as  I 
learned  yesterday,  one  of  the  best  swordsmen  in  France, 
and  no  Gascon.  If  you  feel  inclined  to  arrest  him,  do  so, 
I  pray.  And  I  will  have  the  honour  of  engaging  your  son.' 

As  we  had  all  by  this  time  our  hands  on  our  swords,  there 
needed  but  a  blow  to  bring  about  one  of  those  street  brawls 
which  were  more  common  then  than  now.  A  number  of 
market-people,  drawn  to  the  spot  by  our  raised  voices,  had 
gathered  round,  and  were  waiting  eagerly  to  see  what  would 
happen.  But  Villequier,  as  rny  companion  perhaps  knew, 
was  a  Gascon  in  heart  as  well  as  by  birth,  and  seeing  our 
determined  aspects,  thought  better  of  it.  Shrugging  his 
shoulders  with  an  affectation  of  disdain  which  imposed  on 
no  one,  he  signalled  to  his  servants  to  go  on,  and  himself 
stood  aside. 

'  I  thank  you  for  your  polite  offer,'  he  said  with  an  evil 
smile,  '  and  will  remember  it.  But  as  you  say,  sir,  I  am  not 
the  Provost-Marshal.' 

Paying  little  heed  to  his  words,  we  bowed,  passed  him, 
and  hurried  on.  But  the  peril  was  not  over.  Not  only  had 
the  rencontre  cost  us  some  precious  minutes,  but  the  Gascon, 
after  letting  us  proceed  a  little  way,  followed  us.  And 
word  being  passed  by  his  servants,  as  we  supposed,  that 
one  of  us  was  the  murderer  of  Father  Antoine,  the  rumour 


224  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

spread  through  the  crowd  like  wildfire,  and  in  a  few  mo- 
ments we  found  ourselves  attended  by  a  troop  of  canaille 
who,  hanging  on  our  skirts,  caused  Simon  Meix  no  little 
apprehension.  Notwithstanding  the  contempt  which  M. 
d'Agen,  whose  bearing  throughout  was  admirable,  expressed 
for  them,  we  might  have  found  it  necessary  to  turn  and 
teach  them  a  lesson  had  we  not  reached  M.  de  Eambouillet's 
in  the  nick  of  time ;  where  we  found  the  door  surrounded 
by  half  a  dozen  armed  servants,  at  sight  of  whom  our  per- 
secutors fell  back  with  the  cowardice  which  is  usually  found 
in  that  class. 

If  I  had  been  tempted  of  late  to  think  M.  de  Rambouillet 
fickle,  I  had  no  reason  to  complain  now ;  whether  his  atti- 
tude was  due  to  M.  d'Agen's  representations,  or  to  the 
reflection  that  without  me  the  plans  he  had  at  heart  must 
miscarry.  I  found  him  waiting  within,  attended  by  three 
gentlemen,  all  cloaked  and  ready  for  the  road ;  while  the  air 
of  purpose  which  sat  on  his  brow  indicated  that  he  thought 
the  crisis  no  common  one.  Not  a  moment  was  lost,  even  in 
explanations.  Waving  me  to  the  door  again,  and  exchang 
ing  a  few  sentences  with  his  nephew,  he  gave  the  word  to 
start,  and  we  issued  from  the  house  in  a  body.  Doubtless 
the  fact  that  those  who  sought  to  ruin  me  were  his  political 
enemies  had  some  weight  with  him ;  for  I  saw  his  face 
harden  as  his  eyes  met  those  of  M.  de  Villequier,  who 
passed  slowly  before  the  door  as  we  came  out.  The  Gascon, 
however,  was  not  the  man  to  interfere  with  so  large  a  party, 
and  dropped  back ;  while  M.  de  Rambouillet,  after  exchang- 
ing a  cold  salute  with  him,  led  the  way  towards  the  Castle 
at  a  round  pace.  His  nephew  and  I  walked  one  on  either 
side  of  him,  and  the  others,  to  the  number  of  ten  or  eleven, 
pressed  on  behind  in  a  compact  body,  our  cortege  presenting 
so  determined  a  front  that  the  crowd,  which  had  remained 
hanging  about  the  door,  fled  every  way.  Even  some  peace- 
able folk  who  found  themselves  in  our  road  took  the  pre- 
caution of  slipping  into  doorways,  or  stood  aside  to  give  us 
the  full  width  of  the  street. 


THE  KING^S  FACE  225 

I  remarked — and  I  think  it  increased  my  anxiety — that 
our  leader  was  dressed  with  more  than  usual  care  and  rich- 
ness, but,  unlike  his  attendants,  wore  no  arms.  He  took 
occasion,  as  we  hurried  along,  to  give  me  a  word  of  advice. 
<M.  de  Marsac,'  he  said,  looking  at  me  suddenly,  'my 
nephew  has  given  me  to  understand  that  you  place  yourself 
entirely  in  my  hands.' 

I  replied  that  I  asked  for  no  better  fortune,  and,  whatever 
the  event,  thanked  him  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart. 

'  Be  pleased  then  to  keep  silence  until  I  bid  you  speak,' 
he  replied  sharply,  for  he  was  one  of  those  whom  a  sudden 
stress  hours  and  exacerbates.  '  And,  above  all,  no  violence 
without  my  orders.  We  are  about  to  fight  a  battle,  and  a 
critical  one,  but  it  must  be  won  with  our  heads.  If  we  can 
we  will  keep  you  out  of  the  Provost-Marshal's  hands.' 

And  if  not  ?  I  remembered  the  threats  Father  Antoine 
had  used,  and  in  a  moment  I  lost  sight  of  the  street  with 
all  its  light  and  life  and  movement.  I  felt  no  longer  the 
wholesome  stinging  of  the  wind.  I  tasted  instead  a  fetid 
air,  and  saw  round  me  a  narrow  cell  and  masked  figures,  and 
in  particular  a  swatby  man  in  a  leather  apron  leaning  over 
a  brazier,  from  whim  came  lurid  flames.  And  I  was  bound. 
I  experienced  that  atter  helplessness  which  is  the  last  test 
of  courage.  The  r  .an  came  forward,  and  then — then,  thank 
God !  the  vision  passed  away.  An  exclamation  to  which 
M.  d'Agen  gave  vent,  brought  me  back  to  the  present,  and 
to  the  blessed  knowledge  that  the  fight  was  not  yet  over. 

We  were  within  a  score  of  paces,  I  found,  of  the  Castle 
gates :  but  so  were  also  a  second  party,  who  had  just  de- 
bouched from  a  side-street,  and  now  hurried  on,  pace  for 
pace,  with  us,  with  the  evident  intention  of  forestalling  us. 
The  race  ended  in  both  companies  reaching  the  entrance  at 
the  same  time,  with  the  consequence  of  some  jostling  taking 
place  amongst  the  servants.  This  must  have  led  to  blows 
but  for  the  strenuous  commands  which  M.  de  Rambouillet 
had  laid  upon  his  followers.  I  found  myself  in  a  moment 
confronted  by  a  row  of  scowling  faces,  while  a  dozen  threat- 


226  A    GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

erring  hands  were  stretched  out  towards  me,  and. as  many 
voices,  among  which  I  recognised  Fresnoy's,  cried  out 
tumultuously,  '  That  is  he  !  That  is  the  one  ! ' 

An  elderly  man  in  a  quaint  dress  stepped  forward,  a  paper 
in  his  hand,  and,  backed  as  he  w?~  by  half  a  dozen  halber- 
diers, would  in  a  moment  have  laid  hands  on  me  if  M.  de 
Rambouillet  had  not  intervened  with  a  negligent  air  of 
authority,  which  sat  on  him  the  more  gracefully  as  he  held 
nothing  but  a  riding-switch  in  his  hands.  'Tut,  tut !  What 
is  this?'  he  said  lightly.  'I  am  not  wont  to  have  my  people 
interfered  with,  M.  Provost,  without  my  leave.  You  know 
me,  I  suppose?' 

'  Perfectly,  M.  le  Marquis,'  the  man  answered  with  dogged 
respect ;  '  but  this  is  by  the  king's  special  command.' 

'  Very  good,'  my  patron  answered,  quietly  eyeing  the  faces 
behind  the  Provost-Marshal,  as  if  he  were  making  a  note  of 
them  ;  which  caused  some  of  the  gentlemen  manifest  uneasi- 
ness. '  That  is  soon  seen,  for  we  are  even  now  about  to  seek 
speech  with  his  Majesty.' 

'Not  this  gentleman,'  the  Provost-Marshal  answered 
firmly,  raising  his  hand  again.  'I  car  not  let  him  pass.' 

'Yes,  this  gentleman  too,  by  your  leave,'  the  Marquis 
retorted,  lightly  putting  the  hand  aside  with  his  carie. 

'  Sir,'  said  the  other,  retreating  a  step  and  speaking  Avith 
some  heat,  'this  is  no  jest  with  all  respect.  I  hold  the 
king's  own  order,  and  it  may  not  be  resisted.' 

The  nobleman  tapped  his  silver  comfit-box  and  smiled. 
'I  shall  be  the  last  to  resist  it — if  you  have  it,'  he  said 
languidly. 

'You  may  read  it  for  yourself,'  the  Provost-Marshal 
answered,  his  patience  exhaiisted. 

M.  de  Rambouillet  took  the  parchment  with  the  ends  of 
his  fingers,  glanced  at  it,  and  gave  it  back.  'As  I  thought,' 
he  said,  '  a  manifest  forgery.' 

'  A  forgery  ! '  cried  the  officer,  crimson  with  indignation. 
'  And  I  had  it  from  the  hands  of  the  king's  own  secretary  ! ' 
At  this  those  behind  murmured,  some  'shame,'  and  some 


THE  KING^S  FACE  227 

one  thing,  and  some  another — all  with  an  air  so  threatening 
that  the  Marquis's  gentlemen  closed  up  behind  him,  and 
M.  d'Agen  laughed  rudely. 

But  M.  de  Rambouillet  remained  unmoved.  'You  may 
have  had  it  from  whom  you  please,  sir,'  he  said.  '  It  is  a 
forgery,  and  I  shall  resist  its  execution.  If  you  choose  to 
await  me  here,  I  will  give  you  my  word  to  render  this 
gentleman  to  you  within  an  hour,  should  the  order  hold 
good.  If  you  will  not  wait,  I  shall  command  my  servants 
to  clear  the  way,  and  if  ill  happen,  then  the  responsibility 
will  lie  with  you.' 

He  spoke  in  so  resolute  a  manner  it  was  not  difficult  to 
see  that  something  more  was  at  stake  than  the  arrest  of  a 
single  man.  This  was  so ;  the  real  issue  was  whether  the 
king,  with  whose  instability  it  was  difficult  to  cope,  should 
fall  back  into  the  hands  of  his  old  advisers  or  not.  My 
arrest  was  a  move  in  the  game  intended  as  a  counterblast 
to  the  victory  which  M.  de  Rambouillet  had  gained  when 
he  persuaded  the  king  to  move  to  Tours ;  a  city  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  the  Huguenots,  and  a  place  of  arms 
whence  union  with  them  would  be  easy. 

The  Provost-Marshal  could,  no  doubt,  make  a  shrewd 
guess  at  these  things.  He  knew  that  the  order  he  had 
would  be  held  valid  or  not  according  as  one  party  or  the 
other  gained  the  mastery ;  and,  seeing  M.  de  Rambouillet's 
resolute  demeanour,  he  gave  way.  Rudely  interrupted  more 
than  once  by  his  attendants,  among  whom  were  some  of 
Bruhl's  men,  he  muttered  an  ungracious  assent  to  our  pro- 
posal ;  on  which,  and  without  a  moment's  delay,  the  Marquis 
took  me  by  the  arm  and  hurried  me  across  the  courtyard. 

And  so  far,  well.  My  heart  began  to  rise.  But,  for  the 
Marquis,  as  we  mounted  the  staircase  the  anxiety  he  had 
dissembled  while  we  faced  the  Provost-Marshal,  broke  out 
in  angry  mutterings ;  from  which  I  gathered  that  the  crisis 
was  yet  to  come.  I  was  not  surprised,  therefore,  when  an 
usher  rose  on  our  appearance  in  the  antechamber,  and, 
quickly  crossing  the  floor,  interposed  between  us  and  the 


228  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

door  of  the  chamber,  informing  the  Marquis  with  a  low 
obeisance  that  his  Majesty  was  engaged. 

'  He  will  see  me,'  M.  de  Rambouillet  cried,  looking 
haughtily  round  on  the  sneering  pages  and  lounging  court- 
iers, who  grew  civil  under  his  eye. 

*  I  have  particular  orders,  sir,  to  admit  no  one,'  the  man 
answered. 

'Tut,  tut,  they  do  not  apply  to  me,'  my  companion 
retorted,  nothing  daunted.  'I  know  the  business  on  which 
the  king  is  engaged,  and  I  am  here  to  assist  him.'  And 
raising  his  hand  he  thrust  the  startled  official  aside,  and 
hardily  pushed  the  doors  of  the  chamber  open. 

The  king,  surrounded  by  half  a  dozen  persons,  was  in  the 
a,ct  of  putting  on  his  riding-boots.  On  hearing  us,  he 
turned  his  head  with  a  startled  air,  and  dropped  in  his  con- 
fusion one  of  the  ivory  cylinders  he  was  using ;  while  his 
aspect,  and  that  of  the  persons  who  stood  round  him,  re- 
minded me  irresistibly  of  a  party  of  schoolboys  detected  in 
a  fault. 

He  recovered  himself,  it  is  true,  almost  immediately  ;  and 
turning  his  back  to  us,  continued  to  talk  to  the  persons 
round  him  on  such  trifling  subjects  as  commonly  engaged 
him.  He  carried  on  this  conversation  in  a  very  free  way, 
studiously  ignoring  our  presence;  but  it  was  plain  he  re- 
mained aware  of  it,  and  even  that  he  was  uneasy  under  the 
cold  and  severe  gaze  which  the  Marquis,  who  seemed  in 
nowise  affrighted  by  his  reception,  bent  upon  him. 

I,  for  my  part,  had  no  longer  any  confidence.  Nay,  I 
came  near  to  regretting  that  I  had  persevered  in  an  attempt 
so  useless.  The  warrant  which  awaited  'me  at  the  gates 
seemed  less  formidable  than  his  Majesty's  gi-o wing  displeas- 
ure ;  which  I  saw  I  was  incurring  by  remaining  where  I 
was.  It  needed  not  the  insolent  glance  of  Marshal  Retz, 
who  lounged  smiling  by  the  king's  hand,  or  the  laughter  of 
a  couple  of  pages  who  stood  at  the  head  of  the  chamber,  to 
deprive  me  of  my  last  hope ;  while  some  things  which 
might  have  cheered  me — the  uneasiness  of  some  about  the 


THE  KING^S  FACE  229 

king,  and  the  disquietude  which  underlay  Marshal  Retz's 
manner — escaped  my  notice  altogether. 

What  I  did  see  clearly  was  that  the  king's  embarrassment 
was  fast  changing  to  anger.  The  paint  which  reddened  his 
cheeks  prevented  any  alteration  in  his  colour  being  visible, 
but  his  frown  and  the  nervous  manner  in  which  he  kept 
taking  off  and  putting  on  his  jewelled  cap  betrayed  him. 
At  length,  signing  to  one  of  his  companions  to  follow, 
lie  moved  a  little  aside  to  a  window,  whence,  after  a  few 
moments,  the  gentleman  came  to  us. 

'  M.  de  Rambouillet,'  he  said,  speaking  coldly  and  for- 
mally, '  his  Majesty  is  displeased  by  this  gentleman's  pres- 
ence, and  requires  him  to  withdraw  forthwith.' 

'  His  Majesty's  word  is  law,'  my  patron  answered,  bowing 
low,  and  speaking  in  a  clear  voice  audible  throughout  the 
chamber,  'but  the  matter  which  brings  this  gentleman  here 
is  of  the  utmost  importance,  and  touches  his  Majesty's 
person.' 

M.  de  Retz  laughed  jeeringly.  The  other  courtiers  looked 
grave.  The  king  shrugged  his  shoulders  with  a  peevish 
gesture,  but  after  a  moment's  hesitation,  during  which  he 
looked  first  at  Retz  and  then  at  M.  de  Rambouillet,  he 
signed  to  the  Marquis  to  approach. 

'  Why  have  you  brought  him  here  ? '  he  muttered  sharply, 
looking  askance  at  me.  'He  should  have  been  bestowed 
according  to  my  orders.' 

'  He  has  information  for  your  Majesty's  private  ear,' 
Rambouillet  answered.  And  he  looked  so  meaningly  at 
the  king  that  Henry,  I  think,  remembered  on  a  sudden  his 
compact  with  Rosny,  and  my  part  in  it ;  for  he  started  with 
the  air  of  a  man  suddenly  awakened.  '  To  prevent  that  in- 
formation reaching  you,  sire,'  my  patron  continued,  'his 
enemies  have  practised  on  your  Majesty's  well-known  sense 
of  justice.' 

'  Oh,  but  stay,  stay ! '  the  king  cried,  hitching  forward  the 
scanty  cloak  he  wore,  which  barely  came  down  to  his  waist. 
'The  man  has  killed  a  priest !  He  has  killed  a  priest,  man !' 


230  A    GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

he  repeated  with  confidence,  as  if  he  had  now  got  hold  of 
the  right  argument. 

'  That  is  not  so,  sire,  craving  your  Majesty's  pardon,'  M. 
de  Rambouillet  replied  with  the  utmost  coolness. 

'Tut!  Tut!  The  evidence  is  clear,'  the  king  said  pee- 
vishly. 

'As  to  that,  sire,'  my  companion  rejoined,  'if  it  is  of  the 
murder  of  Father  Antoine  he  is  accused,  I  say  boldly  that 
there  is  none.' 

'Then  there  you  are  mistaken!'  the  king  answered.  'I 
heard  it  with  my  own  ears  this  morning.' 

'  Will  you  deign,  sire,  to  tell  me  its  nature  ? '  M.  de 
Rambouillet  persisted. 

But  on  that  Marshal  Retz  thought  it  necessary  to  inter- 
vene. 'Need  we  turn  his  Majesty's  chamber  into  a  court  of 
justice?'  he  said  smoothly.  Hitherto  he  had  not  spoken; 
trusting,  perhaps,  to  the  impression  he  had  already  made 
upon  the  king. 

M.  de  Rambouillet  took  no  notice  of  him. 

'  But  Bruhl,'  said  the  king,  '  you  see,  Bruhl  says ' 

'Bruhl !'  my  companion  replied,  with  so  much  contempt 
that  Henry  started.  l  Surely  your  Majesty  has  not  taken 
his  word  against  this  gentleman,  of  all  people  ? ' 

Thus  reminded,  a  second  time,  of  the  interests  entrusted 
to  me,  and  of  the  advantage  which  Bruhl  would  gain  by  my 
disappearance,  the  king  looked  first  confused,  and  then  an- 
gry. He  vented  his  passion  in  one  or  two  profane  oaths, 
with  the  childish  addition  that  we  were  all  a  set  of  traitors, 
and  that  he  had  no  one  whom  he  could  trust.  But  my 
companion  had  touched  the  right  chord  at  last;  for  when  the 
king  grew  more  composed,  he  waved  aside  Marshal  Retz's 
protestations,  and  sullenly  bade  Rambouillet  say  what  he 
had  to  say. 

'The  monk  was  killed,  sire,  about  sunset,'  he  answered. 
'  Now  my  nephew,  M.  d'Agen,  is  without,  and  will  tell  your 
Majesty  that  he  was  with  this  gentleman  at  his  lodgings 
from  about  an  hour  before  sunset  last  evening  until  a  full 


THE  KING^S  FACE  231 

hour  after.  Consequently,  M.  de  Marsac  can  hardly  be  the 
assassin,  and  M.  le  Marechal  must  look  elsewhere  if  he 
wants  vengeance.' 

'Justice,  sir,  not  vengeance,'  Marshal  Retz  said  with  a 
dark  glance.  His  keen  Italian  face  hid  his  trouble  well, 
but  a  little  pulse  of  passion  beating  in  his  olive  cheek  be- 
trayed the  secret  to  those  who  knew  him.  He  had  a  harder 
part  to  play  than  his  opponent;  for  while  Rambouillet's 
hands  were  clean,  Retz  knew  himself  a  traitor,  and  liable 
at  any  moment  to  discovery  and  punishment. 

'  Let  M.  d'Agen  be  called,'  Henry  said  curtly. 

'And  if  your  Majesty  pleases,'  Retz  added,  'M.  de  Bruhl 
also.  If  you  really  intend,  sire,  that  is,  to  reopen  a  matter 
which  I  thought  had  been  settled.' 

The  king  nodded  obstinately,  his  face  furrowed  with  ill- 
temper.  He  kept  his  shifty  eyes,  which  seldom  met  those 
of  the  person  he  addressed,  on  the  floor ;  and  this  accentu- 
ated the  awkward  stooping  carriage  which  was  natural  to 
him.  There  were  seven  or  eight  dogs  of  exceeding  small- 
ness  in  the  room,  and  while  we  waited  for  the  persons  who 
had  been  summoned,  he  kicked,  now  one  and  now  another 
of  the  baskets  which  held  them,  as  if  he  found  in  this  some 
vent  for  his  ill-humour. 

The  witnesses  presently  appeared,  followed  by  several 
persons,  among  whom  were  the  Dukes  of  Nevers  and 
Merco3ur,  who  came  to  ride  out  with  the  king,  and  M. 
de  Crillon ;  so  that  the  chamber  grew  passably  full.  The 
two  dukes  nodded  formally  to  the  Marquis,  as  they  passed 
him,  but  entered  into  a  muttered  conversation  with  Retz, 
who  appeared  to  be  urging  them  to  press  his  cause.  They 
seemed  to  decline,  however,  shrugging  their  short  cloaks  as 
if  the  matter  were  too  insignificant.  Crillon  on  his  part 
cried  audibly,  and  with  an  oath,  to  know  what  the  matter 
was  ;  and  being  informed,  asked  whether  all  this  fuss  was 
being  made  about  a  damned  shaveling  monk. 

Henry,  whose  tenderness  for  the  cowl  was  well  known, 
darted  an  angry  glance  at  him,  but  contented  himself  with 


232  A    GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

saying  sharply  to  M.  d'Agen,  'Now,  sir,  what  do  you  know 
about  the  matter?' 

'  One  moment,  sire,'  M.  Rambouillet  cried,  interposing 
before  Francois  could  answer.  f  Craving  your  Majesty's 
pardon,  you  have  heard  M.  de  Bruhl's  account.  May  I,  as 
a  favour  to  myself,  beg  you,  sire,  to  permit  us  also  to  hear 
it?' 

1  What  ?  '  Marshal  Retz  exclaimed  angrily,  '  are  we  to  be 
the  judges,  then,  or  his  Majesty  ?  Arnidieu ! '  he  contin- 
ued hotly,  '  what,  in  the  fiend's  name,  have  we  to  do  with 
it  ?  I  protest  'fore  Heaven ' 

1  Ay,  sir,  and  what  do  you  protest  ? '  my  champion  re- 
torted, turning  to  him  with  stern  disdain. 

'Silence!'  cried  the  king,  who  had  listened  almost  be- 
wildered. '  Silence !  By  God,  gentlemen,'  he  continued, 
his  eye  travelling  round  the  circle  with  a  sparkle  of  royal 
anger  in  it  not  unworthy  of  his  crown,  'you  forget  your- 
selves. I  will  have  none  of  this  quarrelling  in  my  presence 
or  out  of  it.  I  lost  Quelus  and  Maugiron  that  way,  and  loss 
enough,  and  I  will  have  none  of  it,  I  say  !  M.  de  Bruhl,' 
he  added,  standing  erect,  and  looking  for  the  moment,  with 
all  his  paint  and  frippery,  a  king,  l  M.  de  Bruhl,  repeat 
your  story.' 

The  feelings  with  which  I  listened  to  this  controversy 
may  be  imagined.  Devoured  in  turn  by  hope  and  fear  as 
now  one  side  and  now  the  other  seemed  likely  to  prevail,  I 
confronted  at  one  moment  the  gloom  of  the  dungeon,  and 
at  another  tasted  the  air  of  freedom,  which  had  never 
seemed  so  sweet  before.  Strong  as  these  feelings  were, 
however,  they  gave  way  to  curiosity  at  this  point ;  when  I 
heard  Bruhl  called,  and  saw  him  come  forward  at  the  king's 
command.  Knowing  this  man  to  be  himself  guilty,  I  mar- 
velled with  what  face  he  would  present  himself  before  all 
those  eyes,  and  from  what  depths  of  impudence  he  could 
draw  supplies  in  such  an  emergency. 

I  need  not  have  troubled  myself,  however,  for  he  was 
fully  equal  to  the  occasion.  His  high  colour  and  piercing 


THE  KING^S  FACE  233 

black  eyes  met  the  gaze  of  friend  and  foe  alike  without 
flinching.  Dressed  well  and  elegantly,  he  wore  his  raven 
hair  curled  in  the  mode,  and  looked  alike  gay,  handsome, 
and  imperturbable.  If  there  was  a  suspicion  of  coarseness 
about  his  bulkier  figure,  as  he  stood  beside  M.  d'Agen,  who 
was  the  courtier  perfect  and  point  devise,  it  went  to  the 
scale  of  sincerity,  seeing  that  men  naturally  associate  truth 
with  strength. 

'I  know  no  more  than  this,  sire,'  he  said  easily;  'that, 
happening  to  cross  the  Parvis  at  the  moment  of  the  mur- 
der, I  heard  Father  Antoine  scream.  He  uttered  four  words 
only,  in  the  tone  of  a  man  in  mortal  peril.  They  were ' — 
and  here  the  speaker  looked  for  an  instant  at  me — '  Ha  I 
Marsac  !  A  moi ! ' 

'Indeed ! '  M.  de  Rambouillet  said,  after  looking  to  the  king 
for  permission.  '  And  that  was  all  ?  You  saw  nothing  ? ' 

Bruhl  shook  his  head.     '  It  was  too  dark,'  he  said. 

'  And  heard  no  more  ?  ' 

'No.' 

'Do  I  understand,  then,'  the  Marquis  continued  slowly, 
'that  M.  de  Marsac  is  arrested  because  the  priest — God 
rest  his  soul ! — cried  to  him  for  help  ? ' 

'  For  help  ?  '  M.  de  Retz  exclaimed  fiercely. 

'  For  help  ?  '  said  the  king,  surprised.  And  at  that  the 
most  ludicrous  change  fell  upon  the  faces  of  all.  The  king 
looked  puzzled,  the  Duke  of  Nevers  smiled,  the  Duke  of 
Mercosur  laughed  aloud.  Crillon  cried  boisterously,  '  Good 
hit!'  and  the  majority,  who  wished  no  better  than  to 
divine  the  winning  party,  grinned  broadly,  whether  they 
would  or  no. 

To  Marshal  Retz,  however,  and  Bruhl,  that  which  to 
everyone  else  seemed  an  amusing  retort  had  a  totally 
different  aspect;  while  the  former  turned  yellow  with 
chagrin  and  came  near  to  choking,  the  latter  looked  as 
chapfallen  and  startled  as  if  his  guilt  had  been  'that 
moment  brought  home  to  him.  Assured  by  the  tone  of  the 
monk's  voice — which  must,  indeed,  have  thundered  in  his 


234  A    GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

ears — that  my  name  was  uttered  in  denunciation  by  one 
who  thought  me  his  assailant,  he  had  chosen  to  tell  the 
truth  without  reflecting  that  words,  so  plain  to  him,  might 
bear  a  different  construction  when  repeated. 

'  Certainly  the  words  seem  ambiguous/  Henry  muttered. 

'But  it  was  Marsac  killed  him/  Retz  cried  in  a  rage. 

'  It  is  for  some  evidence  of  that  we  are  waiting/  my 
champion  answered  suavely. 

The  Marshal  looked  helplessly  at  Nevers  and  Mercosur, 
who  commonly  took  part  with  him ;  but  apparently  those 
noblemen  had  not  been  primed  for  this  occasion.  They 
merely  shook  their  heads  and  smiled.  In  the  momentary 
silence  which  followed,  while  all  looked  curiously  at  Bruhl, 
who  could  not  conceal  his  mortification,  M.  d'Ageu  stepped 
forward. 

'If  your  Majesty  will  permit  me/  he  said,  a  malicious 
simper  crossing  his  handsome  face — I  had  often  remarked 
his  extreme  dislike  for  Bruhl  without  understanding  it — '  I 
think  I  can  furnish  some  evidence  more  to  the  point  than 
that  to  which  M.  de  Bruhl  has  with  so  much  fairness 
restricted  himself.'  He  then  went  on  to  state  that  he  had 
had  the  honour  of  being  in  my  company  at  the  time  of  the 
murder;  and  he  added,  besides,  so  many  details  as  to 
exculpate  me  to  the  satisfaction  of  any  candid  person. 

The  king  nodded.  'That  settles  the  matter/  he  said, 
with  a  sigh  of  relief.  '  You  think  so,  Mercosur,  do  you 
not  ?  Precisely.  Villequier,  see  that  the  order  respecting 
M.  de  Marsac  is  cancelled.' 

M.  de  Eetz  could  not  control  his  wrath  on  hearing  this 
direction  given.  'At  this  rate/  he  cried  recklessly,  'we 
shall  have  few  priests  left  here !  We  have  got  a  bad  name 
at  Blois,  as  it  is !' 

For  a  moment  all  in  the  circle  held  their  breath,  while 
the  king's  eyes  flashed  fire  at  this  daring  allusion  to  the 
murder  of  the  Duke  de  Guise,  and  his  brother  the  Cardinal. 
But  it  was  Henry's  misfortune  to  be  ever  indulgent  in  the 
wrong  place,  and  severe  when  severity  was  either  unjust  or 


TWO   WOMEN  235 

impolitic.  He  recovered  himself  with  an  effort,  and 
revenged  himself  only  by  omitting  to  invite  the  Marshal, 
who  was  now  trembling  in  his  shoes,  to  join  his  riding-party. 

The  circle  broke  up  amid  some  excitement.  I  stood  on 
one  side  with  M.  d'A.gen,  while  the  king  and  his  immediate 
following  passed  out,  and,  greatly  embarrassed  as  I  was  by 
the  civil  congratulating  of  many  who  would  have  seen  me 
hang  with  equal  goodwill,  I  was  sharp  enough  to  see  that 
something  was  brewing  between  Bruhl  and  Marshal  Retz, 
who  stood  back  conversing  in  low  tones.  I  was  not 
surprised,  therefore,  when  the  former  made  his  way 
towards  me  through  the  press  which  filled  the  antechamber, 
and  with  a  lowering  brow  requested  a  word  with  me. 

'Certainly,'  I  said,  watching  him  narrowly,  for  I  knew 
him  to  be  both  treacherous  and  a  bully.  '  Speak  on,  sir.' 

'  You  have  baulked  me  once  and  again,'  he  rejoined,  in  a 
voice  which  shook  a  little,  as  did  the  fingers  with  which  he 
stroked  his  waxed  moustache.  '  There  is  no  need  of  words 
between  us.  I,  with  one  sword  besides,  will  to-morrow  at 
noon  keep  the  bridge  at  Chaverny,  a  league  from  here.  It 
is  an  open  country.  Possibly  your  pleasure  may  lead  you 
to  ride  that  way  with  a  friend  ?  ' 

'  You  may  depend  upon  me,  sir,'  I  answered,  bowing  low, 
and  feeling  thankful  that  the  matter  was  at  length  to  be 
brought  to  a  fair  and  open  arbitration.  '  I  will  be  there — and 
in  person.  For  my  deputy  last  night,'  I  added,  searching 
his  face  with  a  steadfast  eye,  '  seems  to  have  been  some- 
what unlucky.' 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

TWO    WOMEN. 


OUT  of  compliment,  and  to  show  my  gratitude,  I  attended 
M.  de  Rambouillet  home  to  his  lodging,  and  found  him  as 
much  pleased  with  himself,  and  consequently  with  me,  as  I 


236  A    GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

was  with  him.  For  the  time,  indeed,  I  came  near  to  lov- 
ing him ;  and,  certainly,  he  was  a  man  of  high  and  patriotic 
feeling,  and  of  skill  and  conduct  to  match.  But  he  lacked 
that  touch  of  nature  and  that  power  of  sympathising  with 
others  which  gave  to  such  men  as  M.  de  Rosny  and  the 
king,  my  master,  their  peculiar  charm ;  though  after  what  I 
have  related  of  him  in  the  last  chapter  it  does  not  lie  in  my 
mouth  to  speak  ill  of  him.  And,  indeed,  he  was  a  good  man. 

When  I  at  last  reached  my  lodging,  I  found  a  surprise 
awaiting  me  in  the  shape  of  a  note  which  had  just  arrived 
no  one  knew  how.  If  the  manner  of  its  delivery  was 
mysterious,  however,  its  contents  were  brief  and  sufficiently 
explicit;  for  it  ran  thus:  'Sir,  by  meeting  me  three  hours 
after  noon  in  the  square  before  the  House  of  the  Little  Sisters 
you  will  do  a  service  at  once  to  yourself  and  to  the  under- 
signed, Marie  de  BruhU 

That  was  all,  written  in  a  feminine  character,  yet  it  was 
enough  to  perplex  me.  Simon,  who  had  manifested  the 
liveliest  joy  at  my  escape,  would  have  had  me  treat  it  as  I 
had  treated  the  invitation  to  the  Parvis  of  the  Cathedral ; 
ignore  it  altogether  I  mean.  But  I  was  of  a  different 
mind,  and  this  for  three  reasons,  among  others :  that  the 
request  was  straightforward,  the  time  early,  and  the  place 
sufficiently  public  to  be  an  unlikely  theatre  for  violence, 
though  well  fitted  for  an  interview  to  which  the  world  at 
large  was  not  invited.  Then,  too,  the  square  lay  little 
more  than  a  bowshot  from  my  lodging,  though  on  the 
farther  side  of  the  Hue  St.  Denys. 

Besides,  I  could  conceive  many  grounds  which  Madame  de 
Bruhl  might  have  for  seeing  me ;  of  which  some  touched 
me  nearly.  I  disregarded  Simon's  warnings,  therefore,  and 
repaired  at  the  time  appointed  to  the  place — a  clean,  paved 
square  a  little  off  the  Rue  St.  Denys,  and  entered  from  the 
latter  by  a  narrow  passage.  It  was  a  spot  pleasantly  con- 
venient for  meditation,  but  overlooked  on  one  side  by  the 
House  of  the  Little  Sisters ;  in  which,  as  I  guessed  after- 
wards, madame  must  have  awaited  ms,  for  the  square  when 


TWO   WOMEN  23> 

I  entered  it  was  empty,  yet  in  a  moment,  though  no  one 
came  in  from  the  street,  she  stood  beside  me.  She  wore  a 
mask  and  long  cloak.  The  beautiful  hair  and  perfect 
complexion,  which  had  filled  me  with  so  much  admiration 
at  our  first  meeting  in  her  house,  were  hidden,  but  I  saw 
enough  of  her  figure  and  carriage  to  be  sure  that  it  was 
Madame  de  Bruhl  and  no  other. 

She  began  by  addressing  me  in  a  tone  of  bitterness,  for 
which  I  was  not  altogether  unprepared. 

'  Well,  sir,'  she  exclaimed,  her  voice  trembling  with 
anger,  '  you  are  satisfied,  I  hope,  with  your  work  ?  ' 

I  expected  this  and  had  my  answer  ready.  'I  am  not 
aware,  madame,'  I  said,  'that  I  have  cause  to  reproach 
myself.  But,  however  that  may  be,  I  trust  you  have  sum- 
moned me  for  some  better  purpose  than  to  chide  me  for 
another's  fault;  though  it  was  my  voice  which  brought 
it  to  light.' 

'  Why  did  you  shame  me  publicly  ? '  she  retorted,  thrust- 
ing her  handkerchief  to  her  lips  and  withdrawing  it  again 
with  a  passionate  gesture. 

'Madame,'  I  answered  patiently — I  was  full  of  pity  for 
her,  'consider  for  a  moment  the  wrong  your  husband  did 
me,  and  how  small  and  inadequate  was  the  thing  I  did  to 
him  in  return.' 

'  To  him ! '  she  ejaculated  so  fiercely  that  I  started.  '  It 
was  to  me — to  me  you  did  it !  What  had  I  done  that  you 
should  expose  me  to  the  ridicule  of  those  who  know  no 
pity,  and  the  anger  of  one  as  merciless  ?  What  had  I  done, 
sir?' 

I  shook  my  head  sorrowfully.  'So  far,  madame,'  I 
answered,  '  I  allow  I  owe  you  reparation,  and  I  will  make  it 
should  it  ever  be  in  my  power.  Nay,  I  will  say  more,'  I 
continued,  for  the  tone  in  which  she  spoke  had  wrung  my 
heart.  '  In  one  point  I  strained  the  case  against  your 
husband.  To  the  best  of  my  belief  he  abducted  the  lady 
who  was  in  my  charge,  not  for  the  love  of  her,  but  for  polit- 
ical reasons,  and  as  the  agent  of  another.' 


238  A    GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

She  gasped.     '  What  ? '  she  cried.     '  Say  that  again!  * 

As  I  complied  she  tore  off  her  mask  and  gazed  into  my 
face  with  straining  eyes  and  parted  lips.  I  saw  then  how- 
much  she  was  changed,  even  in  these  few  days — how  pale 
and  worn  were  her  cheeks,  how  dark  the  circles  round  her 
eyes.  'Will -you  swear  to  it?'  she  said  at  last,  speaking 
with  uncontrollable  eagerness,  while  she  laid  a  hand  which 
shook  with  excitement  on  my  arm.  '  Will  you  swear  to  it, 
sir?' 

'It  is  true,'  I  answered  steadfastly.  I  might  have  added 
that  after  the  event  her  husband  had  so  treated  mademoi- 
selle as  to  lead  her  to  fear  the  worst.  But  I  refrained, 
feeling  that  it  was  no  part  of  my  duty  to  come  between 
husband  and  wife. 

She  clasped  her  hands,  and  for  a  moment  looked  passion- 
ately upwards,  as  though  she  were  giving  thanks  to  Heaven  j 
while  the  flush  of  health  and  loveliness  which  I  had  so 
much  admired  returned,  and  illumined  her  face  in  a  won- 
derful manner.  She  seemed,  in  truth  and  for  the  moment, 
transformed.  Her  blue  eyes  filled  with  tears,  her  lips 
moved ;  nor  have  I  ever  seen  anything  bear  so  near  a 
resemblance  to  those  pictures  of  the  Virgin  Mary  which 
Romans  worship  as  madame  did  then. 

The  change,  however,  was  as  evanescent  as  it  was  admi- 
rable. In  an  instant  she  seemed  to  collapse.  She  struck 
her  hands  to  her  face  and  moaned,  and  I  saw  tears,  which 
she  vainly  strove  to  restrain,  dropping  through  her  fingers. 
1  Too  late  ! '  she  murmured,  in  a  tone  of  anguish  which 
wrung  my  heart.  '  Alas,  you  robbed  me  of  one  man,  you 
give  me  back  another.  I  know  him  now  for  what  he  is. 
If  he  did  not  love  her  then,  he  doe?  now.  It  is  too  late  ! ' 

She  seemed  so  much  overcome  thau  I  assisted  her  to  reach 
a  bench  which  stood  against  the  wall  a  few  paces  away ; 
nor,  I  confess,  was  it  without  difficulty  and  much  self- 
reproach  that  I  limited  myself  to  those  prudent  offices  only 
which  her  state  and  my  duty  required.  To  console  her  on 
the  subject  of  her  husband  was  impossible ;  to  ignore  him, 


TWO    WOMEff  239 

and  so  to  console  her,  a  task  which  neither  my  discretion 
nor  my  sense  of  honour,  though  sorely  tried,  permitted  me  to 
undertake. 

She  presently  recovered  and,  putting  on  her  mask  again, 
said  hurriedly  that  she  had  still  a  word  to  say  to  me.  'You 
have  treated  me  honestly,'  she  continued,  'and,  though  I 
have  no  cause  to  do  anything  but  hate  you,  I  say  in  return, 
look  to  yourself !  You  escaped  last  night — I  know  all,  for 
it  was  my  velvet  knot — which  I  had  made  thinking  to  send 
it  to  you  to  procure  this  meeting — that  he  used  as  a  lure. 
But  he  is  not  yet  at  the  end  of  his  resources.  Look  to 
yourself,  therefore.' 

I  thought  of  the  appointment  I  had  made  with  him  for 
the  morrow,  but  I  confined  myself  to  thanking  her,  merely 
saying,  as  I  bowed  over  the  hand  she  resigned  to  me  in 
token  of  farewell,  l  Madame,  I  am  grateful.  I  am  obliged 
to  you  both  for  your  warning  and  your  forgiveness.' 

Bending  her  head  coldly  she  drew  away  her  hand.  At 
that  moment,  as  I  lifted  my  eyes,  I  saw  something  which 
for  an  instant  rooted  me  to  the  spot  with  astonishment. 
In  the  entrance  of  the  passage  which  led  to  the  Rue  St. 
Denys  two  people  were  standing,  watching  us.  The  one 
was  Simon  Fleix,  and  the  other,  a  masked  woman,  a  trifle 
below  the  middle  height,  and  clad  in  a  riding-coat,  was 
Mademoiselle  de  la  Vire  ! 

I  knew  her  in  a  moment.  But  the  relief  I  experienced 
on  seeing  her  safe  and  in  Blois  was  not  unmixed  with  an- 
noyance that  Simon  Fleix  should  have  been  so  imprudent 
as  to  parade  her  unnecessarily  in  the  street.  I  felt  some- 
thing of  confusion  also  on  my  own  account ;  for  I  could 
not  tell  how  long  she  and  her  escort  had  been  watching  me. 
And  these  two  feelings  were  augmented  when,  after  turning 
to  pay  a  final  salute  to  Madame  de  Bruhl,  I  looked  again 
towards  the  passage  and  discovered  that  mademoiselle  and 
her  squire  were  gone. 

Impatient  as  I  was,  I  would  not  seem  to  leave  madame 
rudely  or  without  feeling,  after  the  consideration  she  had 


240  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

shown  me  in  her  own  sorrow ;  and  accordingly  I  waited 
uncovered  until  she  disappeared  within  the  '  Little  Sisters.' 
Then  I  started  eagerly  towards  my  lodging,  thinking  I 
might  yet  overtake  mademoiselle  before  she  entered.  I 
was  destined  to  meet,  however,  with  another  though  very 
pertinent  hindrance.  As  I  passed  from  the  Rue  St.  Denys 
into  the  quiet  of  my  street  I  heard  a  voice  calling  my 
name,  and,  looking  back,  saw  M.  de  Rambouillet's  equerry, 
a  man  deep  in  his  confidence,  running  after  me.  He 
brought  a  message  from  his  master,  which  he  begged  me  to 
consider  of  the  first  importance. 

'  The  Marquis  would  not  trust  it  to  writing,  sir,'  he  con- 
tinued, drawing  me  aside  into  a  corner  where  we  were 
conveniently  retired,  '  but  he  made  me  learn  it  by  heart. 
"  Tell  M.  de  Marsac,"  said  he,  "  that  that  which  he  was  left 
in  Blois  to  do  must  be  done  quickly,  or  not  at  all.  There 
is  something  afoot  in  the  other  camp,  I  am  not  sure  what. 
But  now  is  the  time  to  knock  in  the  nail.  I  know  his  zeal, 
and  I  depend  upon  him."  ; 

An  hour  before  I  should  have  listened  to  this  message 
with  serious  doubts  and  misgivings.  Now,  acquainted  with 
mademoiselle's  arrival,  I  returned  M.  de  Rambouillet  an 
answer  in  the  same  strain,  and  parting  civilly  from  Bertram, 
who  was  a  man  I  much  esteemed,  I  hastened  on  to  my  lodg- 
ings, exulting  in  the  thought  that  the  hour  and  the  woman 
were  come  at  last,  and  that  before  the  dawn  of  another  day 
I  might  hope,  all  being  well,  to  accomplish  with  honour  to 
myself  and  advantage  to  others  the  commission  which  M. 
de  Rosny  had  entrusted  to  me. 

I  must  not  deny  that,  mingled  with  this,  was  some  ex- 
citement at  the  prospect  of  seeing  mademoiselle  again.  I 
strove  to  conjure  up  before  me  as  I  mounted  the  stairs  the 
exact  expression  of  her  face  as  I  had  last  seen  it  bending 
from  the  window  at  Rosny ;  to  the  end  that  I  might  have 
some  guide  for  my  future  conduct,  and  might  be  less  likely 
to  fall  into  the  snare  of  a  young  girl's  coquetry.  But  I 
could  come  now,  as  then,  to  no  satisfactory  or  safe  con- 


•LA  FEMME  DISPOSED  241 

elusion,  and  only  felt  anew  the  vexation  I  had  experienced 
on  losing  the  velvet  knot,  which  she  had  given  me  on  that 
occasion. 

I  knocked  at  the  door  of  the  rooms  which  I  had  reserved 
for  her,  and  which  were  on  the  floor  below  my  own ;  but  I 
got  no  answer.  Supposing  that  Simon  had  taken  her  up- 
stairs, I  mounted  quickly,  not  doubting  I  should  find  her 
there.  Judge  of  my  surprise  and  dismay  when  I  found 
that  room  also  empty,  save  for  the  lackey,  whom  M.  de 
Eainbouillet  had  lent  me ! 

'Where  are  they?'  I  asked  the  man,  speaking  sharply, 
and  standing  with  my  hand  on  the  door. 

'The  lady  and  her  woman,  sir?'  he  answered,  coming 
forward. 

'  Yes,  yes ! '  I  cried  impatiently,  a  sudden  fear  at  my 
heart. 

'  She  went  out  immediately  after  her  arrival  with  Simon 
Fleix,  sir,  and  has  not  yet  returned,'  he  answered. 

The  words  were  scarcely  out  of  his  mouth  before  I  heard 
several  persons  enter  the  passage  below  and  begin  to  ascend 
the  stairs.  I  did  not  doubt  that  mademoiselle  and  the  lad 
had  come  home  another  way  and  been  somehow  detained ; 
and  I  turned  with  a  sigh  of  relief  to  receive  them.  But 
when  the  persons  whose  steps  I  had  heard  appeared,  they 
proved  to  be  only  M.  de  Eosny's  equerry,  stout,  burly,  and 
bright-eyed  as  ever,  and  two  armed  servants. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

'LA    FEMME    DISPOSE.' 

THE  moment  the  equerry's  foot  touched  the  uppermost 
stair  I  advanced  upon  him.  'Where  is  your  mistress, 
man  ? '  I  said.  '  Where  is  Mademoiselle  de  la  Vire  ?  Be 
quick,  tell  me  what  you  have  done  with  her.' 

Q 


242  A   GENTLEMAAT  OF  FRANCE 

His  face  fell  amazingly.  l Where  is  she?'  he  answered, 
faltering  between  surprise  and  alarm  at  my  sudden  on- 
slaught. 'Here,  she  should  be.  I  left  her  here  not  an 
hour  ago.  Mon  Dieu  !  Is  she  not  here  now  ? ' 

His  alarm  increased  mine  tenfold.  '  No  ! '  I  retorted, ( she 
is  not !  She  is  gone  !  And  you — what  business  had  you, 
in  the  fiend's  name,  to  leave  her  here,  alone  and  unpro- 
tected ?  Tell  me  that ! ' 

He  leaned  against  the  balustrade,  making  no  attempt  to 
defend  himself,  and  seemed,  in  his  sudden  terror,  anything 
but  the  bold,  alert  fellow  who  had  ascended  the  stairs  two 
minutes  before.  'I  was  a  fool,' he  groaned.  'I  saw  your 
man  Simon  here ;  and  Fauchette,  who  is  as  good  as  a  man, 
was  with  her  mistress.  And  I  went  to  stable  the  horses. 
I  thought  no  evil.  And  now — My  God!'  he  added,  sud- 
denly straightening  himself,  while  his  face  grew  hard  and 
grim,  '  I  am  undone  !  My  master  will  never  forgive  me  ! ' 

'  Did  you  come  straight  here  ? '  I  said,  considering  that, 
after  all,  he  was  no  more  in  fault  than  I  had  been  on  a 
former  occasion. 

'We  went  first  to  M.  de  Rosny's  lodging,'  he  answered, 
•'where  we  found  your  message  telling  us  to  come  here. 
We  came  on  without  dismounting.' 

'Mademoiselle  may  have  gone  back,  and  be  there,'  I  said. 
'  It  is  possible.  Do  you  stay  here  and  keep  a  good  look-out, 
and  I  will  go  and  see.  Let  one  of  your  men  come  with  me/ 

He  uttered  a  brief  assent ;  being  a  man  as  ready  to  take 
as  to  give  orders,  and  thankful  now  for  any  suggestion 
which  held  out  a  hope  of  mademoiselle's  safety.  Followed 
by  the  servant  he  selected,  I  ran  down  the  stairs,  and  in  a 
moment  was  hurrying  along  the  Rue  St.  Denys.  The  day 
was  waning.  The  narrow  streets  and  alleys  were  already 
dark,  but  the  air  of  excitement  which  I  had  noticed  in  the 
morning  still  marked  the  townsfolk,  of  whom  a  great  num- 
ber were  strolling  abroad,  or  standing  in  doorways  talking 
to  their  gossips.  Feverishly  anxious  as  I  was,  1  remarked 
the  gloom  which  dwelt  on  all  faces ;  but  as  I  set  it  down 


<LA  FEMME  DISPOSED  243 

to  the  king's  approaching  departure,  and  besides  was  intent 
on  seeing  that  those  we  sought  did  not  by  any  chance  pass 
us  in  the  crowd,  I  thought  little  of  it.  Five  minutes'  walk- 
ing brought  us  to  M.  de  Eosny's  lodging.  There  I  knocked 
at  the  door ;  impatiently,  I  confess,  and  with  little  hope  of 
success.  But,  to  my  surprise,  barely  an  instant  elapsed 
before  the  door  opened,  and  I  saw  before  me  Simon  Fleix ! 

Discovering  who  it  was,  he  cowered  back,  with  a  terrified 
face,  and  retreated  to  the  wall  with  his  arm  raised. 

'  You  scoundrel ! '  I  exclaimed,  restraining  myself  with 
difficulty.  'Tell  me  this  moment  where  Mademoiselle  de 
la  Vire  is  !  Or,  by  Heaven,  I  shall  forget  what  my  mother 
owed  to  you,  and  do  you  a  mischief ! ' 

For  an  instant  he  glared  at  me  viciously,  with  all  his 
teeth  exposed,  as  though  he  meant  to  refuse — aiid  more. 
Then  he  thought  better  of  it,  and,  raising  his  hand,  pointed 
sulkily  upwards. 

'  Go  before  me  and  knock  at  the  door/  I  said,  tapping  the 
hilt  of  ray  dagger  with  meaning. 

Cowed  by  my  manner,  he  obeyed,  and  led  the  way  to  the 
room  in  which  M.  de  Rambouillet  had  surprised  us  on  a 
former  occasion.  Here  he  stopped  at  the  door  and  knocked 
gently  ;  on  which  a  sharp  voice  inside  bade  us  enter.  I 
raised  the  latch  and  did  so,  closing  the  door  behind  me. 

Mademoiselle,  still  wearing  her  riding-coat,  sat  in  a  chair 
before  the  hearth,  on  which  a  newly  kindled  fire  sputtered 
and  smoked.  She  had  her  back  to  me,  and  did  not  turn  on 
my  entrance,  but  continued  to  toy  in  an  absent  manner 
with  the  strings  of  the  mask  which  lay  in  her  lap.  Fan- 
chette  stood  bolt  upright  behind  her,  with  her  elbows 
squared  and  her  hands  clasped ;  in  such  an  attitude  that  I 
guessed  the  maid  had  been  expressing  her  strong  dissatis- 
faction with  this  latest  whim  of  her  mistress,  and  particu- 
larly with  mademoiselle's  imprudence  in  wantonly  exposing 
herself,  with  so  inadequate  a  guard  as  Simon,  in  a  place 
where  she  had  already  suffered  so  much.  I  was  confirmed 
in  this  notion  on  seeing  the  woman's  harsh  countenance 

Q2 


244  A   GENTLEMAN-  OF  FRANCE 

clear  at  sight  of  me;  though  the  churlish  nod,  which  was 
all  the  greeting  she  bestowed  on  me,  seemed  to  betoken 
anything  but  favour  or  good-will.  She  touched  her  mistress 
on  the  shoulder,  however,  and  said,  '  M.  de  Marsac  is  here.' 

Mademoiselle  turned  her  head  and  looked  at  me  lan- 
guidly, without  stirring  in  her  chair  or  removing  the  foot 
she  was  warming.  '  Good  evening,'  she  said. 

The  greeting  seemed  so  brief  and  so  commonplace,  ignor- 
ing, as  it  did,  both  the  pains  and  anxiety  to  which  she  had 
just  put  me  and  the  great  purpose  for  which  we  were  here 
— to  say  nothing  of  that  ambiguous  parting  which  she  must 
surely  remember  as  well  as  I — that  the  words  I  had  pre- 
pared died  on  my  lips,  and  I  looked  at  her  in  honest  con- 
fusion. All  her  small  face  was  pale  except  her  lips.  Her 
brow  was  dark,  her  eyes  were  hard  as  well  as  weary.  And 
not  words  only  failed  me  as  I  looked  at  her,  but  anger ; 
having  mounted  the  stairs  hot  foot  to  chide,  I  felt  on  a 
sudden — despite  my  new  cloak  and  scabbard,  my  appoint- 
ment, and  the  name  I  had  made  at  Court — the  same  con- 
sciousness of  age  and  shabbiness  and  poverty  which  had 
possessed  me  in  her  presence  from  the  beginning.  I  mut- 
tered, 'Good  evening,  mademoiselle,'  and  that  was  all  I 
could  say — I  who  had  frightened  the  burly  Maignan  a  few 
minutes  before ! 

Seeing,  I  have  no  doubt,  the  effect  she  produced  on  me, 
she  maintained  for  some  time  an  embarrassing  silence.  At 
length  she  said,  frigidly,  '  Perhaps  M.  de  Marsac  will  sit, 
Fanchette.  Place  a  chair  for  him.  I  am  afraid,  however, 
that  after  his  successes  at  Court  he  may  find  our  reception 
somewhat  cold.  But  we  are  only  from  the  country,'  she 
added,  looking  at  me  askance,  with  a  gleam  of  anger  in  her 
eyes. 

I  thanked  her  huskily,  saying  that  I  would  not  sit,  as  I 
could  not  stay.  <  Simon  lleix,'  I  continued,  finding  my 
voice  with  difficulty,  'has,  I  am  afraid,  caused  you  some 
trouble  by  bringing  you  to  this  house  instead  of  telling  you 
that  I  had  made  preparation  for  you  at  my  lodgings.' 


*LA  FEMME  DISPOSE"*  245 

*  It  was  not  Simon  Fleix's  fault,'  she  replied  curtly.  '  I 
prefer  these  rooms.  They  are  more  convenient.' 

'  They  are,  perhaps,  more  convenient,'  I  rejoined  humbly, 
'but  I  have  to  think  of  safety,  mademoiselle,  as  you  know. 
At  my  house  I  have  a  competent  guard,  and  can  answer  for 
your  being  unmolested.' 

'  You  can  send  your  guard  here/  she  said  with  a  royal 
air. 

'But,  mademoiselle ' 

'Is  it  not  enough  that  I  have  said  that  I  prefer  these 
rooms  ? '  she  replied  sharply,  dropping  her  mask  on  her  lap 
and  looking  round  at  me  in  undisguised  displeasure.  '  Are 
you  deaf,  sir  ?  Let  me  tell  you,  I  am.  in  no  mood  for  argu- 
ment. I  am  tired  with  riding.  I  prefer  these  rooms,  and 
that  is  enough ! ' 

Nothing  could  exceed  the  determination  with  which  she 
said  these  words,  unless  it  were  the  malicious  pleasure  in 
thwarting  my  wishes  which  made  itself  seen  through  the 
veil  of  assumed  indifference.  I  felt  myself  brought  up  with 
a  vengeance,  and  in  a  manner  the  most  provoking  that  could 
be  conceived.  But  opposition  so  childish,  so  utterly  wanton, 
by  exciting  my  indignation,  had  presently  the  effect  of 
banishing  the  peculiar  bashfulness  I  felt  in  her  presence, 
and  recalling  me  to  my  duty. 

'  Mademoiselle,'  I  said  firmly,  looking  at  her  with  a  fixed 
countenance,  'pardon  me  if  I  speak  plainly.  This  is  no 
time  for  playing  with  straws.  The  men  from  whom  you 
escaped  once  are  as  determined  and  more  desperate  now. 
By  this  time  they  probably  know  of  your  arrival.  Do, 
then,  as  I  ask,  I  pray  and  beseech  you.  Or  this  time  I  may 
lack  the  power,  though  never  the  will,  to  save  you.' 

Wholly  ignoring  my  appeal,  she  looked  into  my  face — for 
by  this  time  I  had  advanced  to  her  side — with  a  whimsical 
smile.  '  You  are  really  much  improved  in  manner  since  I 
last  saw  you,'  she  said. 

'  Mademoiselle ! '  I  replied,  baffled  and  repelled.  '  Whal 
do  you  mean  ? ; 


246  A    GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

'  What  I  say,'  she  answered,  flippantly.  '  But  it  was  to 
be  expected.' 

'  For  shame ! '  I  cried,  provoked  almost  beyond  bearing 
by  her  ill-timed  raillery,  'will  you  never  be  serious  until 
you  have  ruined  us  and  yourself  ?  I  tell  you  this  house  is 
not  safe  for  you  !  It  is  not  safe  for  me  !  I  cannot  bring 
my  men  to  it,  for  there  is  not  room  for  them.  If  you  have 
any  spark  of  consideration,  of  gratitude,  therefore ' 

'Gratitude!'  she  exclaimed,  swinging  her  mask  slowly  to 
and  fro  by  a  ribbon,  while  she  looked  up  at  me  as  though 
my  excitement  amused  her.  '  Gratitude — 'tis  a  very  pretty 
phrase,  and  means  much;  but  it  is  for  those  who  serve  us 
faithfully,  M.  de  Marsac,  and  not  for  others.  You  receive 
so  many  favours,  I  am  told,  and  are  so  successful  at  Court, 
that  I  should  not  be  justified  in  monopolising  your  services.' 

'But,  mademoiselle — '  I  said  in  a  low  tone.  And  there  I 
stopped.  I  dared  not  proceed. 

'  Well,  sir,'  she  answered,  looking  up  at  me  after  a  mo- 
ment's silence,  and  ceasing  on  a  sudden  to  play  with  her  toy, 
'what  is  it?' 

'You  spoke  of  favours,'  I  continued,  with  an  effort.  'I 
never  received  but  one  from  a  lady.  That  was  at  Rosny, 
and  from  your  hand.' 

'  From  iny  hand  ? '  she  answered,  with  an  air  of  cold  sur- 
prise. 

'  It  was  so,  mademoiselle.' 

'You  have  fallen  into  some  strange  mistake,  sir,'  she 
replied,  rousing  herself,  and  looking  at  me  indifferently. 
'  I  never  gave  you  a  favour.' 

I  bowed  low.  '  If  you  say  you  did  not,  mademoiselle,  that 
is  enough,'  I  answered. 

'  Nay,  but  do  not  let  me  do  you  an  injustice,  M.  de  Mar- 
sac,'  she  rejoined,  speaking  more  quickly  and  in  an  altered 
tone.  '  If  you  can  show  me  the  favour  I  gave  you,  I  shall, 
of  course,  be  convinced.  Seeing  is  believing,  you  know,' 
she  added,  wfth  a  light  nervous  laugh,  and  a  gesture  of 
something  like  shyness, 


<LA  FEMME  DISPOSE"1  247 

If  I  had  not  sufficiently  regretted  my  carelessness,  and 
loss  of  the  bow  at  the  time,  I  did  so  now.  I  looked  at  her 
in  silence,  and  saw  her  face,  that  had  for  a  moment  shown 
signs  of  feeling,  almost  of  shame,  grow  slowly  hard  again. 

1  Well,  sir  ?  '  she  said  impatiently.     '  The  proof  is  easy.' 

'  It  was  taken  from  me ;  I  believe,  by  M.  de  Rosny,'  I 
answered  lamely,  wondering  what  ill-luck  had  led  her  to 
put  the  question  and  press  it  to  this  point. 

1  It  was  taken  from  you ! '  she  exclaimed,  rising  and  con- 
fronting me  with  the  utmost  suddenness,  while  her  eyes 
flashed,  and  her  little  hand  crumpled  the  mask  beyond 
future  usefulness.  '  It  was  taken  from  you,  sir  ! '  she  re- 
peated, her  voice  and  her  whole  frame  trembling  with  anger 
and  disdain.  'Then  I  thank  you,  I  prefer  my  version. 
Yours  is  impossible.  For  let  me  tell  you,  when  Made- 
moiselle de  la  Vire  does  confer  a  favour,  it  will  be  on  a  man 
with  the  power  and  the  wit — and  the  constancy,  to  keep  it, 
even  from  M.  de  Rosny ! ' 

Her  scorn  hurt,  though  it  did  not  anger  me.  I  felt  it  to 
be  in  a  measure  deserved,  and  raged  against  myself  rather 
than  against  her.  But  aware  through  all  of  the  supreme 
importance  of  placing  her  in  safety,  I  subjected  my  imme- 
diate feelings  to  the  exigencies  of  the  moment  and  stooped 
to  an  argument  which  would,  I  thought,  have  weight  though 
private  pleading  failed. 

'Putting  myself  aside,  mademoiselle,'  I  said,  with  more 
formality  than  I  had  yet  used,  '  there  is  one  consideration 
which  must  weigh  with  you.  The  king ' 

'The  king!'  she  cried,  interrupting  me  violently,  her  face 
hot  with  passion  and  her  whole  person  instinct  with  stub- 
born self-will.  '  I  shall  not  see  the  king ! ' 

'You  will  not  see  the  king  ? '  I  repeated  in  amazement. 

'  No,  I  will  not ! '  she  answered,  in  a  whirl  of  anger,  scorn, 
and  impetuosity.  '  There  !  I  will  not !  I  have  been  made 
a  toy  and  a  tool  long  enough,  M.  de  Marsac,'  she  continued, 
'  and  I  will  serve  others'  ends  no  more.  I  have  made  up 
my  mind.  Do  not  talk  to  me  ;  you  will  do  no  good,  sir.  I 


248  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

would  to  Heaven/  she  added  bitterly,  'I  had  stayed  at  Chize 
and  never  seen  this  place ! ' 

'But,  mademoiselle,'  I  said,  'you  have  not  thought ' 

1  Thought ! '  she  exclaimed,  shutting  her  small  white  teeth 
so  viciously  I  all  but  recoiled.  'I  have  thought  enough. 
I  am.  sick  of  thought.  I  am  going  to  act  now.  I  will  be  a 
puppet  no  longer.  You  may  take  me  to  the  castle  by  force 
if  you  will ;  but  you  cannot  make  me  speak.' 

I  looked  at  her  in  the  utmost  dismay  and  astonishment ; 
being  unable  at  first  to  believe  that  a  woman  who  had  gone 
through  so  much,  had  run  so  many  risks,  and  ridden  so  many 
miles  for  a  purpose,  would,  when  all  was  done  and  the  hour 
come,  decline  to  carry  out  her  plan.  I  could  not  believe  it, 
I  say,  at  first ;  and  I  tried  arguments  and  entreaties  without 
stint,  thinking  that  she  only  asked  to  be  entreated  or 
coaxed. 

But  I  found  prayers  and  even  threats  breath  wasted  upon 
her ;  and  beyond  these  I  would  not  go.  I  know  I  have  been 
blamed  by  some  and  ridiculed  by  others  for  not  pushing  the 
matter  farther  ;  but  those  who  hav£  stood  face  to  face  with 
a  woman  of  spirit — a  woman  whose  very  frailty  and  weak- 
ness fought  for  her — will  better  understand  the  difficulties 
with  which  I  had  to  contend  and  the  manner  in  which  con- 
viction was  at  last  borne  in  on  my  mind.  I  had  never 
before  confronted  stubbornness  of  this  kind.  As  made- 
moiselle said  again  and  again,  I  might  force  her  to  Court, 
but  I  could  not  make  her  speak. 

When  I  had  tried  every  means  of  persuasion,  and  still 
found  no  way  of  overcoming  her  resolution — the  while 
Fanchette  looked  on  with  a  face  of  wood,  neither  aiding 
me  nor  taking  part  against  me — I  lost,  I  confess,  in  the 
chagrin  of  the  moment  that  sense  of  duty  which  hac? 
hitherto  animated  me ;  and  though  my  relation  to  made' 
moiselle  should  have  made  me  as  careful  as  ever  of  he/ 
safety,  even  in  her  own  despite,  I  left  her  at  last  in  anger 
and  went  out  without  saying  another  word  about  removing 
her — a  thing  which  was  still  in  my  power.  I  believe  a 


'LA  FEMME  DISPOSED  249 

very  brief  reflection  would  have  recalled  me  to  myself  and 
my  duty  ;  but  the  opportunity  was  not  given  me,  for  I  had 
scarcely  reached  the  head  of  the  stairs  before  Fanchette 
came  after  me,  and  called  to  me  in  a  whisper  to  stop. 

She  held  a  taper  in  her  hand,  and  this  she  raised  to  my 
face,  smiling  at  the  disorder  which  she  doubtless  read 
there.  '  Do  you  say  that  this  house  is  not  safe  ?  '  she 
asked  abruptly,  lowering  the  light  as  she  spoke. 

'  You  have  tried  a  house  in  Blois  before  ?  '  I  replied  with 
the  same  bluntness.  'You  should  know  as  well  as  I, 
woman.' 

'  She  must  be  taken  from  here,  then,'  she  answered, 
nodding  her  head,  cunningly.  'I  can  persuade  her.  Do 
you  send  for  your  people,  and  be  here  in  half  an  hour.  It 
may  take  me  that  time  to  wheedle  her.  But  I  shall  do  it.' 
'  Then  listen,'  I  said  eagerly,  seizing  the  opportunity  and 
her  sleeve  and  drawing  her  farther  from  the  door.  '  If  you 
can  persuade  her  to  that,  you  can  persuade  to  all  I  wish. 
Listen,  my  friend,'  I  continued,  sinking  niy  voice  still 
lower.  '  If  she  will  see  the  king  for  only  ten  minutes,  and 

tell  him  what  she  knows,  I  will  give  you ' 

'  What  ? '  the  woman  asked  suddenly  and  harshly, 
drawing  at  the  same  time  her  sleeve  from  my  hand. 

'Fifty  crowns,'  I  replied,  naming  in  my  desperation  a 
sum  which  would  seem  a  fortune  to  a  person  in  her 
position.  '  Fifty  crowns  down,  the  moment  the  interview 
is  over.' 

'  And  for  that  you  would  have  me  sell  her ! '  the  woman 
cried  with  a  rude  intensity  of  passion  which  struck  me  like 
a  blow.  '  For  shame  !  For  shame,  man !  You  persuaded 
her  to  leave  her  home  and  her  friends,  and  the  country 
where  she  was  known ;  and  now  you  would  have  me  sell 
her!  Shame  on  you!  Go!'  she  added  scornfully.  'Go 
this  instant  and  get  your  men.  The  king,  say  you  ?  The 
king !  I  tell  you  I  would  not  have  her  finger  ache  to  save 
all  your  kings ! ' 

She  flounced  away  with  that,  and  I  retired  crestfallen ; 


250  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

wondering  much  at  the  fidelity  which  Providence,  doubtless 
for  the  well-being  of  the  gentle,  possibly  for  the  good  of 
all,  has  implanted  in  the  humble.  Finding  Simon,  to 
whom  I  had  scarce  patience  to  speak,  waiting  on  the  stairs 
below,  I  despatched  him  to  Maignan,  to  bid  him  come  to 
me  with  his  men.  Meanwhile  I  watched  the  house  myself 
until  their  arrival,  and  then,  going  up,  found  that  Fanchette 
had  been  as  good  as  her  word.  Mademoiselle,  with  a 
sullen  mien,  and  a  red  spot  on  either  cheek,  consented  to 
descend,  and,  preceded  by  a  couple  of  links,  which  Maignan 
had  thoughtfully  provided,  was  escorted  safely  to  my 
lodgings ;  where  I  bestowed  her  in  the  rooms  below  my 
own,  which  I  had  designed  for  her. 

At  the  door  she  turned  and  bowed  to  me,  her  face  on 
fire. 

'  So  far,  sir,  you  have  got  your  way,'  she  said,  breathing 
quickly.  'Do  not  flatter  yourself,  however,  that  you  will 
get  it  farther — even  by  bribing  my  woman ! ' 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

THE    LAST    VALOIS. 

I  STOOD  for  a  few  moments  on  the  stairs,  wondering 
what  I  should  do  in  an  emergency  to  which  the  Marquis's 
message  of  the  afternoon  attached  so  pressing  a  character. 
Had  it  not  been  for  that  I  might  have  waited  until  morning, 
and  felt  tolerably  certain  of  finding  mademoiselle  in  a  more 
reasonable  mood  then.  But  as  it  was  I  dared  not  wait.  I 
dared  not  risk  the  delay,  and  I  came  quickly  to  the 
conclusion  that  the  only  course  open  to  me  was  to  go  at 
once  to  M.  de  Eambouillet,  and  tell  him  frankly  how  the 
matter  stood. 

Maignan  had  posted  one  of  his  men  at  the  open  doorway 
leading  into  the  street,  and  fixed  his  own  quarters  on  the 


THE  LAST  V ALOIS  251 

landing  at  the  top,  whence  he  could  overlook  an  intruder 
without  being  seen  himself.  Satisfied  with  the  arrange- 
ment, I  left  Rambouillet's  man  to  reinforce  him,  and  took 
with  me  Simon  Fleix,  of  whose  conduct  in  regard  to 
mademoiselle  I  entertained  the  gravest  doubts. 

The  night,  I  found  on  reaching  the  street,  was  cold,  the 
sky  where  it  was  visible  between  the  eaves  being  bright 
with  stars.  A  sharp  wind  was  blowing,  too,  compelling  us 
to  wrap  our  cloaks  round  U3  and  hurry  on  at  a  pace  which 
agreed  well  with  the  excitement  of  my  thoughts.  Assured 
that  had  mademoiselle  been  complaisant  I  might  have  seen 
my  mission  accomplished  within  the  hour,  it  was  impossible 
I  should  not  feel  impatient  with  one  who,  to  gratify  a 
whim,  played  with  the  secrets  of  a  kingdom  as  if  they  were 
counters,  and  risked  in  passing  ill-humour  the  results  of 
weeks  of  preparation.  And  I  was  impatient,  and  with  her. 
But  my  resentment  fell  so  far  short  of  the  occasion  that 
I  wondered  uneasily  at  my  own  easiness,  and  felt  more 
annoyed  with  myself  for  failing  to  be  properly  annoyed 
with  her,  than  inclined  to  lay  the  blame  where  it  was  due. 
It  was  in  vain  I  told  myself  contemptuously  that  she  was  a 
woman,  and  that  women  were  not  accountable.  I  felt  that 
the  real  secret  and  motive  of  my  indulgence  lay,  not  in 
this,  but  in  the  suspicion,  which  her  reference  to  the 
favour  given  me  on  my  departure  from  Eosny  had 
converted  almost  into  a  certainty,  that  I  was  myself  the 
cause  of  her  sudden  ill-humour. 

I  might  have  followed  this  train  of  thought  farther,  and 
to  very  pertinent  conclusions.  But  on  reaching  M.  de 
Eambouillet's  lodging  I  was  diverted  from  it  by  the  abnor- 
mally quiet  aspect  of  the  house,  on  the  steps  of  which  half 
a  dozen  servants  might  commonly  be  seen  lounging.  Now 
the  doors  were  closed,  no  lights  shone  through  the  windows, 
and  the  hall  sounded  empty  and  desolate  when  I  knocked. 
Not  a  lackey  hurried  to  receive  me  even  then ;  but  the  slip- 
shod tread  of  .the  old  porter,  as  he  came  with  a  lantern  to 
open,  alone  broke  the  silence.  I  waited  eagerly  wondering 


252  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

what  all  this  could  mean ;  and  when  the  man  at  last  opened, 
and,  recognising  my  face,  begged  my  pardon  if  he  had  kept 
me  waiting  I  asked  him  impatiently  what  was  the  matter. 

'And  where  is  the  Marquis  ?'  I  added,  stepping  inside  to 
be  out  of  the  wind,  and  loosening  my  cloak. 

'  Have  you  not  heard,  sir  ? '  the  man  asked,  holding  up 
his  lantern  to  my  face.  He  was  an  old,  wizened,  lean  fellow. 
'It  is  a  break-up,  sir,  I  am  afraid,  this  time.' 

'A  break-up?'  I  rejoined,  peevishly.  'Speak  out,  man! 
What  is  the  matter  ?  I  hate  mysteries.' 

'  You  have  not  heard  the  news,  sir  ?  That  the  Duke  of 
Mercosur  and  Marshal  Retz,  with  all  their  people,  left  Blois 
this  afternoon  ? ' 

'  No  ?  '  I  answered,  somewhat  startled.  '  Whither  are 
they  gone  ? ' 

'  To  Paris,  it  is  said,  sir, — to  join  the  League.' 

'  But  do  you  mean  that  they  have  deserted  the  king  ?  '  I 
asked. 

'  For  certain,  sir  ! '  he  answered. 

'Not  the  Duke  of  Mercosur  ? '  I  exclaimed.  '  Why,  man, 
he  is  the  king's  brother-in-law.  He  owes  everything  to  him.' 

'Well,  he  is  gone,  sir,'  the  old  man  answered  positively. 
'The  news  was  brought  to  M.  le  Marquis  about  four  o'clock 
or  a  little  after.  He  got  his  people  together,  and  started 
after  them  to  try  and  persuade  them  to  return.  Or,  so  it  is 
said.' 

As.  quickly  as  I  could,  I  reviewed  the  situation  in  my 
mind.  If  this  strange  news  were  true,  and  men  like  Mer- 
coeur,  who  had  every  reason  to  stand  by  the  king,  as  well  as 
men  like  Retz,  who  had  long  been  suspected  of  disaffection, 
were  abandoning  the  Court,  the  danger  must  be  coming  close 
indeed.  The  king  must  feel  his  throne  already  tottering, 
and  be  eager  to  grasp  at  any  means  of  supporting  it.  Under 
such  circumstances  it  seemed  to  be  my  paramount  duty  to 
reach  him  ;  to  gain  his  ear  if  possible,  and  at  all  risks ;  that 
I  and  not  Bruhl,  Navarre  not  Turenne,  might  profit  by  the 
first  impulse  of  self-preservation. 


THE  LAST  VALOIS  253 

Bidding  the  porter  shut  his  door  and  keep  close,  I  hurried 
to  the  Castle,  and  was  presently  more  than  confirmed  in  my 
resolution.  For  to  my  surprise  I  found  the  Court  in  much 
the  same  state  as  M.  de  Rambouillet's  house.  There  were 
double  guards  indeed  at  the  gates,  who  let  ine  pass  after 
scrutinising  me  narrowly ;  but  the  courtyard,  which  should 
have  been  at  this  hour  ablaze  with  torches  and  crowded  with 
lackeys  and  grooms,  was  a  dark  wilderness,  in  which  half 
a  dozen  links  trembled  mournfully.  Passing  through  the 
doors  I  found  things  within  in  the  same  state:  the  hall 
ill  lit  and  desolate;  the  staircase  manned  only  by  a  few 
whispering  groups,  who  scanned  me  as  I  passed ;  the  ante- 
chambers almost  empty,  or  occupied  by  the  grey  uniforms 
of  the  Svvitzer  guards.  Where  I  had  looked  to  see  courtiers 
assembling  to  meet  their  sovereign  and  assure  him  of  theisr 
fidelity,  I  found  only  gloomy  faces,  watchful  eyes,  andi 
mouths  ominously  closed.  An  air  of  constraint  and  fore, 
boding  rested  on  all.  A  single  footstep  sounded  hollowly. 
The  long  corridors,  which  had  so  lately  rung  with  laughter 
and  the  rattle  of  dice,  seemed  already  devoted  to  the  silence 
and  desolation  which  awaited  them  when  the  Court  should 
depart.  Where  any  spoke  I  caught  the  name  of  Guise ; 
and  I  could  have  fancied  that  his  mighty  shadow  lay  upon 
the  place  and  cursed  it. 

Entering  the  chamber,  I  found  matters  little  better  there. 
His  Majesty  was  not  present,  nor  were  any  of  the  Court 
ladies ;  but  half  a  dozen  gentlemen,  among  whom  I  recog- 
nised Revol,  one  of  the  king's  secretaries,  stood  near  the 
alcove.  They  looked  up  on  my  entrance,  as  though  expect- 
ing news,  and  then,  seeing  who  it  was,  looked  away  again 
impatiently.  The  Duke  of  Nevers  was  Balking  moodily  to 
and  fro  before  one  of  the  windows,  his  hands  clasped  behind 
his  back :  while  Biron  and  Crillon,  reconciled  by  the  com- 
mon peril,  talked  loudly  on  the  hearth.  I  hesitated  a  mo- 
ment, uncertain  how  to  proceed,  for  I  was  not  yet  so 
old  at  Court  as  to  feel  at  home  there.  But,  at  last  mak- 
ing up  my  mind,  I  walked  boldly  up  to  Crillon  and  re- 


254  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

quested  his  good  offices  to  procure  me  an  immediate  audience 
of  the  king. 

'  An  audience  ?  Do  you  mean  you  want  to  see  him 
alone?'  he  said,  raising  his  eyebrows  and  looking  whimsi- 
cally at  Biron. 

'  That  is  my  petition,  M.  de  Crillon,'  I  answered  firmly, 
though  my  heart  sank.  '  I  am  here  on  M.  de  Kambouillet's 
business,  and  I  need  to  see  his  Majesty  forthwith.' 

'  Well,  that  is  straightforward,'  he  replied,  clapping  me 
on  the  shoulder.  '  And  you  shall  see  him.  In  coming  to 
Crillon  you  have  come  to  the  right  man.  Revol,'  he  con- 
tinued, turning  to  the  secretary,  'this  gentleman  bears  a 
message  from  M.  de  Kambouillet  to  the  king.  Take  him 
to  the  closet  without  delay,  my  friend,  and  announce  him. 
I  will  be  answerable  for  him.' 

But  the  secretary  shrugged  his  shoulders  up  to  his  ears. 
'It  is  quite  impossible,  M.  de  Crillon,'  he  said  gravely. 
'Quite  impossible  at  present.' 

'  Impossible  !  Chut !  I  do  not  know  the  word,'  Crillon 
retorted  rudely.  '  Come,  take  him  at  once,  and  blame  me 
if  ill  comes  of  it.  Do  you  hear  ? ' 

'But  his  Majesty ' 

'Well?' 

'Is  at  his  devotions,'  the  secretary  said  stiffly. 

'His  Majesty's  devotions  be  hanged!'  Crillon  rejoined — 
so  loudly  that  there  was  a  general  titter,  and  M.  de  Nevers 
laughed  grimly.  'Do  you  hear?'  the  Avennais  continued, 
his  face  growing  redder  and  his  voice  higher,  '  or  must  I 
pull  your  ears,  my  friend  ?  Take  this  gentleman  to  the 
closet,  I  say,  and  if  his  Majesty  be  angry,  tell  him  it  was  by 
my  order.  I  tell  you  he  comes  from  Rambouillet.' 

I  do  not  know  whether  it  was  the  threat,  or  the  mention 
of  M.  de  Rambouillet's  name,  which  convinced  the  secretary. 
But  at  any  rate,  after  a  moment's  hesitation,  he  acquiesced. 

He  nodded  sullenly  to  me  to  follow  him,  and  led  the  way 
to  a  curtain  which  masked  the  door  of  the  closet.  I  fol- 
lowed him  across  the  chamber,  after  muttering  a  hasty  word 


THE  LAST  VALOIS  255 

of  acknowledgment  to  Crillon ;  and  I  had  as  nearly  as  pos- 
sible reached  the  door  when  the  bustle  of  some  one  entering 
the  chamber  caught  my  ear.  I  had  just  time  to  turn  and 
see  that  this  was  Bruhl,  just  time  to  intercept  the  dark  look 
of  chagrin  and  surprise  which  he  fixed  on  me,  and  then 
Kevol,  holding  up  the  curtain,  signed  to  me  to  enter. 

I  expected  to  pass  at  once  into  the  presence  o^  the  king, 
and  had  my  reverence  ready.  Instead,  I  found  myself  to 
my  surprise  in  a  small  chamber,  or  rather  passage,  curtained 
at  both  ends,  and  occupied  by  a  couple  of  guardsmen — mem- 
bers, doubtless,  of  the  Band  of  the  Forty-Five — who  rose  at 
my  entrance  and  looked  at  me  dubiously.  Their  guard-room, 
dimly  illumined  by  a  lamp  of  red  glass,  seemed  to  me,  in 
spite  of  its  curtains  and  velvet  bench,  and  the  thick  tapes- 
try which  kept  out  every  breath  of  wholesome  air,  the  most 
sombre  I  could  imagine.  And  the  most  ill-omened.  But  I 
had  no  time  to  make  any  long  observation ;  for  Kevol,  pass- 
ing me  brusquely,  raised  the  curtain  at  the  other  end,  and, 
with  his  finger  on  his  lip,  bade  me  by  signs  to  enter. 

I  did  so  as  silently,  the  heavy  scent  of  perfumes  striking 
me  in  the  face  as  I  raised  a  second  curtain,  and  stopped 
short  a  pace  beyond  it ;  partly  in  reverence — because  kings 
love  their  subjects  best  at  a  distance — and  partly  in  sur- 
prise. For  the  room,  or  rather  that  portion  of  it  in  which  I 
stood,  was  in  darkness;  only  the  farther  end  being  illumined 
by  a  cold  pale  flood  of  moonlight,  which,  passing  through  a 
high,  straight  window,  lay  in  a  silvery  sheet  on  the  floor. 
For  an  instant  I  thought  I  was  alone ;  then  I  saw,  resting 
against  this  window,  with  a  hand  on  either  mullion,  a  tall 
figure,  having  something  strange  about  the  head.  This 
peculiarity  presently  resolved  itself  into  the  turban  in 
which  I  had  once  before  seen  his  Majesty.  The  king — for 
he  it  was — was  talking  to  himself.  He  had  not  heard  me 
enter,  and  having  his  back  to  me  remained  unconscious 
of  my  presence. 

I  paused  in  doubt,  afraid  to  advance,  anxious  to  withdraw; 
yet  uncertain  whether  I  could  move  again  unheard.  At  this 


256  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

moment  while  I  stood  hesitating,  he  raised  his  voice,  and 
his  words,  reaching  my  ears,  riveted  my  attention,  so 
strange  and  eerie  were  both  they  and  his  tone.  '  They  say 
there  is  ill-luck  in  thirteen,'  he  muttered.  'Thirteen  Valois 
and  last ! '  He  paused  to  laugh  a  wicked,  mirthless  laugh. 
'Ay, — Thirteenth!  And  it  is  thirteen  years  since  I  entered 
Paris,  a  crowned  King !  There  were  Quelus  and  Maugiron 
and  St.  Megrin  and  I — and  lie,  I  remember.  Ah,  those  days, 
those  nights !  I  would  sell  my  soul  to  live  them  again ;  had 
I  not  sold  it  long  ago  in  the  living  them  once  !  We  were 
young  then,  and  rich,  and  I  was  king ;  and  Quelus  was  an 
Apollo !  He  died  calling  on  me  to  save  him.  And  Mau- 
giron died,  blaspheming  God  and  the  saints.  And  St. 
Megrin,  he  had  thirty-four  wounds.  And  he — he  is  dead 
too,  curse  him !  They  are  all  dead,  all  dead,  and  it  is  all 
over !  My  God  !  it  is  all  over,  it  is  all  over,  it  is  all  over  ! ' 

He  repeated  the  last  four  words  more  than  a  dozen  times, 
rocking  himself  to  and  fro  by  his  hold  on  the  niullione  I 
trembled  as  I  listened,  partly  through  fear  on  my  owu 
account  should  I  be  discovered,  and  partly  by  reason  of  the 
horror  of  despair  and  remorse — no,  not  remorse,  regret — 
which  spoke  in  his  monotonous  voice.  I  guessed  that  some 
impulse  had  led  him  to  draw  the  curtain  from  the  window 
and  shade  the  lamp ;  and  that  then,  as  he  looked  down  on 
the  moonlit  country,  the  contrast  between  it  and  the  vicious, 
heated  atmosphere,  heavy  with  intrigue  and  worse,  in 
which  he  had  spent  his  strength,  had  forced  itself  upon  his 
mind.  For  he  presently  went  on. 

'  France !  There  it  lies !  And  what  will  they  do  with 
it?  Will  they  cut  it  up  into  pieces,  as  it  was  before 
old  Louis  XI.?  Will  Mercosur — curse  him  ! — be  the  most 
Christian  Duke  of  Brittany  ?  And  Mayenne,  by  the  grace 
of  God,  Prince  of  Paris  and  the  Upper  Seine  ?  Or  will  the 
little  Prince  of  Beam  beat  them,  and  be  Henry  IV.,  King 
of  France  and  Navarre,  Protector  of  the  Churches  ?  Curse 
him  too  !  He  is  thirty-six.  He  is  my  age.  But  he  is 
young  and  strong,  and  has  all  before  him.  While  I — I — 


THE  LAST  VALOIS  257 

oh,  my  God,  have  mercy  on  me  \  Have  mercy  on  me,  0 
God  in  Heaven ! ' 

With  the  last  word  he  fell  on  his  knees  on  the  step 
before  the  window,  and  burst  into  such  an  agony  of  unmanly 
tears  and  sobbings  as  I  had  never  dreamed  of  or  imagined, 
and  least  of  all  in  the  King  of  France.  Hardly  knowing 
whether  to  be  more  ashamed  or  terrified,  I  turned  at  all  risks, 
and  stealthily  lifting  the  curtain,  crept  out  with  infinite 
care ;  and  happily  with  so  much  good  fortune  as  to  escape 
detection.  There  was  space  enough  between  the  two 
curtains  to  admit  my  body  and  no  more;  and  here  I  stood 
a  short  while  to  collect  my  thoughts.  Then,  striking  my 
scabbard  against  the  wall,  as  though  by  accident,  and 
coughing  loudly  at  the  same  moment,  I  twitched  the  cur- 
tain aside  with  some  violence  and  re-entered,  thinking  that 
by  these  means  I  had  given  him  warning  enough. 

But  I  had  not  reckoned  on  the  darkness  in  which  the 
room  lay,  or  the  excitable  state  in  which  I  had  left  him. 
He  heard  me,  indeed,  but  being  able  to  see  only  a  tall,  in- 
distinct figure  approaching  him,  he  took  fright,  and  falling 
back  against  the  moonlit  window,  as  though  he  saw  a  ghost, 
thrust  out  his  hand,  gasping  at  the  same  time  two  words, 
which  sounded  to  me  like  '  Ha !  Guise  !  -' 

The  next  instant,  discerning  that  I  fell  on  my  knee 
where  I  stood,  and  came  no  nearer,  he  recovered  himself. 
With  an  effort,  which  his  breathing  made  very  apparent, 
he  asked  in  an  unsteady  voice  who  it  was. 

'One  of  your  Majesty's  most  faithful  servants/  I  an- 
swered, remaining  on  my  knee,  and  affecting  to  see  nothing. 

Keeping  his  face  towards  me,  he  sidled  to  the  lamp  and 
strove  to  withdraw  the  shade.  But  his  fingers  trembled  so 
violently  that  it  was  some  time  before  he  succeeded,  and 
set  free  the  cheerful  beams,  which,  suddenly  filling  the  room 
with  radiance,  disclosed  to  my  wondering  eyes,  instead  of 
darkness  and  the  cold  gleam  of  the  moon,  a  profusion  of 
riches,  of  red  stuffs  and  gemmed  trifles  and  gilded  arms 
crowded  together  in  reckless  disorder.  A  monkey  chained 


258  A    GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

in  one  corner  began  to  gibber  and  mow  at  me.  A  cloak  of 
strange  cut,  strekhed  .on  a  wooden  stand,  deceived  me  for 
an  instant  into  thinking  that  there  was  a  third  person 
present;  while  the  table,  heaped  with  dolls  r.nd  powder- 
puffs,  dog-collars  and  sweet-meats,  a  mask,  a  woman's  slip- 
per, a  pair  of  pistols,  some  potions,  a  scourge,  and  an 
immense  quantity  of  like  litter,  had  as  melancholy  an 
appearance  in  my  eyes  as  the  king  himself,  whose  disorder 
the  light  disclosed  without  mercy.  His  turban  was  awry, 
and  betrayed  the  premature  baldness  of  his  scalp.  The 
paint  on  his  cheeks  was  cracked  and  stained,  and  had  soiled 
the  gloves  he \wore.  He  looked  fifty  years  old;  and  in  his 
excitement  he  had  tugged  his  sword  to  the  front,  whence  it 
refused  to  be  thrust  back. 

'  Who  sent  you  here  ? '  he  asked,  when  he  had  so  far 
recovered  his  senses  as  to  recognise  me,  which  he  did  with 
great  surprise. 

'  I  am  here,  sire,'  I  answered  evasively,  '  to  place  myself 
at  your  Majesty's  service.' 

'  Such  loyalty  is  rare,'  he  answered,  with  a  bitter  sneer. 
'But  stand  up,  sir.  I  suppose  I  must  be  thankful  for 
small  mercies,  and,  losing  a  Mercosur,  be  glad  to  receive 
a  Marsac.' 

1  By  your  leave,  sire,'  I  rejoined  hardily,  '  the  exchange 
is  not  so  adverse.  Your  Majesty  may  make  another  duke 
when  you  will.  But  honest  men  are  not  so  easily  come  by.' 

1  So  !  so ! '  he  answered,  looking  at  me  with  a  fierce  light 
in  his  eyes.  '  You  remind  me  in  season.  I  may  still  make 
and  unmake  !  I  am  still  King  of  France  ?  That  is  so, 
sirrah,  is  it  not  ? ' 

'  God  forbid  that  it  should  be  otherwise ! '  I  answered 
earnestly.  '  It  is  to  lay  before  yonr  Majesty  certain  means 
by  which  you  may  give  fuller  effect  to  your  wishes  that  I 
am  here.  The  King  of  Navarre  desires  only,  sire ' 

'Tut,  tut!'  he  exclaimed  impatiently,  and  with  some 
displeasure,  '  I  know  his  will  better  than  you,  man.  But 
you  see,'  he  continued  cunningly,  forgetting  my  inferior 


THE  LAST  VALOIS  259 

position  as  quickly  as  he  had  remembered  it,  'Turenne 
promises  well,  too.  And  Turenne — it  is  true  he  may  play 
the  Lorrainer.  But  if  I  trust  Henry  of  Navarre,  and  he 
prove  false  to  me ' 

He  did  not  complete  the  sentence,  but  strode  to  and  fro 
a  time  or  two,  his  mind,  which  had  a  natural  inclination 
towards  crooked  courses,  bent  on  some  scheme  by  which  he 
might  play  off  the  one  party  against  the  other.  Apparently 
he  was  not  very  successful  in  finding  one,  however ;  or 
else  the  ill-luck  with  which  he  had  supported  the  League 
against  the  Huguenots  recurred  to  his  mind.  For  he  pres- 
ently stopped,  with  a  sigh,  and  came  back  to  the  point. 

'  If  I  knew  that  Turenne  were  lying,'  he  muttered,  '  then 

indeed .  But  Kosny  promised  evidence,  and  he  has 

sent  me  none.' 

'It  is  at  hand,  sire,'  I  answered,  my  heart  beginning  to 
beat.  'Your  Majesty  will  remember  that  M.  de  Eosny 
honoured  me  with  the  task  of  introducing  it  to  you.' 

'To  be  sure,'  he  replied,  awaking  as  from  a  dream,  and 
looking  and  speaking  eagerly.  '  Matters  to-day  have  driven 
everything  out  of  my  head.  Where  is  your  witness,  man  ? 
Convince  me,  and  we  will  act  promptly.  We  will  give  them. 
Jarnac  and  Moncontour  over  again.  Is  he  outside  ? ' 

'It  is  a  woman,  sire,'  I  made  answer,  dashed  somewhat 
by  his  sudden  and  feverish  alacrity. 

'  A  woman,  eh  ?     You  have  her  here  ? ' 

'  No,  sire,'  I  replied,  wondering  what  he  would  say  to  my 
next  piece  of  information.  '  She  is  in  Blois,  she  has  arrived, 
but  the  truth  is — I  humbly  crave  your  Majesty's  indulgence 
— she  refuses  to  come  or  speak.  I  cannot  well  bring  her 
here  by  force,  and  I  have  sought  you,  sire,  for  the  purpose 
of  taking  your  commands  in  the  matter.' 

He  stared  at  me  in  the  utmost  astonishment. 

'  Is  she  young  ?'  he  asked  after  a  long  pause. 

'  Yes,  sire,'  I  answered.  '  She  is  maid  of  honour  to  the 
Princess  of  Navarre,  and  a  ward  also  of  the  Vicomte  de 
Turenne.' 

B2 


260  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

'Gad!  then  she  is  worth  hearing,  the  little  rebel!'  he 
replied.  '  A  ward  of  Turenne's  is  she  ?  Ho  !  ho  !  And 
now  she  will  not  speak  ?  My  cousin  of  Navarre  now  would 
know  how  to  bring  her  to  her  senses,  but  I  have  eschewed 
these  vanities.  I  might  send  and  have  her  brought,  it 
is  true;  but  a  very  little  thing  would  cause  a  barricade 
to-night.' 

'  And  besides,  sire,'  I  ventured  to  add,  (  she  is  known  to 
Turenne's  people  here,  who  have  once  stolen  her  away. 
Were  she  brought  to  your  Majesty  with  any  degree  of  open- 
ness, they  would  learn  it,  and  know  that  the  game  was 
lost.' 

'  Which  would  not  suit  me,'  he  answered,  nodding  and 
looking  at  me  gloomily.  '  They  might  anticipate  our 
Jarnac ;  and  until  we  have  settled  matters  with  one  or  the 
other  our  person  is  not  too  secure.  You  must  go  and  fetch 
her.  She  is  at  your  lodging.  She  must  be  brought,  man.' 

'  I  will  do  what  you  command,  sire,'  I  answered.  '  But 
I  am  greatly  afraid  that  she  will  not  come.' 

He  lost  his  temper  at  that.  '  Then  why,  in  the  devil's 
name,  have  you  troubled  me  with  the  matter  ? '  he  cried 
savagely.  'God  knows — I  don't — why  Rosny  employed 
such  a  man  and  such  a  woman.  He  might  have  seen  from 
the  cut  of  your  cloak,  sir,  which  is  full  six  months  behind 
the  fashion,  that  you  could  not  manage  a  woman !  Was 
ever  such  damnable  folly  heard  of  in  this  world  ?  But 
it  is  Navarre's  loss,  not  mine.  It  is  his  loss.  And  I  hope 
to  Heaven  it  may  be  yours  too  ! '  he  added  fiercely. 

There  was  so  much  in  what  he  said  that  I  bent  before 
the  storm,  and  accepted  with  humility  blame  which  was  as 
natural  on  his  part  as  it  was  undeserved  on  mine.  Indeed 
I  could  not  wonder  at  his  Majesty's  anger;  nor  should  I 
have  wondered  at  it  in  a  greater  man.  I  knew  that  but  for 
reasons,  on  which  I  did  not  wish  to  dwell,  I  should  have 
shared  it  to  the  full,  and  spoken  quite  as  strongly  of  the 
caprice  which  ruined  hopes  and  lives  for  a  whim. 

The  king  continued  for  some  time  to  say  to  me  all  the 


THE  LAST  VALOIS  261 

hard  things  lie  could  think  of.  Wearied  at  last  by  my 
patience,  he  paused,  and  cried  angrily.  'Well,  hrve  you 
nothing  to  say  for  yourself  ?  Can  you  suggest  nothing  ? ' 

'I  dare  not  mention  to  your  Majesty,'  I  said  humbly, 
'  what  seems  to  me  to  be  the  only  alternative.' 

'  You  mean  that  I  should  go  to  the  wench ! '  he  answered 
— for  he  did  not  lack  quickness.  '"Se  no  va  el  otero  a 
Malwma,  vaya  Malioma  al  otero,"  as  Mendoza  says.  But 
the  saucy  quean,  to  force  me  to  go  to  her !  Did  my  wife 
guess — but  there,  I  will  go.  By  God  I  will  go  ! '  he  added 
abruptly  and  fiercely.  '  I  will  live  to  ruin  Retz  yet ! 
Where  is  your  lodging  ? ' 

I  told  him,  wondering  much  at  this  flash  of  the  old 
spirit,  which  twenty  years  before  had  won  him  a  reputa- 
tion his  later  life  did  nothing  to  sustain. 

1  Do  you  know,'  he  asked,  speaking  with  sustained  energy 
and  clearness,  '  the  door  by  which  M.  de  Rosny  entered  to 
talk  with  me  ?  Can  you  find  it  in  the  dark  ? ' 

'  Yes,  sire,'  I  answered,  my  heart  beating  high. 

'Then  be  in  waiting  there  two  hours  before  midnight,' 
he  replied.  '  Be  well  armed,  but  alone.  I  shall  know  how 
to  make  the  girl  speak.  I  can  trust  you,  I  suppose  ? '  he 
added  suddenly,  stepping  nearer  to  me  and  looking  fixedly 
into  my  eyes. 

'I  will  answer  for  your  Majesty's  life  with  my  own/  I 
replied,  sinking  on  one  knee. 

<I  believe  you,  sir,'  he  answered  gravely,  giving  me  his 
hand  to  kiss,  and  then  turning  away.  '  So  be  it.  Now 
leave  me.  You  have  been  here  too  long  already.  Not  a 
word  to  any  one  as  you  value  your  life.' 

I  made  fitting  answer  and  was  leaving  him ;  but  when  I 
had  my  hand  already  on  the  curtain,  he  called  me  back.  '  In 
Heaven's  name  get  a  new  cloak ! '  he  said  peevishly,  eyeing 
me  all  over  with  his  face  puckered  up.  '  Get  a  new  cloak, 
man,  the  first  thing  in  the  morning.  It  is  worse  seen  from 
the  side  than  the  front.  It  would  ruin  the  cleverest  courtier 
of  them  all ! ' 


262  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 

A   ROYAL    PERIL. 

THE  elation  with  which  I  had  heard  the  king  announce 
his  resolution  quickly  diminished  on  cooler  reflection.  It 
stood  in  particular  at  a  very  low  ebb  as  I  waited,  an  hour 
later,  at  the  little  north  postern  of  the  Castle,  and,  cowering 
within  the  shelter  of  the  arch  to  escape  the  wind,  debated 
whether  his  Majesty's  energy  would  sustain  him  to  the 
point  of  action,  or  whether  he  might  not,  in  one  of  those 
fits  of  treacherous  vacillation  which  had  again  and  again 
marred  his  plans,  send  those  to  keep  the  appointment  who 
would  give  a  final  account  of  me.  The  longer  I  considered 
his  character  the  moiv  dubious  I  grew.  The  loneliness  cf 
the  situation,  the  darkness,  the  black  front,  unbroken  by 
any  glimmer  of  light,  which  the  Castle  presented  on  this 
side,  and  the  unusual  and  gloomy  stillness  which  lay  upon 
the  town,  all  contributed  to  increase  my  uneasiness.  It 
was  with  apprehension  as  well  as  relief  that  I  caught  at 
last  the  sound  of  footsteps  on  the  stone  staircase,  and, 
standing  a  little  to  one  side,  saw  a  streak  of  light  appear 
at  the  foot  of  the  door. 

On  the  latter  being  partially  opened  a  voice  cried  my 
name.  I  advanced  with  caution  and  showed  myself.  A 
brief  conversation  ensued  between  two  or  three  persons  who 
stood  within;  but  in  the  end,  a  masked  figure,  which  I  had 
no  difficulty  in  identifying  as  the  king,  stepped  briskly  out. 

'You  are  armed? '  he  said,  pausing  a  second  opposite  me. 

I  put  back  my  cloak  and  showed  him,  by  the  light  which 
streamed  from  the  doorway,  that  I  carried  pistols  as  well 
as  a  sword. 

'Good!'  he  answered  briefly;  'then  let  us  go.  Do  you 
walk  on  my  left  hand,  my  friend.  It  is  a  dark  night,  is  it 
not? ' 

'Very  dark,  sire,'  I  said. 


A  ROYAL  PERIL  263 

He  made  no  answer  to  this,  and  we  started,  proceeding 
with  caution  until  we  had  crossed  the  narrow  bridge,  and 
then  with  greater  freedom  and  at  a  better  pace.  The  slen- 
derness  of  the  attendance  at  Court  that  evening,  and  the 
cold  wind,  which  swept  even  the  narrowest  streets  and 
drove  roisterers  indoors,  rendered  it  unlikely  that  we  should 
be  stopped  or  molested  by  any  except  professed  thieves; 
and  for  these  I  was  prepared.  The  king  showed  no  incli- 
nation to  talk;  and  keeping  silence  myself  out  of  respect, 
I  had  time  to  calculate  the  chances  and  to  consider  whether 
his  Majesty  would  succeed  where  I  had  failed. 

This  calculation,  which  was  not  inconsistent  with  the 
keenest  watchfulness  on  my  part  whenever  we  turned  a 
corner  or  passed  the  mouth  of  an  alley,  was  brought  to  an 
end  by  our  safe  arrival  at  the  house.  Briefly  apologising 
to  the  king  for  the  meanness  and  darkness  of  the  staircase, 
I  begged  leave  to  precede  him,  and  rapidly  mounted  until 
I  met  Maignan.  Whispering  to  him  that  all  was  well,  I 
did  not  wait  to  hear  his  answer,  but,  bidding  him  be  on  the 
watch,  I  led  the  king  on  with  as  much  deference  as  was 
possible  until  we  stood  at  the  door  of  mademoiselle's  apart- 
ment, which  I  have  elsewhere  stated  to  consist  of  an  outer 
and  inner  room.  The  door  was  opened  by  Simon  Fleix, 
and  him  I  promptly  sent  out.  Then,  standing  aside  and 
uncovering,  I  begged  the  king  to  enter. 

He  did  so,  still  wearing  his  hat  and  mask,  and  I  followed 
and  secured  the  door.  A  lamp  hanging  from  the  ceiling 
diffused  an  imperfect  light  through  the  room,  which  was 
smaller  but  more  comfortable  in  appearance  than  that  which 
I  rented  overhead.  I  observed  that  Fanchette,  whose 
harsh  countenance  looked  more  forbidding  than  usual,  occu- 
pied a  stool  which  she  had  set  in  a  strange  fashion  against 
the  inner  door;  but  I  thought  no  more  of  this  at  the 
moment,  my  attention  passing  quickly  to  mademoiselle, 
who  sat  crouching  before  the  fire,  enveloped  in  a  large  out- 
door cloak,  as  if  she  felt  the  cold.  Her  back  was  towards 
us,  and  she  was,  or  pretended  to  be,  still  ignorant  of  our 


264  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

presence,  \7ith  a  muttered  word  I  pointed  ner  out  to  the 
king,  and  went  towards  her  with  lum. 

'Mademoiselle/  I  said  in  a  low  voice,  'Mademoiselle  de 
la  Vire!  I  have  the  honour ' 

She  would  not  turn,  and  I  stopped.  Clearly  she  heard, 
but  she  betrayed  that  she  did  so  only  by  drawing  her  cloak 
more  closely  round  her.  Primed  by  my  respect  for  the 
king,  I  touched  her  lightly  on  the  shoulder.  'Mademoi- 
selle!' I  said  impatiently,  'you  are  not  aware  of  it, 
but ' 

She  shook  herself  free  from  my  hand  with  so  rude  a  gest- 
ure that  I  broke  off,  and  stood  gaping  foolishly  at  her. 
The  king  smiled,  and  nodding  to  me  to  step  back  a  pace, 
took  the  task  on  himself.  'Mademoiselle,'  he  said  with 
dignity,  'I  am  not  accustomed ' 

His  voice  had  a  magical  effect.  Before  he  could  add 
another  word  she  sprang  up  as  if  she  had  been  struck,  and 
faced  us,  a  cry  of  alarm  on  her  lips.  Simultaneously  we 
both  cried  out  too,  for  it  was  not  mademoiselle  at  all.  The 
woman  who  confronted  us,  her  hand  on  her  mask,  her  eyes 
glittering  through  the  slits,  was  of  a  taller  and  fuller  fig- 
ure. We  stared  at  her.  Then  a  lock  of  bright  golden  hair 
which  had  escaped  from  the  hood  of  her  cloak  gave  us  the 
clue.  'Madame!'  the  king  cried. 

'Madame  de  Bruhl! '  I  echoed,  my  astonishment  greater 
than  his. 

Seeing  herself  known,  she  began  with  trembling  fingers 
to  undo  the  fastenings  of  her  mask;  but  the  king,  who  had 
hitherto  displayed  a  trustfulness  I  had  not  expected  in  him, 
had  taken  alarm  at  sight  of  her,  as  at  a  thing  unlocked 
for,  and  of  which  I  had  not  warned  him.  'How  is  this?' 
he  said  harshly,  drawing  back  a  pace  from  her  and  regard- 
ing me  with  anger  and  distrust.  'Is  this  some  pretty 
arrangement  of  yours,  sir?  Am  I  an  intruder  at  an  assigna- 
tion, or  is  this  a  trap  with  M.  de  Bruhl  in  the  background? 
Answer,  sirrah!'  he  continued,  working  himself  rapidly 
into  a  passion.  'Which  am  I  to  understand  is  the  case? ' 


A  ROYAL  PERIL  265 

'Neither,  sire,'  I  answered  with  as  much  dignity  as  I 
could  assume,  utterly  surprised  and  mystified  as  I  was  by 
Madame's  presence.  'Your  Majesty  wrongs  Madame  de 
Bruhl  as  much  by  the  one  suspicion  as  you  injure  me  by 
the  other.  I  am  equally  in  the  dark  with  you,  sire,  and  as 
little  expected  to  see  madame  here.' 

'I  came,  sire,'  she  said  proudly,  addressing  herself  to  the 
king,  and  ignoring  me,  'out  of  no  love  to  M.  de  Marsac, 
but  as  any  person  bearing  a  message  to  him  might  come. 
Nor  can  you,  sire,'  she  added  with  spirit,  'feel  half  as  much 
surprise  at  seeing  me  here,  as  I  at  seeing  your  Majesty.' 

'I  can  believe  that,'  the  king  answered  drily.  'I  would 
you  had  not  seen  me.' 

'The  King  of  France  is  seen  only  when  he  chooses,'  she 
replied,  curtseying  to  the  ground. 

'Good,'  he  answered.  'Let  it  be  so,  and  you  will  oblige 
the  King  of  France,  madame.  But  enough,'  he  continued, 
turning  from  her  to  me;  'since  this  is  not  the  lady  I  came 
to  see,  M.  de  Marsac,  where  is  she? ' 

'In  the  inner  room,  sire,  I  opine,'  I  said,  advancing  to 
Fanchette  with  more  misgiving  at  heart  than  my  manner 
evinced.  'Your  mistress  is  here,  is  she  not?'  I  continued, 
addressing  the  woman  sharply. 

'Ay,  and  will  not  come  out,'  she  rejoined,  sturdily  keep- 
ing her  place. 

'Nonsense!'  I  said.     'Tell  her ' 

'You  may  tell  her  what  you  please,'  she  replied,  refusing 
to  budge  an  inch.  '  She  can  hear. ' 

'But,  woman!'  I  cried  impatiently,  'you  do  not  under- 
stand. I  must  speak  with  her.  I  must  speak  with  her  at 
once!  On  business  of  the  highest  importance.' 

'As  you  please,'  she  said  rudely,  still  keeping  her  seat. 
'I  have  told  you  you  can  speak.' 

Perhaps  I  felt  as  foolish  on  this  occasion  as  ever  in  my 
life;  and  surely  never  was  man  placed  in  a  more  ridiculous 
position.  After  overcoming  numberless  obstacles,  and 
escaping  as  many  perils,  I  had  brought  the  king  here,  a 


266  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

feat  beyond  my  highest  hopes — only  to  be  baffled  and 
defeated  by  a  waiting- woman !  I  stood  irresolute ;  witless 
and  confused;  while  the  king  waited  half  angry  and  half 
amused,  and  madame  kept  her  place  by  the  entrance,  to 
which  she  had  retreated. 

I  was  delivered  from  my  dilemma  by  the  curiosity  which 
is,  providentially  perhaps,  a  part  of  woman's  character, 
and  which  led  mademoiselle  to  interfere  herself.  Keenly 
on  the  watch  inside,  she  had  heard  part  of  what  passed 
between  us,  and  been  rendered  inquisitive  by  the  sound  of 
a  strange  man's  voice,  and  by  the  deference  which  she 
could  discern  I  paid  to  the  visitor.  At  this  moment,  she 
cried  out,  accordingly,  to  know  who  was  there;  and  Fan- 
chette,  seeming  to  take  this  as  a  command,  rose  and  dragged 
her  stool  aside,  saying  peevishly  and  without  any  increase 
of  respect,  'There,  I  told  you  she  could  hear.' 

'Who  is  it?  '  mademoiselle  asked  again,  in  a  raised  voice. 

I  was  about  to  answer  when  the  king  signed  to  me  to 
stand  back,  and,  advancing  himself,  knocked  gently  on  the 
door.  'Open,  I  pray  you,  mademoiselle,'  he  said  courte- 
ously. 

'Who  is  there?'  she  cried  again,  her  voice  trembling. 

'It  is  I,  the  king,'  he  answered  softly;  but  in  that  tone 
of  majesty  which  belongs  not  to  the  man,  but  to  the  descend- 
ant, and  seems  to  be  the  outcome  of  centuries  of  command. 

She  uttered  an  exclamation  and  slowly,  and  with  seeming 
reluctance,  turned  the  key  in  the  lock.  It  grated,  and  the 
door  opened.  I  caught  a  glimpse  for  an  instant  of  her  pale 
face  and  bright  eyes,  and  then  his  Majesty,  removing  his 
hat,  passed  in  and  closed  the  door;  and  I  withdrew  to  the 
farther  end  of  the  room,  where  madame  continued  to  stand 
by  the  entrance. 

I  entertained  a  suspicion,  I  remember,  and  not  unnatu- 
rally, that  she  had  come  to  my  lodging  as  her  husband's 
spy ;  but  her  first  words  when  I  joined  her  dispelled  this. 
'Quick! '  she  said  with  an  imperious  gesture.  'Hear  me 
and  let  me  go!  I  have  waited  long  enough  for  you,  and 


A  ROYAL  PERIL  267 

suffered  enough  through  you.  As  for  that  woman  in  there, 
she  is  niad,  and  her  servant  too!  Now,  listen  to  me.  You 
spoke  to  me  honestly  to-day,  and  I  have  come  to  repay  you. 
You  have  an  appointment  with  my  husband  to-morrow  at 
Chaverny.  Is  it  not  so? '  she  added  impatiently. 

I  replied  that  it  was  so. 

'You  are  to  go  with  one  friend,'  she  went  on,  tearing  the 
glove  she  had  taken  off,  to  strips  in  her  excitement.  'He 
is  to  meet  you  with  one  also? ' 

'Yes,'  I  assented  reluctantly,  'at  the  bridge,  madame.' 

'Then  do  not  go,'  she  rejoined  emphatically.  'Shame  on 
me  that  I  should  betray  my  husband;  but  it  were  worse  to 
send  an  innocent  man  to  his  death.  He  will  meet  you  with 
one  sword  only,  according  to  his  challenge,  but  there  will 
be  those  under  the  bridge  who  will  make  certain  work. 
There,  I  have  betrayed  him  now ! '  she  continued  bitterly. 
'It  is  done.  Let  me  go!' 

'Xay,  but,  madame,'  I  said,  feeling  more  concerned  for 
her,  on  whom  from  the  first  moment  of  meeting  her  I  had 
brought  nothing  but  misfortune,  than  surprised  by  this  new 
treachery  on  his  part,  'will  you  not  run  some  risk  in  return- 
ing to  him?  Is  there  nothing  I  can  do  for  you — no  step  I 
can  take  for  your  protection? ' 

'None!'  she  said  repellently  and  almost  rudely,  'except 
to  speed  my  going.' 

'But  you  will  not  pass  through  the  streets  alone?' 

She  laughed  so  bitterly  my  heart  ached  for  her.  'The 
unhappy  are  always  safe,'  she  said. 

Remembering  how  short  a  time  it  was  since  I  had  sur- 
prised her  in  the  first  happiness  of  wedded  love,  I  felt  for 
her  all  the  pity  it  was  natural  I  should  feel.  But  the  re- 
sponsibility under  which  his  Majesty's  presence  and  the 
charge  of  mademoiselle  laid  me  forbade  me  to  indulge  in 
the  luxury  of  evincing  my  gratitude.  Gladly  would  I  have 
escorted  her  back  to  her  home — even  if  I  could  not  make 
that  home  again  what  it  had  been,  or  restore  her  husband 
to  the  pinnacle  from  which  I  had  dashed  him — but  I  dared 


268  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

not  do  this.  I  was  forced  to  content  myself  with  less,  and 
was  about  to  offer  to  send  one  of  my  men  with  her,  when  a 
hurried  knocking  at  the  outer  door  arrested  the  words  on 
my  lips. 

Signing  to  her  to  stand  still,  I  listened.  The  knocking 
was  repeated,  and  grew  each  moment  more  urgent.  There 
was  a  little  grille,  strongly  wired,  in  the  upper  part  of  the 
door,  and  this  I  was  about  to  open  in  order  to  learn  what 
was  amiss,  when  Simon's  voice  reached  me  from  the  far- 
ther side  imploring  me  to  open  the  door  quickly.  Doubt- 
ing the  lad's  prudence,  yet  afraid  to  refuse  lest  I  should 
lose  some  warning  he  had  to  give,  I  paused  a  second,  and 
then  undid  the  fastenings.  The  moment  the  door  gave  way 
he  fell  in  bodily,  crying  out  to  me  to  bar  it  behind  him.  I 
caught  a  glimpse  through  the  gap  of  a  glare  as  of  torches, 
and  saw  by  this  light  half  a  dozen  flushed  faces  in  the  act 
of  rising  above  the  edge  of  the  landing.  The  men  who 
owned  them  raised  a  shout  of  triumph  at  sight  of  me,  and, 
clearing  the  upper  steps  at  a  bound,  made  a  rush  for  the 
door.  But  in  vain.  We  had  just  time  to  close  it  and  drop 
the  two  stout  bars.  In  a  moment,  in  a  second,  the  fierce 
outcry  fell  to  a  dull  roar;  and  safe  for  the  time,  we  had 
leisure  to  look  in  one  another's  faces  and  learn  the  different 
aspects  of  alarm.  Madame  was  white  to  the  lips,  while 
Simon's  eyes  seemed  starting  from  his  head,  and  he  shook 
in  every  limb  with  terror. 

At  first,  on  my  asking  him  what  it  meant,  he  could  not 
speak.  But  that  would  not  do,  and  I  was  in  the  act  of  seiz- 
ing him  by  the  collar  to  force  an  answer  from  him  when  the 
inner  door  opened,  and  the  king  came  out,  his  face  wearing 
an  air  of  so  much  cheerfulness  as  proved  both  his  satisfac- 
tion with  mademoiselle's  story  and  his  ignorance  of  all  we 
were  about.  In  a  word  he  had  not  yet  taken  the  least 
alarm;  but  seeing  Simon  in  my  hands,  and  madame  leaning 
against  the  wall  by  the  door  like  one  deprived  of  life,  he 
stood  and  cried  out  in  surprise  to  know  what  it  was. 

'I  fear  we  are  besieged,  sire/  I  answered   desperately, 


A  ROYAL  PERIL  269 

feeling  my  anxieties  increased  a  hundredfold  by  his  appear- 
ance— 'but  by  whom  I  cannot  say.  This  lad  knows,  how- 
ever,' I  continued,  giving  Simon  a  vicious  shake,  'and  he 
shall  speak.  Now,  trembler,'  I  said  to  him,  'tell  your 
tale?' 

'The  Provost-Marshal!'  he  stammered,  terrified  afresh 
by  the  king's  presence:  for  Henry  had  removed  his  mask. 
'I  was  on  guard  below.  I  had  come  up  a  few  steps  to  be 
out  of  the  cold,  when  I  heard  them  enter.  There  are  a 
round  score  of  them. ' 

I  cried  out  a  great  oath,  asking  him  why  he  had  not  gone 
up  and  warned  Maignan,  who  with  his  men  was  now  cut  off 
from  us  in  the  rooms  above.  '  You  fool ! '  I  continued, 
almost  beside  myself  with  rage,  'if  you  had  not  come  to 
this  door  they  would  have  mounted  to  my  rooms  and  beset 
them!  What  is  this  folly  about  the  Provost-Marshal?  ' 

'He  is  there,'  Simon  answered,  cowering  away  from  me, 
his  face  working. 

I  thought  he  was  lying,  and  had  merely  fancied  this  in 
his  fright.  But  the  assailants  at  this  moment  began  to 
hail  blows  on  the  door,  calling  on  us  to  open,  and  using 
such  volleys  of  threats  as  penetrated  even  the  thickness  of 
the  oak;  driving  the  blood  from  the  women's  cheeks,  and 
arresting  the  king's  step  in  a  manner  which  did  not  escape 
me.  Among  their  cries  I  could  plainly  distinguish  the 
words,  'In  the  king's  name! '  which  bore  out  Simon's  state- 
ment. 

At  the  moment  I  drew  comfort  from  this ;  for  if  we  had 
merely  to  deal  with  the  law  we  had  that  on  our  side  which 
was  above  it.  And  I  speedily  made  up  my  mind  what  to 
do.  'I  think  the  lad  speaks  the  truth,  sire,'  I  said  coolly. 
'This  is  only  your  Majesty's  Provost-Marshal.  The  worst 
to  be  feared,  therefore,  is  that  he  may  learn  your  presence 
here  before  you  would  have  it  known.  It  should  not  be  a 
matter  of  great  difficulty,  however,  to  bind  him  to  silence, 
and  if  you  will  please  to  mask,  I  will  open  the  grille  and 
speak  with  him.' 


270  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

The  king,  who  had  taken  his  stand  in  the  middle  of  the 
room,  and  seemed  dazed  and  confused  by  the  suddenness  of 
the  alarm  and  the  uproar,  assented  with  a  brief  word.  Ac- 
cordingly I  was  preparing  to  open  the  grille  when  Madame 
de  Bruhl  seized  my  arm,  and  forcibly  pushed  me  back 
from  it. 

'What  would  you  do? '  she  cried,  her  face  full  of  terror. 
'Do  you  not  hear?  He  is  there.' 

'Who  is  there?'  I  said,  startled  more  by  her  manner 
than  her  words. 

'Who?'  she  answered;  'who  should  be  there?  My  hus- 
band! I  hear  his  voice,  I  tell  you!  He  has  tracked  me 
here !  He  has  found  me,  and  will  kill  me ! ' 

'God  forbid! '  I  said,  doubting  if  she  had  really  heard  his 
voice.  To  make  sure,  I  asked  Simon  if  he  had  seen  him; 
and  my  heart  sank  when  I  heard  from  him  too  that  Bruhl 
was  of  the  party.  For  the  first  time  I  became  fully  sensi- 
ble of  the  danger  which  threatened  us.  For  the  first  time, 
looking  round  the  ill-lit  room  on  the  women's  terrified  faces, 
and  the  king's  masked  figure  instinct  with  ill-repressed 
nervousness,  I  recognised  how  hopelessly  we  were  en- 
meshed. Fortune  had  served  Bruhl  so  well  that,  whether 
he  knew  it  or  not,  he  had  us  all  trapped — alike  the  king 
whom  he  desired  to  compromise,  and  his  wife  whom  he 
hated,  mademoiselle  who  had  once  escaped  him,  and  me  who 
had  twice  thwarted  him.  It  was  little  to  be  wondered  at 
if  my  courage  sank  as  I  looked  from  one  to  another,  and 
listened  fco  the  ominous  creaking  of  the  door,  as  the  stout 
panels  complained  under  the  blows  rained  upon  them. 
For  my  first  duty,  and  that  which  took  the^os  of  all  others, 
was  to  the  king — to  save  him  harmless.  How,  then,  was  I 
to  be  answerable  for  mademoiselle,  how  protect  Madame  de 
Bruhl? — how,  in  a  word,  redeem  all  those  pledges  in  which 
my  honour  was  concerned? 

It  was  the  thought  of  the  Provost-Marshal  which  at  this 
moment  rallied  my  failing  spirits.  I  remembered  that 
until  the  mystery  of  his  presence  here  in  alliance  with 


A  ROYAL  PERIL  271 

Bruhl  was  explained  there  was  no  need  to  despair;  and 
turning  briskly  to  the  king  I  begged  him  to  favour  me  by 
standing  with  the  women  in  a  corner  which  was  not  visible 
from  the  door.  lie  complied  mechanically,  and  in  a  manner 
which  I  did  not  like;  but  lacking  time  to  weigh  trifles,  I 
turned  to  the  grille  and  opened  it  without  more  ado. 

The  appearance  of  my  face  at  the  trap  was  greeted  with  a 
savage  cry  of  recognition,  which  subsided  as  quickly  into 
silence.  It  was  followed  by  a  momentary  pushing  to  and 
fro  among  the  crowd  outside,  which  in  its  turn  ended  in  the 
Provost-Marshal  coming  to  the  front.  'In  the  king's 
name ! '  he  said  fussily. 

' What  is  it? '  I  replied,  eyeing  rather  the  flushed,  eager 
faces  which  scowled  over  his  shoulders  than  himself.  The 
light  of  two  links,  borne  by  some  of  the  party,  shone  rud- 
dily  on  the  heads  of  the  halberds,  and,  flaring  up  from  time 
to  time,  filled  all  the  place  with  wavering,  smoky  light. 
'What  do  you  want? '  I  continued,  'rousing  my  lodging  at 
this  time  of  night? ' 

'I  hold  a  warrant  for  your  arrest,'  he  replied  bluntly. 
'Resistance  will  be  vain.  If  you  do  not  surrender  I  shall 
send  for  a  ram  to  break  in  the  door.' 

'Where  is  your  order?'  I  said  sharply.  'The  one  you 
held  this  morning  was  cancelled  by  the  king  himself.' 

'Suspended  only,'  he  answered.  'Suspended  only.  It 
was  given  out  to  me  again  this  evening  for  instant  execu- 
tion. And  I  am  here  in  pursuance  of  it,  and  call  on  you  to 
surrender. ' 

'Who  delivered  it  to  you? '  I  retorted. 

'M.  de  Villeqtiier, '  he  answered  readily.  'And  here  it 
is.  Now,  come,  sir,'  he  continued,  'you  are  only  making 
matters  worse.  Open  to  us.' 

'Before  I  do  so,'  I  said  drily,  'I  should  like  to  know  what 
part  in  the  pageant  my  friend  M.  de  Bruhl,  whom  I  see  on 
the  stairs  yonder,  proposes  to  play.  Arid  there  is  my  old 
friend  Fresnoy,'  I  added.  'And  I  see  one  or  two  others 
whom  I  know,  M.  Provost.  Before  I  surrender  I  must 


272  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

know  among  other  things  what  M.  de  Bruhl's  business  is 
here.' 

'It  is  the  business  of  every  loyal  man  to  execute  the 
king's  warrant,'  the  Provost  answered  evasively.  'It  is 
yours  to  surrender,  and  mine  to  lodge  you  in  the  Castle. 
But  I  am  loth  to  have  a  disturbance.  I  will  give  you  until 
that  torch  goes  out,  if  you  like,  to  make  up  your  mind. 
At  the  end  of  that  time,  if  you  do  not  surrender,  I  shall 
batter  down  the  door. ' 

'You  will  give  the  torch  fair  play?'  I  said,  noting  its 
condition. 

He  assented;  and  thanking  him  sternly  for  this  indul- 
gence, I  closed  the  grille. 


CHAPTER   XXV. 

TERMS    OF    SURRENDER. 

I  STILL  had  my  hand  on  the  trap  when  a  touch  on  the 
shoulder  caused  me  to  turn,  and  in  a  moment  apprised  me 
of  the  imminence  of  a  new  peril;  a  peril  of  such  a  kind 
that,  summoning  all  my  resolution,  I  could  scarcely  hope 
to  cope  with  it.  Henry  was  at  my  elbow.  He  had  taken 
off  his  mask,  and  a  single  glance  at  his  countenance  warned 
me  that  that  had  happened  of  which  I  had  already  felt 
some  fear.  The  glitter  of  intense  excitement  shone  in  his 
eyes.  His  face,  darkly-flushed  and  wet  with  sweat,  be- 
trayed overmastering  emotion,  while  his  teeth,  tight 
clenched  in  the  effort  to  restrain  the  fit  of  trembling  which 
possessed  him,  showed  between  his  lips  like  those  of  a 
corpse.  The  novelty  of  the  danger  which  menaced  him, 
the  absence  of  his  gentlemen,  and  of  all  the  familiar  faces 
and  surroundings  without  which  he  never  moved,  the  hour, 
the  mean  house,  and  his  isolation  among  strangers,  had 
roved  too  much  for  nerves  long  weakened  by  his  course  of 


TERMS  OF  SURRENDER  273 

living,  and  for  a  courage,  proved  indeed  in  the  field,  but 
unequal  to  a  sudden  stress.  Though  he  still  strove  to  pre- 
serve his  dignity,  it  was  alarmingly  plain  to  my  eyes  that 
he  was  on  the  point  of  losing,  if  he  had  not  already  lost, 
all  self-command. 

'Open!'  he  muttered  between  his  teeth,  pointing  impa- 
tiently to  the  trap  with  the  hand  with  which  he  had  already 
touched  me.  'Open,  I  say,  sir! ' 

I  stared  at  him,  startled  and  confounded.  'But  your 
Majesty,'  I  ventured  to  stammer,  'forgets  that  I  have  not 
yet ' 

'Open,  I  say!'  he  repeated  passionately.  'Do  you  hear 
me,  sir?  I  desire  that  this  door  be  opened.'  His  lean 
hand  shook  as  with  the  palsy,  so  that  the  gems  on  it 
twinkled  in  the  light  and  rattled  as  he  spoke. 

I  looked  helplessly  from  him  to  the  women  and  back 
again,  seeing  in  a  flash  all  the  dangers  which  might 
follow  from  the  discovery  of  his  presence  there — dangers 
which  I  had  not  before  formulated  to  myself,  but  which 
seemed  in  a  moment  to  range  themselves  with  the  utmost 
clearness  before  my  eyes.  At  the  same  time  I  saw  what 
seemed  to  me  to  be  a  way  of  escape ;  and  emboldened  by 
the  one  and  the  other,  I  kept  my  hand  on  the  trap  and 
strove  to  parley  with  him. 

'Nay,  but,  sire,'  I  said  hurriedly,  yet  still  with  as  much 
deference  as  I  could  command,  'I  beg  you  to  permit  me 
first  to  repeat  what  I  have  seen.  M.  de  Bruhl  is  without, 
and  I  counted  six  men  whom  I  believe  to  be  his  following. 
They  are  ruffians  ripe  for  any  crime;  and  I  implore  your 
Majesty  rather  to  submit  to  a  short  imprisonment ' 

I  paused  struck  dumb  on  that  word,  confounded  by  the 
passion  which  lightened  in  the  king's  face.  My  ill-chosen 
expression  had  indeed  applied  the  spark  to  his  wrath. 
Predisposed  to  suspicion  by  a  hundred  treacheries,  he 
forgot  the  perils  outside  in  the  one  idea  which  on  the 
instant  possessed  his  mind;  that  I  would  confine  his  person, 
and  had  brought  him  hither  for  no  other  purpose.  He 


274  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

glared  round  him  with  eyes  full  of  rage  and  fear,  and  his 
trembling  lips  breathed  rather  than  spoke  the  word  'Im- 
prison? ' 

Unluckily,  a  trifling  occurrence  added  at  this  moment  to 
his  disorder,  and  converted  it  into  frenzy.  Someone  out- 
side fell  heavily  against  the  door;  this,  causing  madame  to 
utter  a  low  shriek,  seemed  to  shatter  the  last  remnant  of  the 
king's  self-control.  Stamping  his  foot  on  the  floor,  he 
cried  to  me  with  the  utmost  wildness  to  open  the  door — \>y 
which  I  had  hitherto  kept  my  place. 

But,  wrongly  or  rightly,  I  was  still  determined  to  put  off 
opening  it;  and  I  raised  my  hands  with  the  intention  of 
making  a  last  appeal  to  him.  He  misread  the  gesture,  and 
retreating  a  step,  with  the  greatest  suddenness  whipped 
out  his  sword,  and  in  a  moment  had  the  point  at  my  breast, 
and  his  wrist  drawn  back  to  thrust. 

It  has  always  been  my  belief  that  he  would  not  have  dealt 
the  blow,  but  that  the  mere  touch  of  the  hilt,  awaking  the 
courage  which  he  undoubtedly  possessed,  and  which  did  not 
desert  him  in  his  last  moments,  would  have  recalled  him  to 
himself.  But  the  opportunity  was  not  given  him,  for  while 
the  blade  yet  quivered,  and  I  stood  motionless,  controlling 
myself  by  an  effort,  my  knee  half  bent  and  my  eyes  on  his, 
Mademoiselle  de  la  Vire  sprang  forward  at  his  back,  and 
with  a  loud  scream  clutched  his  elbow.  The  king,  sur- 
prised, and  ignorant  who  held  him,  flung  up  his  point 
wildly,  and  striking  the  lamp  above  his  head  with  his 
blade,  shattered  it  in  an  instant,  bringing  down  the  pottery 
with  a  crash  and  reducing  the  room  to  darkness;  while  the 
screams  of  the  women,  and  the  knowledge  that  we  had  ?- 
madman  among  us,  peopled  the  blackness  with  a  hundred 
horrors. 

Fearing  above  all  for  mademoiselle,  I  made  my  way  a? 
soon  as  I  could  recover  my  wits  to  the  embers  of  the  fire, 
and  regardless  of  the  king's  sword,  which  I  had  a  vague 
idea  was  darting  about  in  the  darkness,  I  searched  for  and 
found  a  half-burnt  stick,  Avhich  I  blew  into  a  blaze.  With 


TERMS  OF  SURRENDER  275 

this,  still  keeping  my  back  to  the  room,  I  contrived  to 
light  a  taper  that  I  had  noticed  standing  by  the  hearth;  and 
then,  and  then  only,  I  turned  to  see  what  I  had  to  confront. 

Mademoiselle  de  la  Vire  stood  in  a  corner,  half-fierce, 
half-terrified,  and  wholly  flushed.  She  had  her  hand 
wrapped  up  in  a  'kerchief  already  stained  with  blood;  and 
from  this  I  gathered  that  the  king  in  his  frenzy  had 
wounded  her  slightly.  Standing  before  her  mistress,  with 
her  hair  bristling,  like  a  wild-cat's  fur,  and  her  arms 
akimbo,  was  Fanchette,  her  harsh  face  and  square  form 
instinct  with  fury  and  defiance.  Madame  de  Bruhl  and 
Simon  cowered  against  the  wall  not  far  from  them ;  and  in 
a  chair,  into  which  he  had  apparently  just  thrown  himself, 
sat  the  king,  huddled  up  and  collapsed,  the  point  of  his 
sword  trailing  on  the  ground  beside  him,  and  his  nerveless 
hand  scarce  retaining  force  to  grip  the  pommel. 

In  a  moment  I  made  up  my  mind  what  to  do,  and  going 
to  him  in  silence,  I  laid  my  pistols,  sword,  and  dagger  on 
a  stool  by  his  side.  Then  I  knelt. 

'The  door,  sire,'  I  said,  'is  there.  It  is  for  your  Majesty 
to  open  it  when  you  please.  Here,  too,  sire,  are  my  weap- 
ons. I  am  your  prisoner,  the  Provost-Marshal  is  outside, 
and  you  can  at  a  word  deliver  me  to  him.  Only  one  thing 
I  beg,  sire,'  I  continued  earnestly,  'that  your  Majesty  will 
treat  as  a  delusion  the  idea  that  I  meditated  for  a  moment 
disrespect  or  violence  to  your  person.' 

He  looked  at  me  dully,  his  face  pale,  his  eyes  fish-like. 
'Sanctus,  man ! '  he  muttered,  'why  did  you  raise  your  hand? ' 

'Only  to  implore  your  Majesty  to  pause  a  moment,'  I  an- 
swered, watching  the  intelligence  return  slowly  to  his  face. 
'If  you  will  deign  to  listen  I  can  explain  in  half  a  dozen 
words,  sire.  M.  de  Bruhl's  men  are  six  or  seven,  the  Pro- 
vost has  eight  or  nine;  but  the  former  are  the  wilder 
blades,  and  if  M.  de  Bruhl  find  your  Majesty  in  my  lodg- 
ing, and  infer  his  own  defeat,  he  will  be  capable  of  any 
desperate  stroke.  Your  person  would  hardly  be  safe  in 
his  company  through  the  streets.  And  there  is  another 

82 


276  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

consideration,'  I  went  on,  observing  with  joy  that  the 
king  listened,  and  was  gradually  regaining  his  composure. 
'That  is,  the  secrecy  you  desired  to  preserve,  sire,  until  this 
matter  should  be  well  advanced.  M.  de  Rosny  laid  the 
strictest  injunctions  on  me  in  that  respect,  fearing  an 
dmeute  in  Blois  should  your  Majesty's  plans  become  known.' 

'You  speak  fairly,'  the  king  answered  with  returning 
energy,  though  he  avoided  looking  at  the  women.  'Bruhl 
is  likely  enough  to  raise  one.  But  how  am  I  to  get  out, 
sir?'  he  continued,  querulously.  'I  cannot  remain  here. 
I  shall  be  missed,  man!  I  am  not  a  hedge-captain,  neither 
sought  nor  wanted! ' 

'If  your  Majesty  would  trust  me?'  I  said  slowly  and 
with  hesitation. 

'Trust  you! '  he  retorted  peevishly,  holding  up  his  hands 
and  gazing  intently  at  his  nails,  of  the  shape  and  white- 
ness of  which  he  was  prouder  than  any  woman.  'Have  I 
not  trusted  you?  If  I  had  not  trusted  you,  should  I  have 
been  here?  But  that  you  were  a  Huguenot — God  forgive 
me  for  saying  it! — I  would  have  seen  you  in  hell  before  I 
would  have  come  here  with  you ! ' 

I  confess  to  having  heard  this  testimony  to  the  Eeligion 
with  a  pride  which  made  me  forget  for  a  moment  the  im- 
mediate circumstances — the  peril  in  which  we  stood,  the 
gloomy  room  darkly  lighted  by  a  single  candle,  the  scared 
faces  in  the  background,  even  the  king's  huddled  figure,  in 
which  dejection  and  pride  struggled  for  expression.  For  a 
moment  only;  then  I  hastened  to  reply,  saying  that  I 
doubted  not  I  could  still  extricate  his  Majesty  without  dis- 
covery. 

'In  Heaven's  name  do  it,  then! '  he  answered  sharply. 
'Do  what  you  like,  man!  Only  get  me  back  into  the  castle, 
and  it  shall  not  be  a  Huguenot  will  entice  me  out  again.  I 
am  over  old  for  these  adventures ! ' 

A  fresh  attack  on  the  door  taking  place  as  he  said  this 
induced  me  to  lose  no  time  in  explaining  my  plan,  which 
he  was  good  enough  to  approve,  after  again  upbraiding  me 


TERMS  OF  SURRENDER  277 

for  bringing  him  into  such  a  dilemma.  Fearing  lest  the 
door  should  give  way  prematurely,  notwithstanding  the 
bars  I  had  provided  for  it,  and  goaded  on  by  Madame  de 
Bruhl's  face,  which  evinced  the  utmost  terror,  I  took  the 
candle  and  attended  his  Majesty  into  the  inner  room;  where 
I  placed  my  pistols  beside  him,  but  silently  resumed  my 
sword  and  dagger.  I  then  returned  for  the  women,  and 
indicating  by  signs  that  they  were  to  enter,  held  the  door 
open  for  them. 

Mademoiselle,  whose  bandaged  hand  I  could  not  regard 
without  emotion,  though  the  king's  presence  and  the  respect 
I  owed  him  forbade  me  to  utter  so  much  as  a  word,  ad- 
vanced readily  until  she  reached  the  doorway  abreast  of  me. 
There,  however,  looking  back,  and  seeing  Madame  de  Bruhl 
following  her,  she  stopped  short,  and  darting  a  haughty 
glance  at  me,  muttered,  'And — that  lady?  Are  we  to  be 
shut  up  together,  sir?  ' 

'Mademoiselle,'  I  answered  quickly  in  the  low  tone  she 
had  used  herself,  'have  I  ever  asked  anything  dishonoura- 
ble of  you? ' 

She  seemed  by  a  slight  movement  of  the  head  to  answer 
in  the  negative. 

'Nor  do  I  now,'  I  replied  with  earnestness.  'I  entrust 
to  your  care  a  lady  who  has  risked  great  peril  for  us;  and 
the  rest  I  leave  to  you. ' 

She  looked  me  very  keenly  in  the  face  for  a  second,  and 
then,  without  answering,  she  passed  on,  Madame  and  Fan- 
chette  following  her  in  that  order.  I  closed  the  door  and 
turned  to  Simon;  who  by  my  direction  had  blown  the 
embers  of  the  fire  into  a  blaze  so  as  to  partially  illumine 
the  room,  in  which  only  he  and  I  now  remained.  The  lad 
seemed  afraid  to  meet  my  eye,  and  owing  to  the  scene  at 
which  he  had  just  assisted,  or  to  the  onslaught  on  the  door, 
which  grew  each  moment  more  furious,  betrayed  greater 
restlessness  than  I  had  lately  observed  in  him.  I  did  not 
doubt  his  fidelity,  however,  or  his  devotion  to  mademoi- 
selle ;  and  the  orders  I  had  to  give  him  were  simple  enough. 


^,78  A   GENTLEMAN"  OF  FRANCE 

'This  is  what  you  have  got  to  do,'  I  said,  my  hand  already 
on  the  bars.  'The  moment  I  am  outside  secure  this  door. 
After  that,  open  to  no  one  except  Maignan.  AVhen  he 
applies,  let  him  in  with  caution,  and  bid  him,  as  he  loves 
M.  de  Kosny,  take  his  men  as  soon  as  the  coast  is  clear, 
and  guard  the  King  of  France  to  the  castle.  Charge  him  to 
be  brave  and  wary,  for  his  life  will  answer  for  the  king's.7 

Twice  I  repeated  this;  then  fearing  lest  the  Provost- 
Marshal  should  make  good  his  word  and  apply  a  ram  to  the 
door,  I  opened  the  trap.  A  dozen  angry  voices  hailed  my 
appearance,  and  this  with  so  much  violence  and  impatience 
that  it  was  some  time  before  I  could  get  a  hearing;  the 
knaves  threatening  me  if  I  would  not  instantly  open,  and 
persisting  that  I  should  do  so  without  more  words.  Their 
leader  at  length  quieted  them,  but  it  was  plain  that  his 
patience  too  was  worn  out.  'Do  you  surrender  or  do  you 
aot?'  he  said.  'I  am  not  going  to  stay  out  of  my  bed  all 
night  for  you ! ' 

'I  warn  you,'  I  answered,  'that  the  order  you  have  there 
has  been  cancelled  by  the  king! ' 

'That  is  not  my  business,'  he  rejoined  hardily. 

'No,  but  it  will  be  when  the  king  sends  for  you  to-morrow 
morning, '  I  retorted ;  at  which  he  looked  somewhat  moved. 
'However,  I  will  surrender  to  you  on  two  conditions,'  I 
continued,  keenly  observing  the  coarse  faces  of  his  follow- 
ing. 'First,  that  you  let  me  keep  my  arms  until  we  reach 
the  gate-house,  I  giving  you  my  parole  to  come  with  you 
quietly.  That  is  number  one.' 

'Well,'  the  Provost-Marshal  said  more  civilly,  'I  have 
no  objection  to  that.' 

'Secondly,  that  you  do  not  allow  your  men  to  break  into 
my  lodgings.  I  will  come  out  quietly,  and  so  an  end. 
Your  order  does  not  direct  you  to  sack  my  goods.' 

^Tut,  tut! '  he  replied;  'I  want  you  to  come  out.  I  do 
not  want  to  go  in.' 

'Then  draw  your  men  back  to  the  stairs,'  I  said.  'And 
if  you  keep  terms  with  me,  I  will  uphold  you  to-morrow. 


TERMS  OF  SURRENDER  279 

For  your  orders'  will  certainly  bring  you  into  tro\  ble.  M. 
de  Retz,  who  procured  it  this  morning,  is  away,  you  know. 
M.  de  Villequier  may  be  gone  to-morrow.  But  depend 
upon  it,  M.  de  Rambouillet  will  be  here! ' 

The  remark  was  well  timed  and  to  the  point.  It  startled 
the  man  as  much  as  I  had  hoped  it  would.  Without  rais- 
ing any  objection  he  ordered  his  men  to  fall  back  and  guard 
the  stairs ;  and  I  on  my  side  began  to  undo  the  fastenings 
of  the  door. 

The  matter  was  not  to  be  so  easily  concluded,  however; 
for  Bruhl's  rascals,  in  obedience,  no  doubt,  to  a  sign  given 
by  their  leader,  who  stood  with  Fresnoy  on  the  upper  flight 
of  stairs,  refused  to  withdraw ;  and  even  hustled  the  Pro- 
vost-Marshal's men  when  the  latter  would  have  obeyed  the 
order.  The  officer,  already  heated  by  delay,  replied  by  lay- 
ing about  him  with  his  staff,  and  in  a  twinkling  there 
seemed  to  be  every  prospect  of  a  very  pretty  m£lee,  the  end 
of  which  it  was  impossible  to  foresee. 

Reflecting,  however,  that  if  Bruhl's  men  routed  their 
opponents  our  position  might  be  made  worse  rather  than 
better,  I  did  not  act  on  my  first  impulse,  which  was  to  see 
the  matter  out  where  I  was.  Instead,  I  seized  the  oppor- 
tunity to  let  myself  out,  while  Simon  fastened  the  door  be- 
hind me.  The  Provost-Marshal  was  engaged  at  the  moment 
in  a  wordy  dispute  with  Fresnoy;  whose  villainous  coun- 
tenance, scarred  by  the  wound  which  I  had  given  him  at 
Chize,  and  flushed  with  passion,  looked  its  worst  by  the 
light  of  the  single  torch  which  remained.  In  one  respect 
the  villain  had  profited  by  his  present  patronage,  for  he 
was  decked  out  in  a  style  of  tawdry  magnificence.  But  I 
have  always  remarked  this  about  dress,  that  while  a  shabby 
exterior  does  not  entirely  obscure  a  gentleman,  the  extreme 
of  fashion  is  powerless  to  gild  a  knave. 

Seeing  me  on  a  sudden  at  the  Provost's  elbow,  he  recoiled 
with  a  change  of  countenance  so  ludicrous  that  that  officer 
was  himself  startled,  and  only  held  his  ground  on  my 
saluting  him  civilly  and  declaring  myself  his  prisoner.  I 


280  A   GENTLEMAN-  OF  FRANCE 

added  a,  warning  that  he  should  look  to  the  torch  which 
remained;  seeing  that  if  it  failed  we  were  both  like  to 
have  our  throats  cut  in  the  confusion. 

He  took  the  hint  promptly,  and  calling  the  link-man  to 
his  side  prepared  to  descend,  bidding  Fresnoy  and  his  men, 
who  remained  clumped  at  the  head  of  the  stairs,  make  way 
for  us  without  ado.  They  seemed  much  inclined,  however, 
to  dispute  our  passage,  and  replying  to  his  invectives  with 
rough  taunts,  displayed  so  hostile  a  demeanour  that  the 
Provost,  between  regard  for  his  own  importance  and  respect 
for  Bruhl,  appeared  for  a  moment  at  a  loss  what  to  do ;  and 
seemed  rather  relieved  than  annoyed  when  I  begged  leave 
to  say  a  word  to  M.  de  Bruhl. 

'If  you  can  bring  his  men  to  reason,'  he  replied  testily, 
'speak  your  fill  to  him! ' 

Stepping  to  the  foot  of  the  upper  flight,  on  which  Bruhl 
retained  his  position,  I  saluted  him  formally.  He  returned 
my  greeting  with  a  surly,  watchful  look  only,  and  draw- 
ing his  cloak  more  tightly  round  him  affected  to  gaze  down 
at  me  with  disdain ;  which  ill  concealed,  however,  both  the 
triumph  he  felt  and  the  hopes  of  vengeance  he  entertained. 
I  was  especially  anxious  to  learn  whether  he  had  tracked 
his  wife  hither,  or  was  merely  here  in  pursuance  of  his 
general  schemes  against  me,  and  to  this  end  I  asked  him 
with  as  much  irony  as  I  could  compass  to  what  I  was  to 
attribute  his  presence.  'I  am  afraid  I  cannot  stay  to  offer 
you  hospitality,'  I  continued;  'but  for  that  you  have  only 
your  friend  M.  Villequier  to  thank ! ' 

'I  am  greatly  obliged  to  you,'  he  answered  with  a  devil- 
ish smile,  'but  do  not  let  that  affect  you.  When  you  are 
gone  I  propose  to  help  myself,  my  friend,  to  whatever  takes 
my  taste.' 

'Do  you?'  I  retorted  coolly — not  that  I  was  unaffected 
by  the  threat  and  the  villainous  hint  which  underlay  the 
words,  but  that,  fully  expecting  them,  I  was  ready  with  my 
answer.  'We  will  see  about  that.'  And  therewith  I 
raised  my  fingers  to  my  lips,  and,  whistling  shrilly,  criea 
'Maignan!  Maignan! '  in  a  clear  voice. 


.  TERMS  OF  SURRENDER  281 

1  had  no  need  to  cry  the  name  a  third  time,  for  before 
the  Provost-Marshal  could  do  more  than  start  at  this  unex- 
pected action,  the  landing  above  us  rang  under  a  heavy 
tread,  and  the  man  I  called,  descending  the  stairs  swiftly, 
appeared  on  a  sudden  within  arm's  length  of  M.  de  Bruhl ; 
who,  turning  with  an  oath,  saw  him,  and  involuntarily 
recoiled.  At  all  times  Maignan's  hardy  and  confident 
bearing  was  of  a  kind  to  impress  the  strong;  but  on  this 
occasion  there  was  an  added  dash  of  recklessness  in  his 
manner  which  was  not  without  its  effect  on  the  spectators. 
As  he  stood  there  smiling  darkly  over  Bruhl's  head,  while 
his  hand  toyed  carelessly  with  his  dagger,  and  the  torch 
shone  ruddily  on  his  burly  figure,  he  was  so  clearly  an 
antagonist  in  a  thousand  that,  had  I  sought  through  Blois, 
I  might  not  have  found  his  fellow  for  strength  and  sang- 
froid. He  let  his  black  eyes  rove  from  one  to  the  other, 
but  took  heed  of  me  only,  saluting  me  with  effusion  and 
a  touch  of  the  Gascon  which  was  in  place  here,  if  ever. 

I  knew  how  M.  de  Eosny  dealt  with  him,  and  followed 
the  pattern  as  far  as  I  could.  'Maignan! '  I  said  curtly,  'I 
have  taken  a  lodging  for  to-night  elsewhere.  When  I  am 
gone  you  will  call  out  your  men  and  watch  this  door.  If 
anyone  tries  to  force  an  entrance  you  will  do  your  duty.' 

'You  may  consider  it  done,'  he  replied. 

'Even  if  the  person  be  M.  de  Bruhl  here,'  I  continued. 

'Precisely.' 

'You  will  remain  on  guard,'  I  went  on,  'until  to-morrow 
morning  if  M.  de  Bruhl  remains  here;  but  whenever  he 
leaves  you  will  take  your  orders  from  the  persons  inside, 
and  follow  them  implicitly. ' 

'Your  Excellency's  mind  may  be  easy,'  he  answered, 
handling  his  dagger. 

Dismissing  him  with  a  nod,  I  turned  with  a  smile  to  M. 
de  Bruhl,  and  saw  that  between  rage  at  this  unexpected 
check  and  chagrin  at  the  insult  put  upon  him,  his  discom- 
fiture was  as  complete  as  I  could  wish.  As  for  Eresnoy, 
if  he  had  seriously  intended  to  dispute  our  passage,  he  was 


282  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

no  longer  in  the  mood  for  the  attempt.  Yet  I  did  not  let 
his  master  off  without  one  more  prick.  'That  being  set- 
tled, M.  de  Bruhl,'  I  said  pleasantly,  'I  may  bid  you  good 
evening.  You  will  doubtless  honour  me  at  Chaverny  to- 
morrow. But  we  will  first  let  Maignan  look  under  the 
bridge ! ' 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

MEDITATIONS. 

EITHER  the  small  respect  I  had  paid  M.  de  Bruhl,  or  the 
words  I  had  let  fall  respecting  the  possible  disappearance 
of  M.  Villequier,  had  had  so  admirable  an  effect  on  the 
Provost-Marshal's  mind  that  from  the  moment  of  leaving 
my  lodgings  he  treated  me  with  the  utmost  civility;  per- 
mitting me  even  to  retain  my  sword,  and  assigning  me  a 
sleeping-place  for  the  night  in  his  own  apartments  at  the 
Gate-house. 

Late  as  it  was,  I  could  not  allow  so  much  politeness  to 
pass  unacknowledged.  I  begged  leave,  therefore,  to  dis- 
tribute a  small  gratuity  among  his  attendants,  and  re- 
quested him  to  do  me  the  honour  of  drinking  a  bottle  of 
wine  with  me.  This  being  speedily  procured,  at  such  an 
expense  as  is  usual  in  these  places,  where  prisoners  pay, 
according  as  they  are  rich  or  poor,  in  purse  or  person, 
kept  us  sitting  for  an  hour,  and  finally  sent  us  to  our  pal- 
lets perfectly  satisfied  with  one  another. 

The  events  of  the  day,  however,  and  particularly  one 
matter,  on  which  1  have  not  dwelt  at  length,  proved  as 
effectual  to  prevent  my  sleeping  as  if  I  had  been  placed  in 
the  dampest  cell  below  the  castle.  So  much  had  been 
crowded  into  a  time  so  short  that  it  seemed  as  if  I  had  had 
until  now  no  opportunity  of  considering  whither  I  was 
being  hurried,  or  what  fortune  awaited  me  at  the  end  of 
this  turmoil.  From  the  first  appearance  of  M.  d'Agen  in 


MED  IT  A  TIONS  283 

the  morning,  with  the  startling  news  that  the  Provost- 
Marshal  was  seeking  me,  to  my  final  surrender  and  encoun- 
ter with  Bruhl  on  the  stairs,  the  chain  of  events  had  run 
out  so  swiftly  that  I  had  scarcely  had  time  at  any  particu- 
lar period  to  consider  how  I  stood,  or  the  full  import  of  the 
latest  check  or  victory.  Now  that  I  had  leisure  I  lived  the 
day  over  again,  and,  recalling  its  dangers  and  disappoint- 
ments, felt  thankful  that  all  had  ended  so  fairly. 

I  had  the  most  perfect  confidence  in  Maignan,  and  did 
not  doubt  that  Bruhl  would  soon  weary,  if  he  had  not 
already  wearied,  of  a  profitless  siege.  In  an  hour  at  most 
— and  it  was  not  yet  midnight — the  king  would  be  free  to 
go  home;  and  with  that  would  end,  as  far  as  he  was  con- 
cerned, the  mission  with  which  M.  de  Rosny  had  honoured 
me.  The  task  of  communicating  his  Majesty's  decision  to 
the  King  of  Navarre  would  doubtless  be  entrusted  to  M.  de 
Rambouillet,  or  some  person  of  similar  position  and  influ- 
ence; and  in  the  same  hands  would  rest  the  honour  and 
responsibility  of  the  treaty  which,  as  we  all  know  now, 
gave  after  a  brief  interval  and  some  bloodshed,  and  one 
great  providence,  a  lasting  peace  to  France.  But  it  must 
ever  be — and  I  recognised  this  that  night  with  a  bounding 
heart,  which  told  of  some  store  of  youth  yet  unexhausted 
— a  matter  of  lasting  pride  to  me  that  I,  whose  career  but 
now  seemed  closed  in  failure,  had  proved  the  means  of 
conferring  so  especial  a  benefit  on  my  country  and  religion. 

Remembering,  however,  the  King  of  Navarre's  warning 
that  I  must  not  look  to  him  for  reward,  I  felt  greatly  doubt- 
ful in  what  direction  the  scene  would  next  open  to  me;  my 
main  dependence  being  upon  M.  de  Rosny's  promise  that 
he  would  make  my  fortune  his  own  care.  Tired  of  the 
Court  at  Blois,  and  the  atmosphere  of  intrigue  and  treach- 
ery which  pervaded  it,  and  with  which  I  hoped  I  had  now 
done,  I  was  still  at  a  loss  to  see  how  I  could  recross  the 
Loire  in  face  of  the  Vicomte  de  Turenne's  enmity.  I 
might  have  troubled  myself  much  more  with  speculating 
upon  this  point  had  I  not  found — in  close  connection  with 


284  A    GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

it — other  and  more  engrossing  food  for  thought  in  the 
capricious  behaviour  of  Mademoiselle  de  la  Vire. 

To  that  behaviour  it  seemed  to  me  that  I  now  held  the 
clue.  I  suspected  with  as  much  surprise  as  pleasure  that 
only  one  construction  could  be  placed  upon  it — a  construc- 
tion which  had  strongly  occurred  to  me  on  catching  sight 
of  her  face  when  she  intervened  between  me  and  the  king. 

Tracing  the  matter  back  to  the  moment  of  our  meeting  in 
the  antechamber  at  St.  Jean  d'Angely,  I  remembered  the 
jest  which  Mathurine  had  uttered  at  our  joint  expense. 
Doubtless  it  had  dwelt  in  mademoiselle's  mind,  and  excit- 
ing her  animosity  against  me  had  prepared  her  to  treat  me 
with  contumely  when,  contrary  to  all  probability,  we  met 
again,  and  she  found  herself  placed  in  a  manner  in  my 
hands.  It  had  inspired  her  harsh  words  and  harsher  looks 
on  our  journey  northwards,  and  contributed  with  her  native 
pride  to  the  low  opinion  I  had  formed  of  her  when  I  con- 
trasted her  with  my  honoured  mother. 

But  I  began  to  think  it  possible  that  the  jest  had  worked 
in  another  way  as  well,  by  keeping  me  before  her  mind  and 
impressing  upon  her  the  idea — after  my  re-appearance  at 
Chize  more  particularly — that  our  fates  were  in  some  way 
linked.  Assuming  this,  it  was  not  hard  to  understand  her 
manner  at  Rosny  when,  apprised  that  I  was  no  impostor, 
and  regretting  her  former  treatment  of  me,  she  still  re- 
coiled from  the  feelings  which  she  began  to  recognise  in 
her  own  breast.  From  that  time,  and  with  this  clue,  I  had 
no  difficulty  in  tracing  her  motives,  always  supposing  that 
this  suspicion,  upon  which  I  dwelt  with  feelings  of  wonder 
and  delight,  were  well  founded. 

Middle-aged  and  grizzled,  with  the  best  of  my  life  behind 
me,  I  had  never  dared  to  think  of  her  in  this  way  before. 
Poor  and  comparatively  obscure,  I  had  never  raised  my 
eyes  to  the  wide  possessions  said  to  be  hers.  Even  now  I 
felt  myself  dazzled  and  bewildered  by  the  prospect  so  sud- 
denly unveiled.  I  could  scarcely,  without  vertigo,  recall 
her  as  I  had  last  seen  her,  with  her  hand  wounded  in  my 


MEDITATIONS  285 

defence;  nor,  without  emotions  painful  in  their  intensity, 
fancy  myself  restored  to  the  youth  of  which  I  had  taken 
leave,  and  to  the  rosy  hopes  and  plannings  which  visit  most 
men  once  only,  and  then  in  early  years.  Hitherto  I  had 
deemed  such  things  the  lot  of  others. 

Daylight  found  me — and  no  wonder— -still  diverting  my- 
self with  these  charming  speculations;  which  had  for  me, 
be  it  remembered,  all  the  force  of  novelty.  The  sun  chanced 
to  rise  that  morning  in  a  clear  sky,  and  brilliantly  for  the 
time  of  year;  and  words  fail  me  when  I  look  back,  and  try 
to  describe  how  delicately  this  simple  fact  enhanced  my 
pleasure !  I  sunned  myself  in  the  beams,  which  penetrated 
my  barred  window;  and  tasting  the  early  freshness  with  a 
keen  and  insatiable  appetite,  I  experienced  to  the  full  that 
peculiar  aspiration  after  goodness  which  Providence  allows 
such  moments  to  awaken  in  us  in  youth;  but  rarely  when 
time  and  the  camp  have  blunted  the  sensibilities. 

I  had  not  yet  arrived  at  the  stage  at  which  difficulties 
have  to  be  reckoned  up,  and  the  chief  drawback  to  the 
tumult  of  joy  I  felt  took  the  shape  of  regret  that  my  mother 
no  longer  lived  to  feel  the  emotions  proper  to  the  time,  and 
to  share  in  the  prosperity  which  she  had  so  often  and  so 
fondly  imagined.  Nevertheless,  I  felt  myself  drawn  closer 
to  her.  I  recalled  with  the  most  tender  feelings,  and  at 
greater  leisure  than  had  before  been  the  case,  her  last  days 
and  words,  and  particularly  the  appeal  she  had  uttered  on 
mademoiselle's  behalf.  And  I  vowed,  if  it  were  possible,  to 
pay  a  visit  to  her  grave  before  leaving  the  neighbourhood, 
that  I  might  there  devote  a  few  moments  to  the  thought  of 
the  affection  which  had  consecrated  all  women  in  my  eyes. 

I  was  presently  interrupted  in  these  reflections  by  a  cir- 
cumstance which  proved  in  the  end  diverting  enough,  though 
far  from  reassuring  at  the  first  blush.  It  began  in  a  dism?1 
rattling  of  chains  in  the  passage  below  and  on  the  stairs 
outside  my  room;  which  were  paved,  like  the  rest  of  the 
building,  with  stone.  I  waited  with  impatience  and  some 
uneasiness  to  see  what  would  come  of  this;  and  my  sur- 


286  A    GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

prise  may  be  imagined  when,  the  door  being  unlocked, 
gave  entrance  to  a  man  in  whom  I  recognised  on  the  in- 
stant deaf  Matthew — the  villain  whom  I  had  last  seen  with 
Fresnoy  in  the  house  in  the  Rue  Valois.  Amazed  at  seeing 
him  here,  I  sprang  to  my  feet  in  fear  of  some  treachery, 
and  for  a  moment 'apprehended  that  the  Provost-Marshal 
had  basely  given  me  over  to  Bruhl's  custody.  But  a 
second  glance  informing  me  that  the  man  was  in  irons — 
hence  the  noise  I  had  heard — I  sat  down  again  to  see  what 
would  happen. 

It  then  appeared  that  he  merely  brought  me  my  break- 
fast, and  was  a  prisoner  in  less  fortunate  circumstances 
than  myself;  but  as  he  pretended  not  to  recognise  me,  and 
placed  the  things  before  me  in  obdurate  silence,  and  I  had 
no  power  to  make  him  hear,  I  failed  to  learn  how  he  came 
to  be  in  durance.  The  Provost-Marshal,  however,  came 
presently  to  visit  me,  and  brought  me  in  token  that  the 
good-fellowship  of  the  evening  still  existed  a  pouch  of  the 
Queen's  herb;  which  I  accepted  for  politeness'  sake  rather 
than  from  any  virtue  I  found  in  it.  And  from  him  I 
learned  how  the  rascal  came  to  be  in  his  charge. 

It  appeared  that  Fresnoy,  having  no  mind  to  be  hampered 
with  a  wounded  man,  had  deposited  him  on  the  night  of  our 
m&l6e  at  the  door  of  a  hospital  attached  to  a  religious  house 
in  that  part  or  the  town.  The  Fathers  had  opened  to  him, 
but  before  taking  him  in  put,  according  to  their  custom, 
certain  questions.  Matthew  had  been  primed  with  the 
right  answers  to  these  questions,  which  were  commonly  a 
form;  but,  unhappily  for  him,  the  Superior  by  chance  or 
mistake  began  with  the  wrong  one. 

'You  are  not  a  Huguenot,  my  son? '  he  said. 

'In  God's  name,  I  am! '  Matthew  replied  with  simplicity, 
believing  he  was  asked  if  he  was  a  Catholic. 

'What?'  the  scandalised  Prior  ejaculated,  crossing  him- 
self in  doubt,  'are  you  not  a  true  son  of  the  Church? ' 

'Never! '  quoth  our  deaf  friend — thinking  all  went  well 

'A  heretic ! '  cried  the  monk. 


MEDITATIONS  287 

'Amen  to  that!'  replied  Matthew  innocently;  never 
doubting  but  that  he  was  asked  the  third  question,  which 
was,  commonly,  whether  he  needed  aid. 

Naturally  after  this  there  was  a  very  pretty  commotion, 
and  Matthew,  vainly  protesting  that  he  was  deaf,  was  hur- 
ried off  to  the  Provost-Marshal's  custody.  Asked  how  he 
communicated  with  him,  the  Provost  answered  that  he 
could  not,  but  that  his  little  godchild,  a  girl  only  eight 
years  old,  had  taken  a  strange  fancy  to  the  rogue,  and  was 
never  so  happy  as  when  talking  to  him  by  means  of  signs, 
of  which  she  had  invented  a  great  number.  I  thought  this 
strange  at  the  time,  but  I  had  proof  before  the  morning 
was  out  that  it  was  true  enough,  and  that  the  two  were 
seldom  apart,  the  little  child  governing  this  grim  cut-throat 
with  unquestioned  authority. 

After  the  Provost  was  gone  I  heard  the  man's  fetters 
clanking  again.  This  time  he  entered  to  remove  my  cup 
and  plate,  and  surprised  me  by  speaking  to  me.  Maintain- 
ing his  former  sullenness,  and  scarcely  looking  at  me,  he 
said  abruptly:  'You  are  going  out  again? ' 

I  nodded  assent. 

'Do  you  remember  a  bald-faced  bay  horse  that  fell  with 
you? '  he  muttered,  keeping  his  dogged  glance  on  the  floor. 

I  nodded  again. 

'I  want  to  sell  the  horse,'  he  said.  'There  is  not  such 
another  in  Blois,  no,  nor  in  Paris !  Touch  it  on  the  near 
hip  with  the  whip  and  it  will  go  down  as  if  shot.  At  other 
times  a  child  might  ride  it.  It  is  in  a  stable,  the  third 
from  the  Three  Pigeons,  in  the  Ruelle  Amancy.  Fresnoy 
does  not  know  where  it  is.  He  sent  to  ask  yesterday,  but 
I  would  not  tell  him.' 

Some  spark  of  human  feeling  which  appeared  in  his  low- 
ering, brutal  visage  as  he  spoke  of  the  horse  led  me  to 
desire  further  information.  Fortunately  the  little  girl 
appeared  at  that  moment  at  the  door  in  search  of  her  play- 
fellow; and  through  her  I  learned  that  the  man's  motive 
for  seeking  to  sell  the  horse  was  fear  lest  the  dealer  in 


288  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

whose  charge  it  stood  should  dispose  of  it  to  repay  himself 
for  its  keep,  and  he,  Matthew,  lose  it  without  return. 

Still  I  did  not  understand  why  he  applied  to  me,  but  I 
was  well  pleased  when  I  learned  the  truth.  Base  as  the 
knave  was,  he  had  an  affection  for  the  bay,  which  had  been 
his  only  property  for  six  years.  Having  this  in  his  mind, 
he  had  conceived  the  idea  that  I  should  treat  it  well,  and 
should  not,  because  he  was  in  prison  and  powerless,  cheat 
him  of  the  price. 

In  the  end  I  agreed  to  buy  the  horse  for  ten  crowns,  pay- 
ing as  well  what  was  due  at  the  stable.  I  had  it  in  my 
head  to  do  something  also  for  the  man,  being  moved  to  this 
partly  by  an  idea  that  there  was  good  in  him,  and  partly 
by  the  confidence  he  had  seen  fit  to  place  in  me,  which 
seemed  to  deserve  some  return.  But  a  noise  below  stairs 
diverted  my  attention.  I  heard  myself  named,  and  for  the 
moment  forgot  the  matter. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 
TO  ME,  MY  FRIENDS! 

I  WAS  impatient  to  learn  who  had  come,  and  what  was 
their  errand  with  me;  and  being  still  in  that  state  of  ex- 
altation in  which  we  seem  to  hear  and  see  more  than  at 
other  times,  I  remarked  a  peculiar  lagging  in  the  ascending 
footsteps,  and  a  lack  of  buoyancy,  which  was  quick  to  com- 
municate itself  to  my  mind.  A  vague  dread  fell  upon  me 
as  I  stood  listening.  Before  the  door  opened  I  had  already 
conceived  a  score  of  disasters.  1  wondered  that  I  had  not 
inquired  earlier  concerning  the  king's  safety,  and  in  fine  I 
experienced  in  a  moment  that  complete  reaction  of  the 
spirits  which  is  too  frequently  consequent  upon  an  exces- 
sive flow  of  gaiety. 


TO  ME,  MY  FRIENDS!  289 

I  was  prepared,  therefore,  for  heavy  looks,  but  not  for 
the  persons  who  wore  them  nor  the  strange  bearing  the 
latter  displayed  on  entering.  My  visitors  proved  to  be  M. 
d'Agen  and  Simon  Fleix.  And  so  far  well.  But  the 
former,  instead  of  coming  forward  to  greet  me  with  the 
punctilious  politeness  which  always  characterised  him,  and 
which  I  had  thought  to  be  proof  against  every  kind  of  sur- 
prise and  peril,  met  me  with  downcast  eyes  and  a  counte- 
nance so  gloomy  as  to  augment  my  fears  a  hundredfold; 
since  it  suggested  all  those  vague  and  formidable  pains 
which  M.  de  Rambouillet  had  hinted  might  await  me  in  a 
prison.  I  thought  nothing  more  probable  than  the  en- 
trance after  them  of  a  gaoler  laden  with  gyves  and  hand- 
cuffs ;  and  saluting  M.  Franqois  with  a  face  which,  do  what 
I  would,  fashioned  itself  upon  his,  I  had  scarce  composure 
sufficient  to  place  the  poor  accommodation  of  my  room  at 
his  disposal. 

He  thanked  me ;  but  he  did  it  with  so  much  gloom  and 
so  little  naturalness  that  I  grew  more  impatient  with  each 
laboured  syllable.  Simon  Fleix  had  slunk  to  the  window 
and  turned  his  back  on  us.  Neither  seemed  to  have  any- 
thing to  say.  But  a  state  of  suspense  was  one  which  I 
could  least  endure  to  suffer;  and  impatient  of  the  con- 
straint which  my  friend's  manner  was  fast  imparting  to 
mine,  I  asked  him  at  once  and  abruptly  if  his  uncle  had 
returned. 

'He  rode  in  about  midnight,'  he  answered,  tracing  a  pat- 
tern on  the  floor  with  the  point  of  his  riding-switch. 

I  felt  some  surprise  on  hearing  this,  since  d'Agen  was 
still  dressed  and  armed  for  the  road,  and  was  without  all 
those  prettinesses  which  commonly  marked  his  attire.  But 
as  he  volunteered  no  further  information,  and  did  not  even 
refer  to  the  place  in  which  he  found  me,  or  question  me  as 
to  the  adventures  which  had  lodged  me  there,  I  let  it  pass, 
and  asked  him  if  his  party  had  overtaken  the  deserters. 

'Yes/  he  answered,  'with  no  result.' 

'And  the  king? ' 


290  A    GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

'M.  de  Rambouillet  is  with  him  now,'  he  rejoined,  still 
bending  over  his  tracing. 

This  answer  relieved  the  worst  of  my  anxieties,  but  the 
manner  of  the  speaker  was  so  distrait  and  so  rnnch  at  vari- 
ance with  the  studied  insouciance  which  he  usually  affected, 
that  I  only  grew  more  alarmed.  I  glanced  at  Simon  Fleix, 
but  he  kept  his  face  averted,  and  I  could  gather  nothing 
from  it;  though  I  observed  that  he,  too,  was  dressed  for 
the  road,  and  wore  his  arms.  I  listened,  but  I  could  hear 
no  sounds  which  indicated  that  the  Provost -Marshal  was 
approaching.  Then  on  a  sudden  I  thought  of  Mademoiselle 
de  la  Vire.  Could  it  be  that  Maignan  had  proved  unequal 
to  his  task? 

I  started  impetuously  from  my  stool  under  the  influence 
of  the  emotion  which  this  thought  naturally  aroused,  and 
seized  M.  d'Ageii  by  the  arm.  'What  has  happened?'  I 
exclaimed.  'Is  it  Bruhl?  Did  he  break  into  my  lodgings 
last  night?  What! '  I  continued,  staggering  back  as  I  read 
the  confirmation  of  my  fears  in  his  face.  'He  did? ' 

M.  d'Agen,  who  had  risen  also,  pressed  my  hand  with 
convulsive  energy.  Gazing  into  my  face,  he  held  me  a 
moment  thus  embraced,  his  manner  a  strange  mixture  of 
fierceness  and  emotion.  'Alas,  yes,'  he  answered,  'he  did, 
and  took  away  those  whom  he  found  there !  Those  whom 
he  found  there,  you  understand !  But  M.  de  Rambouillet 
is  on  his  way  here,  and  in  a  few  minutes  you  will  be  free. 
We  will  follow  together.  If  wa  overtake  them — well.  If 
not,  it  will  be  time  to  talk.' 

He  broke  off,  and  I  stood  looking  at  him,  stunned  by  the 
blow,  yet  in  the  midst  of  my  own  horror  and  surprise  re- 
taining sense  enough  to  wonder  at  the  gloom  on  his  brow 
and  the  passion  which  trembled  in  his  words.  What  had 
this  to  do  with  him?  'But  Bruhl? '  I  said  at  last,  recover- 
ing myself  with  an  effort — 'how  did  he  gain  access  to  the 
room?  I  left  it  guarded.' 

'By  a  ruse,  while  Maignan  and  his  men  were  away,'  was 
the  answer.  'Only  this  lad  of  yours  was  there.  Bruhl's 
men  overpowered  him.' 


TO  ME,  MY  FRIENDS!  291 

'Which  way  has  Bruhl  gone?'  I  muttered,  my  throat 
dry,  my  heart  beating  wildly. 

He  shook  his  head.  'All  we  know  is  that  he  passed 
through  the  south  gate  with  eleven  horsemen,  two  women, 
and  six  led  horses,  at  daybreak  this  morning,'  he  answered. 
'Maignan  came  to  my  uncle  with  the  news,  and  M.  de  Ram- 
bouillet  went  at  once,  early  as  it  was,  to  the  king  to  pro- 
cure your  release.  He  should  be  here  now.' 

I  looked  at  the  barred  window,  the  most  horrible  fears  at 
my  heart;  from  it  to  Simon  Fleix,  who  stood  beside  it,  his 
attitude  expressing  the  utmost  dejection.  I  went  towards 
him.  'You  hound!'  I  said  in  a  low  voice,  'how  did  it 
happen?' 

To  my  surprise  he  fell  in  a  moment  on  his  knees,  and 
raised  his  arm  as  though  to  ward  off  a  blow.  'They  imi- 
tated Maignan's  voice,'  he  muttered  hoarsely.  'We 
opened. ' 

'And  you  dare  to  come  here  and  tell  me! '  I  cried,  scarcely 
restraining  my  passion.  'You,  to  whom  I.  entrusted  her. 
You,  whom  I  thought  devoted  to  her.  You  have  destroyed 
her,  man! ' 

He  rose  as  suddenly  as  he  had  cowered  down.  His  thin, 
nervous  face  underwent  a  startling  change;  growing  on  a 
sudden  hard  and  rigid,  while  his  eyes  began  to  glitter  with 
excitement.  '  I — I  have  destroyed  her  ?  Ay,  mon  dieu !  I 
have, '  he  cried,  speaking  to  my  face,  and  no  longer  flinch- 
ing or  avoiding  my  eye.  'You  may  kill  me,  if  you  like. 
You  do  not  know  all.  It  was  I  who  stole  the  favour  she 
gave  you  from  your  doublet,  and  then  said  M.  de  Rosny 
had  taken  it !  It  was  I  who  told  her  you  had  given  it  away ! 
It  was  I  who  brought  her  to  the  Little  Sisters',  that  she 
might  see  you  with  Madame  de  Bruhl !  It  was  I  who  did 
all,  and  destroyed  her!  Now  you  know!  Do  with  me 
what  you  like ! ' 

He  opened  his  arms  as  though  to  receive  a  blow,  while  I 
stood  before  him  astounded  beyond  measure  by  a  disclosure 
so  unexpected;  full  of  righteous  wrath  and  indignation, 

T2 


292  A    GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

and  yet  uncertain  what  I  ought  to  do.  'Did  you  also  let 
Bruhl  into  the  room  on  purpose? '  I  cried  at  last. 

'I?'  he  exclaimed,  with  a  sudden  flash  of  rage  in  his 
eyes.  'I  would  have  died  first! ' 

I  do  not  know  how  I  might  have  taken  this  confession ; 
but  at  the  moment  there  was  a  trampling  of  horses  outside, 
and  before  I  could  answer  him  I  heard  M.  de  Kambouillet 
speaking  in  haughty  tones,  at  the  door  below.  The  Pro- 
vost-Marshal was  with  him,  but  his  lower  notes  were  lost 
in  the  ring  of  bridles  and  the  stamping  of  impatient  hoofs. 
I  looked  towards  the  door  of  my  room,  which  stood  ajar, 
and  presently  the  two  entered,  the  Marquis  listening  with 
an  air  of  contemptuous  indifference  to  the  apologies  which 
the  other,  who  attended  at  his  elbow,  was  pouring  forth. 
M.  de  Rambouillet's  face  reflected  none  of  the  gloom  and 
despondency  which  M.  d'Agen's  exhibited  in  so  marked  a 
degree.  He  seemed,  on  the  contrary,  full  of  gaiety  and 
good-humour,  and,  coming  forward  and  seeing  me,  embraced 
me  with  the  utmost  kindness  and  condescension. 

'Ha!  my  friend,'  he  said  cheerfully,  'so  I  find  you  here 
after  all!  But  never  fear.  I  am  this  moment  from  the 
king  with  an  order  for  your  release.  His  Majesty  has 
told  me  all,  making  me  thereby  your  lasting  friend  and 
debtor.  As  for  this  gentleman, '  he  continued,  turning  with 
a  cold  smile  to  the  Provost-Marshal,  who  seemed  to  be 
trembling  in  his  boots,  'he  may  expect  an  immediate  order 
also.  M.  de  Villequier  has  wisely  gone  a-hunting,  and  will 
not  be  back  for  a  day  or  two.' 

Racked  as  I  was  by  suspense  and  anxiety,  I  could  not 
assail  him  with  immediate  petitions.  It  behoved  me  first 
to  thank  him  for  his  prompt  intervention,  and  this  in  terms 
as  warm  as  I  could  invent.  Nor  could  I  in  justice  fail  to 
commend  the  Provost  to  him,  representing  the  officer's 
conduct  to  me,  and  lauding  his  ability.  All  this,  though 
my  heart  was  sick  with  thought  and  fear  and  disappoint- 
ment, and  every  minute  seemed  an  age. 

'Well,  well/  the  Marquis  said  with  stately  good-nature, 


TO  ME,   MY  FRIENDS!  293 

fwe  will  lay  the  blame  on  Villequier  then.  He  is  an  old 
fox,  however,  and  ten  to  one  he  will  go  scot-free.  It  is  not 
the  first  time  he  has  played  this  trick.  But  I  have  not  yet 
come  to  the  end  of  my  commission, '  he  continued  pleasantly. 
'His  Majesty  sends  you  this,  M.  de  Marsac,  and  bade  me  say 
that  he  had  loaded  it  for  you. ' 

He  drew  from  under  his  cloak  as  he  spoke  the  pistol 
which  I  had  left  with  the  king,  and  which  happened  to  be 
the  same  M.  de  Eosny  had  given  me.  I  took  it,  marvel- 
ling impatiently  at  the  careful  manner  in  which  he  handled 
it;  but  in  a  moment  I  understood,  for  I  found  it  loaded  to 
the  muzzle  with  gold-pieces,  of  which  two  or  three  fell  and 
rolled  upon  the  floor.  Much  moved  by  this  substantial 
mark  of  the  king's  gratitude,  I  was  nevertheless  for  pocket- 
ing them  in  haste ;  but  the  Marquis,  to  satisfy  a  little  curi- 
osity on  his  part,  would  have  me  count  them,  and  brought 
the  tale  to  a  little  over  two  thousand  livres,  without  count- 
ing a  ring  set  with  precious  stones  which  I  found  among 
them.  This  handsome  present  diverted  my  thoughts  from 
Simon  Fleix,  but  could  not  relieve  the  anxiety  I  felt  on 
mademoiselle's  account.  The  thought  of  her  position  so 
tortured  me  that  M.  de  Rambouillet  began  to  perceive  my 
state  of  mind,  and  hastened  to  assure  me  that  before  going 
to  the  Court  he  had  already  issued  orders  calculated  to 
assist  me. 

'You  desire  to  follow  this  lady,  I  understand?'  he  said. 
'What  with  the  king,  who  is  enraged  beyond  the  ordinary 
by  this  outrage,  and  Franqois  there,  who  seemed  beside 
himself  when  he  heard  the  news,  I  have  not  got  any  very 
clear  idea  of  the  position.' 

'She  was  entrusted  to  me  by — by  one,  sir,  well  known  to 
you,'  I  answered  hoarsely.  'My  honour  is  engaged  to  him 
and  to  her.  If  I  follow  on  my  feet  and  alone,  I  must  fol- 
low. If  I  cannot  save  her,  I  can  at  least  punish  the  villains 
who  have  wronged  her. ' 

'But  the  man's  wife  is  with  them,'  he  said  in  some 
wonder. 


294  A    GENTLEMAN-  OF  FRANCE 

• 
'That  goes  for  nothing,'  I  answered. 

He  saw  the  strong  emotion  under  which  I  laboured,  and 
which  scarcely  suffered  me  to  answer  him  with  patience; 
and  he  looked  at  me  curiously,  but  not  unkindly.  'The 
sooner  you  are  off,  the  better  then,'  he  said,  nodding.  'I 
gathered  as  much.  The  man  Maignan  will  have  his  fellows 
at  the  south  gate  an  hour  before  noon,  I  understand. 
Franqois  has  two  lackeys,  and  he  is  wild  to  go.  With  your- 
self and  the  lad  there  you  will  muster  nine  swords.  I  will 
lend  you  two.  I  can  spare  no  more,  for  we  may  have  an 
6meute  at  any  moment.  You  will  take  the  road,  therefore, 
eleven  in  all,  and  should  overtake  them  some  time  to-night 
if  your  horses  are  in  condition. ' 

I  thanked  him  warmly,  without  regarding  his  kindly 
statement  that  my  conduct  on  the  previous  day  had  laid 
him  under  lasting  obligations  to  me.  We  went  down  to- 
gether, and  he  transferred  two  of  his  fellows  to  me  there 
and  then,  bidding  them  change  their  horses  for  fresh  ones 
and  meet  me  at  the  south  gate.  He  sent  also  a  man  to  my 
stable — Simon  Fleix  having  disappeared  in  the  confusion 
— for  the  Cid,  and  was  in  the  act  of  inquiring  whether  I 
needed  anything  else,  when  a  woman  slipped  through  the 
knot  of  horsemen  who  surrounded  us  as  we  stood  in  the 
doorway  of  the  house,  and,  throwing  herself  upon  me, 
grasped  me  by  the  arm.  It  was  Fanchette.  Her  harsh 
features  were  distorted  with  grief,  her  cheeks  were  mottled 
with  the  violent  weeping  in  which  such  persons  vent  their 
sorrow.  Her  hair  hung  in  long  wisps  on  her  neck.  Her 
dress  was  torn  and  draggled,  and  there  was  a  great  bruise 
over  her  eye.  She  had  the  air  of  one  frantic  with  despair 
and  misery. 

She  caught  me  by  the  cloak,  and  shook  me  so  that  I  stag- 
gered. 'I  have  found  you  at  last! '  she  cried  joyfully. 
'You  will  take  me  with  you!  You  will  take  me  to  her! ' 

Though  her  words  tried  my  composure,  and  my  heart 
went  out  to  her,  I  strove  to  answer  her  according  to  tn«, 
sense  of  the  matter.  'It  is  impossible,'  I  said  sternly, 


TO  ME,   MY  FRIENDS  \  295 

'This  is  a  man's  errand.     We  shall  have  to  ride  day  and 
night,  my  good  woman. ' 

'But  I  will  ride  day  and  night  too! '  she  replied  passion- 
ately, flinging  the  hair  from  her  eyes,  and  looking  wildly 
from  me  to  M.  de  Rambouillet.  'What  would  I  not  do  for 
her?  I  am  as  strong  as  a  man,  and  stronger.  Take  me, 
take  me,  I  say,  and  when  I  meet  that  villain  I  will  tear 
him  limb  from  limb ! ' 

I  shuddered,  listening  to  her;  but  remembering  that, 
being  country  bred,  she  was  really  as  strong  as  she  said, 
and  that  likely  enough  some  advantage  might  accrue  to  us 
from  her  perfect  fidelity  and  devotion  to  her  mistress,  I 
gave  a  reluctant  consent.  I  sent  one  of  M.  de  Rambouil- 
let's  men  to  the  stable  where  the  deaf  man's  bay  was  stand- 
ing, bidding  him  pay  whatever  was  due  to  the  dealer,  and 
bring  the  horse  to  the  south  gate;  my  intention  being  to 
mount  one  of  my  men  on  it,  and  furnish  the  woman  with  a 
less  tricky  steed. 

The  briskness  of  these  and  the  like  preparations,  which 
even  for  one  of  my  age  and  in  my  state  of  anxiety  were 
not  devoid  of  pleasure,  prevented  my  thoughts  dwelling  on 
the  future.  Content  to  have  M.  Francois'  assistance  with- 
out following  up  too  keenly  the  train  of  ideas  which  his 
readiness  suggested,  I  was  satisfied  also  to  make  use  of 
Simon  without  calling  him  to  instant  account  for  his 
treachery.  The  bustle  of  the  streets,  which  the  confirma- 
tion of  the  king's  speedy  departure  had  filled  with  surly, 
murmuring  crowds,  tended  still  further  to  keep  my  fears 
at  bay;  while  the  contrast  between  my  present  circum- 
stances, as  I  rode  through  them  well-appointed  and  well- 
attended,  with  the  Marquis  by  my  side,  and  the  poor  appear- 
ance I  had  exhibited  on  my  first  arrival  in  Blois,  could  not 
fail  to  inspire  me  with  hope  that  I  might  surmount  this 
danger  also,  and  in  the  event  find  Mademoiselle  safe  and 
uninjured.  I  took  leave  of  M.  de  Rambouillet  with  many 
expressions  of  esteem  on  both  sides,  and  a  few  minutes 
before  eleven  reached  the  rendezvous  outside  the  south  gate. 


296  A    GENTLEMAN"  OF  FRANCE 

M.  d'Agen  and  Maignan  advanced  to  meet  me,  the 
former  still  presenting  an  exterior  so  stern  and  grave  that 
I  wondered  to  see  him,  and  could  scarcely  believe  he  was 
the  same  gay  spark  whose  elegant  affectations  had  more 
than  once  caused  me  to  smile.  He  saluted  me  in  silence; 
Maignan  with  a  sheepish  air,  which  ill-concealed  the  savage 
temper  defeat  had  roused  in  him.  Counting  my  men,  I 
found  we  mustered  ten  only,  but  the  equerry  explained  that 
he  had  despatched  a  rider  ahead  to  make  inquiries  and  leave 
word  for  us  at  convenient  points ;  to  the  end  that  we  might 
follow  the  trail  with  as  few  delays  as  possible.  Highly 
commending  Maignan  for  his  forethought  in  this,  I  gave 
the  word  to  start,  and  crossing  the  river  by  the  St.  Gervais 
Bridge,  we  took  the  road  for  Selles  at  a  smart  trot. 

The  weather  had  changed  much  in  the  last  twenty-four 
hours.  The  sun  shone  brightly,  with  a  warm  west  wind, 
and  the  country  already  showed  signs  of  the  early  spring 
which  marked  that  year.  If,  the  first  hurry  of  departure 
over,  I  had  now  leisure  to  feel  the  gnawing  of  anxiety  and 
the  tortures  inflicted  by  an  imagination  which,  far  outstrip- 
ping us,  rode  with  those  whom  we  pursued  and  shared  their 
perils,  I  found  two  sources  of  comfort  still  open  to  me.  No 
man  who  has  seen  service  can  look  on  a  little  band  of  well- 
appointed  horsemen  without  pleasure.  I  reviewed  the 
stalwart  forms  and  stern  faces  which  moved  beside  me, 
and  comparing  their  decent  order  and  sound  equipments 
with  the  scurvy  foulness  of  the  men  who  had  ridden  north 
with  me,  thanked  God,  and  ceased  to  wonder  at  the  indig- 
nation which  Matthew  and  his  fellows  had  aroused  in 
mademoiselle's  mind.  My  other  source  of  satisfaction, 
the  regular  beat  of  hoofs  and  ring  of  bridles  continually 
augmented.  Every  step  took  us  farther  from  Blois — farther 
from  the  close  town  and  reeking  streets  and  the  Court; 
which,  if  it  no  longer  seemed  to  me  a  shambles,  befouled 
by  one  great  deed  of  blood — experience  had  removed  that 
impression — retained  an  appearance  infinitely  mean  and 
miserable  in  my  eyes.  I  hated  and  loathed  its  intrigues 


TO  ME,   MY  FRIENDS  I  297 

and  its  jealousies,  the  folly  which  trifled  in  a  closet  while 
rebellion  mastered  France,  and  the  pettiness  which  recog- 
nised no  wisdom  save  that  of  balancing  party  and  party.  I 
thanked  God  that  my  work  there  was  done,  and  could  have 
welcomed  any  other  occasion  that  forced  me  to  turn  my 
back  on  it,  and  sent  me  at  large  over  the  pure  heaths, 
through  the  woods,  and  under  the  wide  heaven,  speckled 
with  moving  clouds. 

But  such  springs  of  comfort  soon  ran  dry.  M.  d'Agen's 
gloomy  rage  and  the  fiery  gleam  in  Maignan's  eye  would 
have  reminded  me,  had  I  been  in  any  danger  of  forgetting 
the  errand  on  which  we  were  bound,  and  the  need,  exceed- 
ing all  other  needs,  which  compelled  us  to  lose  no  moment 
that  might  be  used.  Those  whom  we  followed  had  five 
hours'  start.  The  thought  of  what  might  happen  in  those 
five  hours  to  the  two  helpless  women  whom  I  had  sworn  to 
protect  burned  itself  into  my  mind;  so  that  to  refrain  from 
putting  spurs  to  my  horse  and  riding  recklessly  forward 
taxed  at  times  all  my  self-control.  The  horses  seemed  to 
crawl.  The  men  rising  and  falling  listlessly  in  their  sad- 
dles maddened  me.  Though  I  could  not  hope  to  come  upon 
any  trace  of  our  quarry  for  many  hours,  perhaps  for  days, 
I  scanned  the  long,  flat  heaths  unceasingly,  searched  eveiy 
marshy  bottom  before  we  descended  into  it,  and  panted  for 
the  moment  when  the  next  low  ridge  should  expose  to  our 
view  a  fresh  track  of  wood  and  waste.  The  rosy  visions  of 
the  past  night,  and  those  fancies  in  particular  which  had 
made  the  dawn  memorable,  recurred  to  me,  as  his  deeds  in 
the  body  (so  men  say)  to  a  hopeless  drowning  wretch.  I 
grew  to  think  of  nothing  but  Bruhl  and  revenge.  Even 
the  absurd  care  with  which  Simon  avoided  the  neighbour- 
hood of  Fanchette,  riding  anywhere  so  long  as  he  might 
ride  at  a  distance  from  the  angry  woman's  tongue  and 
hand — which  provoked  many  a  laugh  from  the  men,  and 
came  to  be  the  joke  of  the  company — failed  to  draw  a  smile 
from  me. 

We  passed  through  Centres,  four  leagues  from  Blois,  an 


298  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

hour  after  noon,  and  three  hours  later  crossed  the  Cher  at 
Selles,  where  we  stayed  awhile  to  bait  our  horses.  Here 
we  had  news  of  the  party  before  us,  and  henceforth  had 
little  doubt  that  Bruhl  was  making  for  the  Limousin;  a 
district  in  which  he  might  rest  secure  under  the  protection 
of  Turenne,  and  safely  defy  alike  the  King  of  France  and 
the  King  of  Navarre.  The  greater  the  necessity,  it  was 
plain,  for  speed ;  but  the  roads  in  that  neighbourhood,  and 
forward  as  far  as  Valancy,  proved  heavy  and  foundrous, 
and  it  was  all  we  could  do  to  reach  Levroux  with  jaded 
horses  three  hours  after  sunset.  The  probability  that  Bruhl 
would  lie  at  Chateauroux,  five  leagues  farther  on — for  I 
could  not  conceive  that  under  the  circumstances  he  would 
spare  the  women, — would  have  led  me  to  push  forward  had 
it  been  possible;  but  the  darkness  and  the  difficulty  of  find- 
ing a  guide  who  would  venture  deterred  me  from  the  hope- 
less attempt,  and  we  stayed  the  night  where  we  were. 

Here  we  first  heard  of  the  plague;  which  was  said  to  be 
ravaging  Chateauroux  and  all  the  country  farther  south. 
The  landlord  of  the  inn  would  have  regaled  us  with  many 
stories  of  it,  and  particularly  of  the  swiftness  with  which 
men  and  even  cattle  succumbed  to  its  attacks.  But  we  had 
other  things  to  think  of,  and  between  anxiety  and  weariness 
had  clean  forgotten  the  matter  when  we  rose  next  morning. 

We  started  shortly  after  daybreak,  and  for  three  leagues 
pressed  on  at  tolerable  speed.  Then,  for  no  reason  stated, 
our  guide  gave  us  the  slip  as  we  passed  through  a  wood, 
and  was  seen  no  more.  We  lost  the  road,  and  had  to 
retrace  our  steps.  We  strayed  into  a  slough,  and  extracted 
ourselves  with  difficulty.  The  man  who  was  riding  the  bay 
I  had  purchased  forgot  the  secret  which  I  had  imparted  to 
him,  and  got  an  ugly  fall.  In  fine,  after  all  these  mishaps 
it  wanted  little  of  noon,  and  less  to  exhaust  our  patience, 
when  at  length  we  came  in  sight  of  Chateauroux. 

Before  entering  the  town  we  had  still  an  adventure ;  for 
we  came  at  a  turn  in  the  road  011  a  scene  as  surprising  as 
it  was  at  first  inexplicable.  A  little  north  of  the  town,  in 


TO  ME,   M.Y  FRIENDS! 

a' coppice  of  box  facing ; the  south; and  west,  we  happed 
suddenly  on;  a  rude  encampment,  consisting; of  a  dozen  huts 
and  booths,  set  back  from  the  :road  and  .'formed,  some  of 
branches  of  evergreen  trees  laid  clumsily  together,  and 
some  df  sacking  stretched  aver  poles.  A  number  of  men 
and  women  of  decent  appearance  ;lay  on; the.  short  grass  be- 
fore the  booths,  idly  .sunning  themselves;  .or  moved  about, 
cooking  and /tending  rfires,  .while  a  ;seore  of  children  raced 
to  and  fro  with  .noisy  shouts  and  .laughter.  The ; appear- 
ance of  our  paity  on  .the  scene  caused :  an  instant  panic. 
The  women  and  'children  fled  screaming  .into  the  wood, 
spreading  the  sound  of  breaking 'branches  farther. and  far- 
ther as  ••  they  retreated;  while  the  .men,. a  miserable  pale- 
faced  f  set, ;  drew  i together, :  and  seeming  half T  inclined  to  fly 
also, -regarded  us  with  glances  of  :f ear.  and  suspicion. 

Remarking  that  their  appearance  and  dressiwere  not  those 
of  vagrants,  while  .'the  booths  -seemed  to  indicate  little:skill 
ior:  experience  in 'the  .builders,  I  bade  i  my  i  companions  halt, 
and  advanced  alone. 

•'What;is  the  meaning  of  this,  my  men?' "I  said,  address- 
ing 'the  first  <group  I  reached.  ''You  .seem  to  ha/ve  come 
a-Maying  before' the  time.  Whenee  are  you?  ' 

•'.I^rom  Chateauroux,1 '  -the  iforemost  answered  sullerily. 
His  dress,  now  I:  saw  him  nearer,  seemed  'to  ,be  .that  i  of :  a 
:respectable  rtownsman. 

'  Why  ? '  I  replied.     'Have  you  .no  rhomes  ?; ' 

"'Ay^werhave  homes,  Mie  answered  with '.the:  same  brevity. 

'Then  why,  'in  God's  name, ;  are  you  :here? '  I  retorted, 
/marking  .the  gloomy  air  and 'downcast  faces  of  the  .group. 
'Have  you ! been ;hairied? ' 

'Ay/harried.byrthjeiPlague! '  he  answered :bittefly.  IDo 
-.you  :mean  .to  :say  ".you  have  not  heard?  In  cCh§,teauroux 
! there  is 'one  man  dead  in -three.  Take  my  advice,  ;sir — 
\you  arera:brave  eompany— 4urn,  'and  go  home;again^' 

''Is .it  as ;bad  asrfchat? '  I  exclaimed.  :lJhad  forgotten  the 
.landlord's  gossip,  :and;the  ^explanation  struck  me'with.<;fche 
;foree  of  surprise. 


300  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

'Ay,  is  it!  Do  you  see  the  blue  haze?'  he  continued, 
pointing  with  a  sudden  gesture  to  the  lower  ground  before 
us,  over  which  a  light  pall  of  summery  vapour  hung  still 
and  motionless.  'Do  you  see  it?  Well,  under  that  there 
is  death!  You  may  find  food  in  Chateauroux,  and  stalls 
for  your  horses,  and  a  man  to  take  money;  for  there  are 
still  men  there.  But  cross  the  Indre,  and  you  will  see 
sights  worse  than  a  battle-field  a  week  old!  You  will  find 
no  living  soul  in  house  or  stable  or  church,  but  corpses 
plenty.  The  land  is  cursed!  cursed  for  heresy,  some  say! 
Half  are  dead,  and  half  are  fled  to  the  woods !  And  if  you 
do  not  die  of  the  plague,  you  Avill  starve. ' 

'God  forbid!'  I  muttered,  thinking  with  a  shudder  of 
those  before  us.  This  led  me  to  ask  him  if  a  party  resem- 
bling ours  in  number,  and  including  two  women,  had  passed 
that  way.  He  answered,  Yes,  after  sunset  the  evening 
before;  that  their  horses  were  stumbling  with  fatigue  and 
the  men  swearing  in  pure  weariness.  He  believed  that 
they  had  not  entered  the  town,  but  had  made  a  rude  encamp- 
ment half  a  mile  beyond  it;  and  had  again  broken  this  up, 
and  ridden  southwards  two  or  three  hours  before  our  arrival. 

'Then  we  may  overtake  them  to-day?'  I  said. 

'By  your  leave,  sir,'  he  answered,  with  grave  meaning. 
'I  think  you  are  more  likely  to  meet  them.' 

Shrugging  my  shoulders,  I  thanked  him  shortly  and  left 
him;  the  full  importance  of  preventing  my  men  hearing 
what  I  had  heard — lest  the  panic  which  possessed  these 
townspeople  should  seize  on  them  also — being  already  in 
my  mind.  Nevertheless  the  thought  came  too  late,  for  on 
turning  my  horse  I  found  one  of  the  foremost,  a  long, 
solemn-faced  man,  had  already  found  his  way  to  Maignan's 
stirrup;  where  he  was  dilating  so  eloquently  upon  the 
enemy  which  awaited  us  southwards  that  the  countenances 
of  half  the  troopers  were  as  long  as  his  own,  and  I  saw 
nothing  for  it  but  to  interrupt  his  oration  by  a  smart  ap- 
plication of  my  switch  to  his  shoulders.  Having  thus 
stopped  him,  and  rated  him  back  to  his  fellows,  I  gave  the 


TO  ME,   MY  FRIENDS1.  301 

word  to  march.  The  men  obeyed  mechanically,  we  swung 
into  a  canter,  and  for  a  moment  the  danger  was  over. 

But  I  knew  that  it  would  recur  again  and  again.  Stealth- 
ily marking  the  faces  round  me,  and  listening  to  the  whis- 
pered talk  which  went  on,  I  saw  the  terror  spread  from  one 
to  another.  Voices  which  earlier  in  the  day  had  been 
raised  in  song  and  jest  grew  silent.  Great  reckless  fellows 
of  Maiguan's  following,  who  had  an  oath  and  a  blow  for  all 
coiners,  and  to  whom  the  deepest  ford  seemed  to  be  child's 
play,  rode  with  drooping  heads  and  knitted  brows;  or 
scanned  with  ill-concealed  anxiety  the  strange  haze  before 
us,  through  which  the  roofs  of  the  town,  and  here  and  there 
a  low  hill  or  line  of  poplars,  rose  to  plainer  view.  Mai- 
gnan  himself,  the  stoutest  of  the  stout,  looked  grave,  and 
had  lost  his  swaggering  air.  Only  three  persons  preserved 
their  sang-froid  entire.  Of  these,  M.  d'Agen  rode  as  if  he 
had  heard  nothing,  and  Simon  Fleix  as  if  he  feared  noth- 
ing; while  Fanchette,  gazing  eagerly  forward,  saw,  it  was 
plain,  only  one  object  in  the  mist,  and  that  was  her  mis- 
tress's face. 

We  found  the  gates  of  the  town  open,  and  this,  which 
proved  to  be  the  herald  of  stranger  sights,  daunted  the 
hearts  of  my  men  more  than  the  most  hostile  reception. 
As  we  entered,  our  horses'  hoofs,  clattering  loudly  on  the 
pavement,  awoke  a  hundred  echoes  in  the  empty  houses 
to  right  and  left.  The  main  street,  flooded  with  sunshine, 
which  made  its  desolation  seem  a  hundred  times  more  formi- 
dable, stretched  away  before  us,  bare  and  empty ;  or  haunted 
only  by  a  few  slinking  dogs,  and  prowling  wretches,  who 
fled,  affrighted  at  the  unaccustomed  sounds,  or  stood  and 
eyed  us  listlessly  as  we  passed.  A  bell  tolled ;  in  the  dis- 
tance we  heard  the  wailing  of  women.  The  silent  Avays, 
the  black  cross  which  marked  every  second  door,  the  fright- 
ful faces  which  once  or  twice  looked  out  from  upper  win- 
dows and  blasted  our  sight,  infected  my  men  with  terror  so 
profound  and  so  ungovernable  that  at  last  discipline  was  for- 
gotten ;  and  one  shoving  his  horse  before  another  in  narrow 


302.  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

places,  there  was  a  scuffle  to  be  first;  One,  and  then  a  sec- 
ond, began  to  trot.  The  trot  grew  into  a  shuffling  canter;. 
The  gates  of  the  inn  lay  open,  nay  seemed  to  invite  us  to 
enter;  but  no  one  turned  or  halted.  Moved  by  a  single- 
impulse  we  pushed  breathlessly  on  and  on^. until  the  open 
country  was  reached,  and  we  who  had  entered  the  streets 
in  silent  awe,  swept  out  and  over  the  bridge  as  if  the  fiend 
were  at  our  heels. 

That  I  shared  in  this  flight  causes  me  no  shame  even 
now,  for  my  men  were  at  the  time  ungovernable,  as  the 
best-trained  troops  are  when  seized  by  such  panics ;  and, 
moreover,  I  could  have  done  no  good  by  remaining  in  the 
town,  where  the  strength  of  the  contagion  was  probably 
greater  and  the  inn  larder  like  to  be  as  bare  as  the  hillside. 
Few  towns -are  without  a  hostelry  outside  the  gates  for:  the: 
convenience  of  knights  of  the  road  or  those  who  would; 
avoid:  the  dues,  and  Chateauroux  proved  no  exception  to 
this  rule.  A-  short  half-mile  from  the  walls  we  drew  rein 
befoxe  a  second  encampment  raised  about  a  wayside  house. 
It  scarcely  needed  the  sound  of  music  mingled  with:  brawl- 
ing voices  to  inform  us  that:  the  wilder  spirits  of  the  town 
had  taken  refuge  here,  and  were  seeking  to  drown  in  riot 
and  debauchery,  as  I  have  seen  happen. in  a  besieged  place, 
the  remembrance  of  the  enemy  which  stalked;  abroad  in 
the  sunshine.  Our  sudden  appearance,  while  it.  put  a  stop 
to 'the  mimicry  of  mirth,  brought,  out  a  score  of  men  and 
women  in 'every  stage  oi  drunkenness  and  dishevelmentr  of 
whom  some,  with  hiccoughs  and doose  gestures,  cried  to  us 
to  join  them,  while  others  ;s wore  horridly,  at  being  recalled 
to  the  present,  which,  with  the  future,  they  were  endeavour- 
ing to  forget; 

I  cursed^  them'  in  return  for  a  pack  of 'craven  wretches, 
and  threatening  to  ride  down  those  who  obstructed;  us, 
ordered  my  men  forward ;  halting  eventually  a  quarter  of 
a  mile  farther  on,  where  a  wood  of  groundling  oaks  which 
still  wore  last  year's  leaves  afforded .  fair,  shelter.  Afraid 
to  leave  my  men! myself,  lest  some  should  stray  to.  the  inn 


TO  ME,  .MY  FRIEND  SI  303 

and  others  desert  altogether,  J  requested  M.  rd'Agan.  tto 
return  thither  with  Maignan  and  Simon,  and  bring  us  what 
forage  and  food  we  required.  This  he  did  'with  perfect 
success,  though  not  until  after  a  scuffle,  in  which  Maignan 
showed  himself  a  match  for  a 'hundred.  We  watered  -the 
horses  at  a  neighbouring  brook,  and  assigning  two  hours  :to 
rest  and  : refreshment — a  great  :part  of  -which  'M.  d'Agen 
and  I  spent  walking  up  and  down  in  •  moody  silence,  each 
immersed  in  his  own  thoughts — we  presently  took  the  road 
again  with  renewed  spirits. 

But  a  panic  is  not  easily  shaken  off,  nor  is  any  fear  so 
difficult  to  combat  and  defeat  as  the  fear  of  the  invisible. 
The  terrors  which  food  and  drink ; had  for  a  time  thrust  out 
presently  returned  with  sevenfold  force.  Men  looked  un- 
easily in  one  another's  faces,  and  from  them  to  the  j  haze 
which  veiled  all  distant  objects.  They  miittered  of  the 
heat,  which  was  sudden,  strange,  and  abnormal  at  thatrtime 
of  the  year.  And  by-and-by  they  had  other  things  to  speak 
of.  We  met  a  man,  who  ran  beside  its  and  begged  of  us, 
crying  out  in  a  dreadful  voice  that  his  wife  and  four  chil- 
dren lay  un buried  in  the  house.  A  little  farther  on,  beside 
a  well,  the  corpse  of  a  woman  with  a  child  at  her  breast  lay 
-poisoning  the  water ;  she  had  crawled  'to  it  to  appease  -her 
•thirst,  and 'died  of  the  draught.  Last  of  all,  in  a  beech- 
'wood  near  Lotier  we  came  upon,  a  lady  I  living  in  .her  coach, 
•with  one  or  two  panic-stricken  women  for  her  only:  attend- 
ants. 'Her 'husbaad  was  in  Paris,  she  told  nte;  half  her 
'servants  were  dead,  the  rest  had'.fled.  Still  she rretained; in 
a  remarkable 'degree  both  courage  and  courtesy,  and  accept- 
ing with  fortitude  my  reasons  and  excuses'  for  perforce,  leav- 
ing her  in  such;  a- plight,  gave  me  a  clear  account  of -Bruhl 
and  his  party,  who i had  passed  her  some 'hours  before.  The 
picture  <df  'this  lady  -gazing  after  us  'with  ; perfect  good- 
breeding,  as  we  xode  away  at  speed,  followed  by  .the 
(lamentations  of  her  women,  remains  with  me  .to  '.this  day; 
'filling-my  mind. at  once  with  admiration  and  melancholy. 
;For,  as  I  learned  later,  :she  fell  ill  of  the  plague  where  we 


304  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

left  her  in  the  beech-wood,  and  died  in  a  night  with  both 
her  servants. 

The  intelligence  we  had  from  her  inspired  us  to  push 
forward,  sparing  neither  spur  nor  horseflesh,  in  the  hope 
that  we  might  overtake  Bruhl  before  night  should  expose 
his  captives  to  fresh  hardships  and  dangers.  But  the  pitch 
to  which  the  dismal  sights  and  sounds  I  have  mentioned, 
and  a  hundred  like  them,  had  raised  the  fears  of  my  follow- 
ing did  much  to  balk  my  endeavours.  For  a  while,  indeed, 
under  the  influence  of  momentary  excitement,  they  spurred 
their  horses  to  the  gallop,  as  if  their  minds  were  made  up 
to  face  the  worst ;  but  presently  they  checked  them  despite 
all  my  efforts,  and,  lagging  slowly  and  more  slowly,  seemed 
to  lose  all  spirit  and  energy.  The  desolation  which  met 
our  eyes  on  every  side,  no  less  than  the  death-like  stillness 
which  prevailed,  even  the  birds,  as  it  seemed  to  us,  being 
silent,  chilled  the  most  reckless  to  the  heart.  Maignan's 
face  lost  its  colour,  his  voice  its  ring.  As  for  the  rest,  start- 
ing at  a  sound  and  wincing  if  a  leather  galled  them,  they 
glanced  backwards  twice  for  once  they  looked  forwards, 
and  held  themselves  ready  to  take  to  their  heels  and  be 
gone  at  the  least  alarm. 

Noting  these  signs,  and  doubting  if  I  could  trust  even 
Maignan,  I  thought  it  prudent  to  change  my  place,  and  fall- 
ing to  the  rear,  rode  there  with  a  grim  face  and  a  pistol 
ready  to  my  hand.  It  was  not  the  least  of  my  annoyances 
that  M.  d'Agen  appeared  to  be  ignorant  of  any  cause  for 
apprehension  save  such  as  lay  before  us,  and  riding  on  in 
the  same  gloomy  fit  which  had  possessed  him  from  the 
moment  of  starting,  neither  sought  my  opinion  nor  gave 
his  own,  but  seemed  to  have  undergone  so  complete  and 
mysterious  a  change  that  I  could  think  of  one  thing  only 
that  could  have  power  to  effect  so  marvellous  a  transforma- 
tion. I  felt  his  presence  a  trial  rather  than  a  help,  and 
reviewing  the  course  of  our  short  friendship,  which  a  day 
or  two  before  had  been  so  great  a  delight  to  me — as  the 
friendship  of  a  young  man  commonly  is  to  one  growing 


TO  ME,   MY  FRIENDS!  305 

old — I  puzzled  myself  with  much  wondering  whether  there 
could  be  rivalry  between  us. 

Sunset,  which  was  welcome  to  my  company,  since  it 
removed  the  haze,  which  they  regarded  with  superstitious 
dread,  found  us  still  plodding  through  a  country  of  low 
ridges  and  shallow  valleys,  both  clothed  in  oak-woods.  Its 
short  brightness  died  away,  and  with  it  my  last  hope  of 
surprising  Bruhl  before  I  slept.  Darkness  fell  upon  us  as 
we  wended  our  way  slowly  down  a  steep  hillside  where  the 
path  was  so  narrow  and  difficult  as  to  permit  only  one  to 
descend  at  a  time.  A  stream  of  some  size,  if  we  might 
judge  from  the  noise  it  made,  poured  through  the  ravine 
below  us,  and  presently,  at  the  point  where  we  believed  the 
crossing  to  be,  we  espied  a  solitary  light  shining  in  the  black- 
ness. To  proceed  farther  was  impossible,  for  the  ground 
grew  more  and  more  precipitous ;  and,  seeing  this,  I  bade 
Maignan  dismount,  and  leaving  us  where  we  were,  go  for  a 
guide  to  the  house  from  which  the  light  issued. 

He  obeyed,  and  plunging  into  the  night,  which  in  that 
pit  between  the  hills  was  of  an  inky  darkness,  presently 
returned  with  a  peasant  and  a  lanthorn.  I  was  about  to 
bid  the  man  guide  us  to  the  ford,  or  to  some  level  ground 
where  we  could  picket  the  horses,  when  Maignan  gleefully 
cried  out  that  he  had  neAvs.  I  asked  what  news. 

'Speak  up,  manant !'  he  said,  holding  up  his  lanthorn  so 
that  the  light  fell  on  the  man's  haggard  face  and  unkempt 
hair.  '  Tell  his  Excellency  what  you  have  told  me,  or  I  will 
skin  you  alive,  little  man  ! ' 

'  Your  other  party  came  to  the  ford  an  hour  before  sun- 
set,' the  peasant  answered,  staring  dully  at  us.  'I  saw 
them  coming,  and  hid  myself.  They  quarrelled  by  the  ford. 
Some  were  for  crossing,  and  some  not.' 

'They  had  ladies  with  them?'  M.  d'Agen  said  sudden^. 

'Ay,  two,  your  Excellency,'  the  clown  answered,  'riding 
like  men.  In  the  end  they  did  not  cross  for  fear  of  the 
plague,  but  turned  up  the  river,  and  rode  westwards  towards 
St.  Gaultier.'  n 


306  A    GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

'St.  Gaultierl'I  said.  'Where  is  that?  Where  does' 
the  road  to  it  go  to  besides  ? ' 

But  the  peasant's  knowledge  was  confined  to  his  own 
neighbourhood.  He  knew  no  world  beyond  St;  G-aultier, 
and  could  not  answer  ray  question.  I  was  about  to  bid 
him  show  us  the  way  down,  when  Maignan  cried  out  that 
he  knew  more. 

'What?'  I  asked. 

'  Arnidieu !  he  heard  them  say  where  they  were  going  to 
spend  the  night !'' 

'Ha! 'I  cried:     ''Where?' 

'  In  an  old  ruined  castle  two  leagues  from  this-,  and  be- 
tween here  and  St.  Gaultier,'  the  equerry  answered,  for-' 
getting  in  his  triumph  both  plague  and  panic.  '  What'  do 
you1  say  to  that,  your  Excellency  ?'  It  is  so,  sirrah,  is  it 
not  ?  '  he  continued;  turning  to  the  peasant.  '  Speak, 
Master  Jacques,  or  I  will roast: you  before  a  slow  fire  !' 

But  I  did  not  wait  to  hear  the  answer.     Leaping  to  the 
ground^  I  took  the  Cid's  rein  on  my  arm,  and  cried  impa 
tiently  to  the  man  to  lead  us  down. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 


THE  certainty  that  Bruhl  and  his  captives  were  not  fav 
off,  and  the  likelihood  that  we  might  be  engaged  within  th? 
hour,  expelled  from  the  minds  of  even  the  most,  timorous 
among  us  the  vapourish  fears- which  had  before  haunted7 
them.  In  the  hurried  scramble  which  presently  landed  us 
on  the  bank  of  the  stream,  men  who  had  ridden-for  hours 
in  sulky  silence  found  their  voices,  and  from  cursing'their 
horses-  blunders  soon  advanced  to  swearing 'and  singing 
after  the -fashion  of  their  kineL  This  change^  by  relieving 
me  of  a  great  fear,  left  me  at  leisure  to  consider  our  posi- 


THE  CASTLE  <ON  THE  HILL  307 

tion,  and  estimate  more -clearly  than  I 'might  have  done 'the 
advantages  of  hastening,  or  postponing,  ;an  attack.  We 
numbered  eleven;  the  enemy,  to  the  best  of  my  belief, 
twelve.  Of  this  slight  superiority  I  should  have  recked 
little  in  the  daytime;  nor,  perhaps,  counting  Maignan  as 
two,  have  allowed  that  it  existed.  -But  the  result  of  a 
night  attack  is  more  difficult  to  'forecast;  and  I  had'also  to 
take  into  account 'the  perils :  to  which  the  two  ladies  would 
be  exposed,  between  the  darkness  and  tumult,  in  the  event 
of  the  issue  remaining  for  a  time  in  doubt. 

These  •  considerations,  and  particularly  the  last,  weighed 
so  power  fully 'with  me,  that  before  :I 'reached  the'bottom  of 
the  gorge 'I  had  decided  to  :  postpone1  the  attack  iintil  mom- 
ing.  The  answers  to  -some  questions  'whicli  I  put  to  'the 
inhabitant  of  the  house  by  the  ford  as  soon  as  I  reached 
Jevel  ground  only  confirmed  : me  in  this  resolution.  The 
Toad  Bruhl  had  'taken  ran  for  -a  distance  by  the  river- 
side,-' and  along  the 'bottom  of  the  gorge;  and,  difficult  >by 
day,  -was  repotted  'to  be  impracticable  'for  horses  by  night. 
The  castle  he  had  mentioned  lay  full  two  leagues  away, 
and  on  the  farther  edge  of  a  tract  of  rough  rsvoodland. 
iFinally,  I  doubted  .whether,  .in  the  .absence  of  any  other 
reason  "for  delay,  II  ( could  have  marched  my  men, , weary .  as 
they  .were,  .to~ the  plaice '  before  >  day  break. 

When  I  came 'to  announce  this  decision,  rhowever,  and  to 
inquire  what. accommodation  the  peasant  rcould  afford  us,  I 
found  myselfiin  trouble.  .'Fauchette,  mademoiselle's  woman, 
suddenly  confronted  mer  her  face  scarlet  with  rage.  Thrust- 
ing ;herself  forward  into •  the  circle  of  'light  cast  by : the  Ian- 
thorn/  she  'assailed  rme>  with;  a  virulence  and -fierceness. which 
said;  more /for 'her  devotion  rto  -her  imistress  'thanlher  respect 
for :  me.  Her  -  wild  gesticulation  s,  hex  ihreats,  rand  the  ap- 
peals which  yshe  ;made  now^.toianejcand  now  to"  the  men  who 
stood  in  a  circle  round  us,  their  faces  in  shadow,  discomfited 
as  much  as  they  :surprised;nve. 

f  What  f ' : she  ciied  .violently,  ^you  -call  .yourself  a  gentle- 
man, and  lie  .here  :«uad  Jlet  jny  imistress  be  murdered,  of 

u2 


308  A  GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

worse,  within  a  league  of  you !  Two  leagues  ?  A  groat 
for  your  two  leagues !  I  would  walk  them  barefoot  if  that 
would  shame  you.  And  you,  you  call  yourselves  men,  and 
suffer  it !  It  is  God's  truth  you  are  a  set  of  cravens  and 
sluggards.  Give  me  as  many  women,  and  I  would ' 

'  Peace,  woman ! '  Maignan  said  in  his  deep  voice.  '  You 
had  your  way  and  came  with  us,  and  you  will  obey  orders 
as  well  as  another !  Be  off,  and  see  to  the  victuals  before 
worse  happen  to  you  ! ' 

'  Ay,  see  to  the  victuals ! '  she  retorted.  ( See  to  the 
victuals,  forsooth !  That  is  all  you  think  of — to  lie  warm 
and  eat  your  fill !  A  set  of  dastardly,  drinking,  droning 
guzzlers  you  are  !  You  are ! '  she  retorted,  her  voice  rising 
to  a  shriek.  '  May  the  plague  take  you  ! ' 

'  Silence ! '  Maignan  growled  fiercely,  '  or  have  a  care  to 
yourself !  For  a  copper-piece  I  would  send  you  to  cool  your 
heels  in  the  water  below — for  that  last  word !  Begone,  do 
you  hear,'  he  continued,  seizing  her  by  the  shoulder  and 
thrusting  her  towards  the  house,  '  or  worse  may  happen  to 
you.  We  are  rough  customers,  as  you  will  find  if  you  do 
not  lock  up  your  tongue  ! ' 

I  heard  her  go  wailing  into  the  darkness ;  and  Heaven 
knows  it  was  not  without  compunction  I  forced  myself  to 
remain  inactive  in  the  face  of  a  devotion  which  seemed  so 
much  greater  than  mine.  The  men  fell  away  one  by  one  to 
look  to  their  horses  and  choose  sleeping-quarters  for  the 
night;  and  presently  M.  d'Agen  and  I  were  left  alone 
standing  beside  the  lanthorn,  which  the  man  had  hung  on 
a  bush  before  his  door.  The  brawling  of  the  water  as  it 
poured  between  the  banks,  a  score  of  paces  from  us,  and 
the  black  darkness  which  hid  everything  beyond  the  little 
ring  of  light  in  which  we  stood — so  that  for  all  we  could 
see  we  were  in  a  pit — had  the  air  of  isolating  us  from  all 
the  world. 

I  looked  at  the  young  man,  who  had  not  once  lisped  that 
day ;  and  I  plainly  read  in  his  attitude  his  disapproval  of 
my  caution.  Though  he  declined  to  meet  my  eye,  he  stood 


THE  CASTLE  ON  THE  HILL  309 

with  his  arms  folded  and  his  head  thrown  back,  making  no 
attempt  to  disguise  the  scorn  and  ill-temper  which  his  face 
expressed.  Hurt  by  the  woman's  taunts,  and  ^ssibly 
shaken  in  my  opinion,  I  grew  restive  under  his  silence,  and 
unwisely  gave  way  to  my  feelings. 

'  You  do  not  appear  to  approve  of  my  decision,  M. 
d'Agen  ?  '  I  said. 

'  It  is  yours  to  command,  sir,'  he  answered  proudly. 

There  are  truisms  which  have  more  power  to  annoy  than 
the  veriest  reproaches.  I  should  have  borne  in  mind  the 
suspense  and  anxiety  he  was  suffering,  and  which  had  so 
changed  him  that  I  scarcely  knew  him  for  the  gay  young 
spark  on  whose  toe  I  had  trodden.  I  should  have  remem- 
bered that  he  was  young  arid  I  old,  and  that  it  behoved  me 
to  be  patient.  But  on  my  side  also  there  was  anxiety,  and 
responsibility  as  well ;  and,  above  all,  a  rankling  soreness, 
to  which  I  refrain  from  giving  the  name  of  jealousy,  though 
it  came  as  near  to  that  feeling  as  the  difference  in  our  ages 
and  personal  advantages  (whereof  the  balance  was  all  on 
his  side)  would  permit.  This,  no  doubt,  it  was  which  im- 
pelled me  to  continue  the  argument. 

'You  would  go  on?'  I  said  persistently. 

1  It  is  idle  to  say  what  I  would  do/  he  answered  with  a 
flash  of  anger. 

<I  asked  for  your  opinion,  sir,'  I  rejoined  stiffly. 

'  To  what  purpose  ?  '  he  retorted,  stroking  his  small  mous- 
tache haughtily.  '  We  look  at  the  thing  from  opposite 
points.  You  are  going  about  your  business,  which  appears 
to  be  the  rescuing  of  ladies  who  are — may  I  venture  to  say 
it  ? — so  unfortunate  as  to  entrust  themselves  to  your  charge. 
I,  M.  de  Marsac,  am  more  deeply  interested.  More  deeply 
interested,'  he  repeated  lamely.  '  I — in  a  word,  I  am  pre- 
pared, sir,  to  do  what  others  only  talk  of — and  if  I  cannot/ 
follow  otherwise,  would  follow  on  my  feet ! ' 

'  Whom  ? '  I  asked  curtly,  stung  by  this  repetition  of  my 
own  words. 

He  laughed  harshly  and  bitterly.      '  Why  explain  ?  or 


;jnr  A,  GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

why  quarrel?.'  he  replied  cynically.  '  God  knows,  if  I  could 
afford  to  quarrel  with  you,  I  should ;  have  done  so  fifty  hours 
ago.  3"Ut  I  need  your  help  ;  and,  needing  iti,  I  am  prepared1 
to  do  tM>t  which  must  seem  to  a  person  of  your  calm  pas- 
nions  and  perfect  judgment  alike  futile  and  incredible — pay 
<,he  full  price  for  it.' 

'  The  full  price  for  it ! '  I  muttered,  understanding  noth- 
ing, except  that  I  did 'not  understand. 

'  A;y ,  tlie  full  price  for  it ! '  he  repeated.  And  as-  he  spoke 
he  looked  at  me  with  an  expression  of  rage  so  fierce -that  I' 
recoiled  a  step..  That  seemed  to  restore  him  in' some  de-> 
gree  to  himself,  for  without  giving  me 'an  opportunity  of' 
answering  he  turned  hastily  from  me,  and,  striding  away, 
was  in  a  moment  lost  in  the  darkness; 

He  left. me  amazed ;  beyond  measure:  I1  stood  repeating 
his  phrase  about .-'  the  full  price '  a*  hundred  times  over,  but' 
&till  found,  it  and  his  passion  inexplicable.  To  cut  the  mat- 
ter short,  L could  come  to  no  other  conclusion  than  that  he 
desired  to  •  insult  me,  and  aware  of  my  poverty  and  the 
equivocal  position  in  which  I  stood  towards  mademoiselle, 
chose  his  words  accordingly.  This  seemed  a-thing  unworthy 
of  one  of  whom  I'  had  before  thought  highly ;  but  calmer 
reflection  enabling  me  to  see 'something  of  youthful  bombast 
in  the  tirade  he  had  delivered,  I  smiled  a  little  sadly,  and1 
determined  to  think  no  more -of  the  matter  for  the  present, 
but  to  persist  firmly- in  that  which  seemed  tb  me  to  be 'the 
right'  course. 

Having  settled  this^  I;was  about  to  enter  the  house,  wheni 
Maignan  stopped  me,  telling  me  that'  the  plague  had 'killed 
five  people  in  it,  leaving  only  the  man  we'  had  seen; 
who  had,  indeed,  been  seized,  but  recovered.  This  ghastly 
news  had1  scared  my  company  to  such  a  degree  that  they 
had  gone  as  far  from  the  house  as  the  level  ground  per-- 
mitted,  and  there  lighted  a  fire,  round' which  they  were 
going 'to  pass  the  night:  Eanchette  had  taken  up  her  quar- 
ters in  the  stable,  and  the  equerry  announced  that;  he  had 
kept1,  a  shed  full  of  sweet  hay  for  M".  d'Agen  and  myself. 


THE  CASTLE  ON  THE  HILL  %n 

1  assented  to  this  arrangement,  and  after  supping  off  soup 
and  black  bread,  which  was  all  we  could  procure,  bade  the 
peasant  rouse  us  two  hours  before  sunrise;  and. so,  being 
too  weary  and  old  in  service  to  remain  awake  -'thinking,  I 
fell  asleep,  and  slept  soundly  till  a  little  after  four. 

My  first  business  on'rising  was  to  see  that  the  men  before 
mounting  made  a  meal,  for  it  is  ill  work  fighting  empty.  I 
went 'round  also  and  saw  that  all  had  their  arms,  and  that 
such  as  •carried  pistols  had  them  loaded  and  primed.  M. 
"Francois  did  not  put  in  an  appearance  until  this  wor-k  was 
done,  and  then  showed  a  very  pale  and  gloomy  countenance. 
I  took  no  heed  of  him,  however,  and  with  the  first  -streak 
.of  daylight  we  started  in  single  file  and  at.  a  snail's  pace  up 
the  valley,  the  peasant,  whom  I  placed  in  MaignanV  charge, 
going  before  to  guide' us,  and  M.  d'Agen.'and  I  ridingln  the 
rear.  By  the  time  the  sun  rose  and  warmed  our  chilled;and 
shivering  frames  we'were  over  the;worst  of  the; ground,  and 
were  able  to  advance  at  some  speed  along,  a  track  cut; through 
a  dense  forest  of  oak-trees. 

Though  we  had  now  risen  out  of  the  valley,  the  close-set 
trunks  and  the  undergrowth 'round 'them  prevented  our  see- 
ing in  any  direction.  'For  a  mile-  ormore  we  rode:  on  blindly, 
and  presently  started  on  'finding 'ourselves  on  the  brow  of;  a 
hill,  looking  down  into  a  valley,  the  nearer '  end  of  which 
was  clothed  in  woods,  while  the  farther 'widened  into  green 
;sloping  pastures.  From  the  midst, of  "these  a  hill  or: mount 
rose  sharply  up,  until  it  ended  in  walls  of  grey  stone  scarce 
'to  be  distinguished. at  that  distance  'from  the  native  rock 
on  which  they  stood. 

' See ! '  cried- our  guide.     '/There  is  the^castle ! ' 

Bidding  the  men  dismount  in  haste,  that  the  chance  of 
our  being  seen  by  the  enemy — which  was  not  great — might 
!be  farther  lessened,  I 'began 'to  inspect  the  position  at  leis- 
ure.; my  first  feeling  while  doing -so  .be  ing  one  of  thankful- 
•ness  that  I  had  not  attempted  a  night  attack,  which  must 
•inevitably  hare  'miscarried,  possibly  with  iloss  . to: ourselves, 
and  certainly  twith  the  'result  of  informing  the  enemy- of  tour 


312  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

presence.  The  castle,  of  which  we  had  a  tolerable  view,  was 
long  and  narrow  in  shape,  consisting  of  two  towers  connected 
by  walls.  The  nearer  tower,  through  which  lay  the  en- 
trance, was  roofless,  and  in  every  way  seemed  to  be  more 
ruinous  than  the  inner  one,  which  appeared  to  be  perfect  in 
both  its  stories.  This  defect  notwithstanding,  the  place  was 
so  strong  that  my  heart  sank  lower  the  longer  I  looked ;  and 
a  glance  at  Maignan's  face  assured  me  that  his  experience 
was  also  at  fault.  For  M.  d'Agen,  I  clearly  saw,  when  I 
turned  to  him,  that  he  had  never  until  this  moment  realised 
what  we  had  to  expect,  but,  regarding  our  pursuit  in  the 
light  of  a  hunting-party,  had  looked  to  see  it  end  in  like 
easy  fashion.  His  blank,  surprised  face,  as  he  stood  eyeing 
the  stout  grey  walls,  said  as  much  as  this. 

*  Arnidieu  ! '  Maignan  muttered,  '  give  me  ten  men,  and  I 
would  hold  it  against  a  hundred ! ' 

*  Tut,  man,  there  is  more  than  one  way  to  Borne ! '  I  an- 
swered oracularly,  though  I  was  far  from  feeling  as  confident 
as  I  seemed.    '  Come,  let  us  descend  and  view  this  nut  a  little 
nearer.' 

We  began  to  trail  downwards  in  silence,  ana  as  tne  path 
led  us  for  a  while  out  of  sight  of  the  castle,  we  were  able 
to  proceed  with  less  caution.  We  had  nearly  reached  with- 
out adventure  the  farther  skirts  of  the  wood,  between  which 
and  the  ruin  lay  an  interval  of  open  ground,  when  we  came 
suddenly,  at  the  edge  of  a  little  clearing,  on  an  old  hag ; 
who  was  so  intent  upon  tying  up  faggots  that  she  did  not 
see  us  until  Maignan's  hand  was  on  her  shoulder.  When 
she  did,  she  screamed  out,  and  escaping  from  him  with  an 
activity  wonderful  in  a  woman  of  her  age,  ran  with  great 
swiftness  to  the  side  of  an  old  man  who  lay  at  the  foot  of  a 
tree  half  a  bowshot  off;  and  whom  we  had  not  before  seen. 
Snatching  up  an  axe,  she  put  herself  in  a  posture  of  defence 
before  him  with  gestures  and  in  a  manner  as  touching  in 
the  eyes  of  some  among  us  as  they  were  ludicrous  in  those 
of  others ;  who  cried  to  Maignan  that  he  had  met  his  match  at 
last,  with  other  gibes  of  the  kind  that  pass  current  in  camps. 


THE  CASTLE  ON  THE  HILL  313 

I  called  to  him  to  let  her  be,  and  went  forward  myself  to 
the  old  man,  who  lay  on  a  rude  bed  of  leaves,  and  seemed 
unable  to  rise.  Appealing  to  me  with  a  face  of  agony  not 
to  hurt  his  wife,  he  bade  her  again  and  again  lay  down  her 
axe ;  but  she  would  not  do  this  until  I  had  assured  her  that 
we  meant  him  no  harm,  and  that  my  men  should  molest 
neither  the  one  nor  the  other. 

*  We  only  want  to  know  this,'  I  said,  speaking  slowly,  in 
fear  lest  my  language  should  be  little  more  intelligible  to 
them  than  their  patois  to  me.  '  There  are  a  dozen  horsemen 
in  the  old  castle  there,  are  there  not  ? ' 

The  man  stilled  his  wife,  who  continued  to  chatter  and 
mow  at  us,  and  answered  eagerly  that  there  were ;  adding, 
with  a  trembling  oath,  that  the  robbers  had  beaten  him, 
robbed  him  of  his  small  store  of  meal,  and  when  he  would 
have  protested,  thrown  him  out,  breaking  his  leg. 

'Then  how  came  you  here  ? '  I  said. 

'She  brought  me  on  her  back,'  he  answered  feebly. 

Doubtless  there  were  men  in  my  train  who  would  have 
done  all  that  these  others  had  done ;  but  hearing  the  simple 
story  told,  they  stamped  and  swore  great  oaths  of  indigna- 
nation ;  and  one,  the  roughest  of  the  party,  took  out  some 
black  bread  and  gave  it  to  the  woman,  whom  under  other 
circumstances  he  would  not  have  hesitated  to  rob.  Mai- 
gnan,  who  knew  all  arts  appertaining  to  war,  examined  the 
man's  leg  and  made  a  kind  of  cradle  for  it,  while  I  ques- 
tioned the  woman. 

'  They  are  there  still  ? '  I  said.  '  I  saw  their  horses 
tethered  under  the  walls.' 

'  Yes,  God  requite  them ! '  she  answered,  trembling 
violently. 

'  Tell  me  about  the  castle,  my  good  woman,'  I  said.  'How 
many  roads  into  it  are  there  ? ' 

'  Only  one.' 

'  Through  the  nearer  tower  ? ' 

She  said  yes,  and  finding  that  she  understood  me,  and 
was  less  dull  of  intellect  than  her  wretched  appearance  led 


314  A    GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

me  to  expect,.  !•  put  a  series,  of  questions  to  her  which  it 
wo.uld.  be  tedious  to  detail.  Suffice  it-,  that  L  learned  that  it 
was  impossible  to  enter  or  leave  the  ruin  except  through 
the  nearer  tower;  that  a  rickety  temporary,  gate  barred  the 
entrance,  and  that  from  this  tower^,  which  was  a  mere  shell 
of  four  walls,  a;  narrow  square-headed  doorway  without  a 
door  led  into  the  court,  beyond,  which  rose  the  habitable 
tower  of  two  stories.. 

'•Do.  you  know  if  they  intend  to  stay  there? '  I  asked. 

'Oh,  ay,  they  bade  me  bring  them  faggots  for  their  fire 
this  morning,  and  I  should  have  a  handful  of  my  own: meal 
back/,  she  answered  bitterly;;  and. fell  thereon into  a  ,passion 
of  impotent  rage,  shaking  both  her 'clenched;  hands  in,  the 
direction  of  the.  castle,. and;  screaming  frenzied: maledictions 
in. her  cracked- and: quavering  voice.. 

I  pondered:  awhile  over' what,  she  had  said;  liking  very 
little  the  thought  of  that:  narrow  squareJieaded  doorway 
through  which  we  must,  pass-  before:  we  could;  effect  any- 
thing. And  the  gate,  tooy  troubled  me.  It  might  not  be  ? 
strong,  one,  .but.  we  had:  neither  powder,  nor;  guns,  nor  any. 
siege  implements,  and,  could  not  pull  down  stone  walls  with 
our  naked;  hands..  By.  seizing  the  horses  we  could:  indeed 
cut  off.  B mill's  •  retreat.;  but.  he  might  still  escape  in  the 
night;  and  in  any  case  our  pains  would  only  increase  the 
women's  hardships  while,  adding  fuel  to  his  rage.  We  must 
have  some. other  plan; 

The  sun  was  high  by  this  time;  the  edge  of  the  wood 
scarcely  a  hundred  paces  from  us.  By  advancing  a .  few 
yards  through  the  trees  I  could  see  the  horses  feeding 
peacefully  at  the  foot  of  the:  sunny  slope,  and  even  follow 
with  my  eyes  the  faint  track  which  zigzagged  up  the  hill  to 
the.  closed  gate.  No  one  appeared- — doubtless  they  were 
sleeping  off  the  fatigue  of  the  journey — and  I  drew  no  in* 
spiration  thence ;  but  as  I  turned  to  consult  Maignan  my 
eye  lit  on  the  faggots,  and  I  saw  in  a  flash  that  here: was  a 
chance:  of  putting:  into  practice  a  stratagem  as  old;  as:  the 
hills,  yet  ever  fresh,  and  not  seldom  successful!. 


THE.  CASTLE  QN  THE  HILL  315 

It:  was:  no  time  for.  over-refinenxent.  My  knaves  were 
beginning  to  stray  forward  out  of  curiosity,  and:  at  any 
moment  one  of  our  horses,  scenting  those  of  the  enemy, 
might  neigh  and  give  the  alarm..  Hastily  calling  ML  d'Agen 
and  Maignan  to  me,  I  laid  my  plan  before  them,  and  satis- 
fied myself  that  it  had  their  approval ;  the  fact  that  I  had 
reserved  a  special  part  for  the  former  serving  to  thaw  the 
reserve  which  had  succeeded  to  his  outbreak,  of  the  night 
before.  After  some  debate  Maignan.  persuaded  me  that  the 
old  woman  had  not  sufficient  nerve  to  play  the  part  L  pro- 
posed for  her,,  and  named  Fanchette ;  who  being  called  into 
council,  did'  not  belie  the  opinion  we  had  formed  of  her 
courage.  In  a  few  moments  our  preparations  were  com- 
plete: I  had  donned  the  old  charcoal-burner's  outer  rags> 
Eanchette  had  assumed  those  of  the  woman,  while  M. 
d'Agen,  who  was  for  a  time'  at.  a  lossy  and  betrayed  less 
taste  for  this  part  of-  the  plan  than  for  any  other,  ended  by 
putting  on  the  jerkin  and  hose  of  the  man  who  had  served 
us  as  guide;. 

When  all  was- ready  I  commended  the  troop  to  Maignan?s 
discretion,  charging  him  in  the  event  of  anything  happening 
to  us  to  continue  the  most  persistent  efforts  for  mademoi-- 
selle's  release,  and  on.no  account  to  abandon  her.  Having 
received  his  promise' to.' this  effect,  and  being  satisfied;  that 
lie  would,  keep  it,,  we  took  up  each  of  us  a  great  faggot, 
which  being  borne  on  the  head  and:  shoulders  served  to  hide 
the  features  very,  effectually  -,  and  thus  disguised  we  boldly 
left  the  shelter  of  the  trees.  Eanchette  and  I  went  first, 
tottering  in  a  most  natural  fashion  under  the  weight  of  our 
burdens,  while  M.  d' Agen  followed1  a  hundred  yards  behind 
Lhad.given  Maignan  orders  to  make  a  dash  for  the  gate  the 
moment  he  saw  the  last  named  start  to  run. 

The  perfect  stillness  of  the  valley,  the  clearness  of  the 
air,  and  the  absence  of  any  sign  of  life  in  the  castle  before 
us — which  might  have  been  that?  of  the1  Sleeping  Princess, 
so  fairy-like:  it :laokedi  against:  the; sky. — with,  the  suspense 
and  excitement  in  our  own  breasts,  which  these  peculiarities 


316  A    GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

seemed  to  increase  a  hundred-fold,  made  the  tnne  that  i'ol- 
lowed  one  of  the  strangest  in  my  experience.  It  was  nearly 
ten  o'clock,  and  the  warm  sunshine  flooding  everything 
about  us  rendered  the  ascent,  laden  as  we  were,  laborious 
in  the  extreme.  The  crisp,  short  turf,  which  had  scarcely 
got  its  spring  growth,  was  slippery  and  treacherous.  We 
dared  not  hasten,  for  we  knew  not  what  eyes  Avere  upon  us, 
and  we  dared  as  little — after  we  had  gone  half-way — lay 
our  faggots  down,  lest  the  action  should  disclose  too  much 
of  our  features. 

When  we  had  reached  a  point  within  a  hundred  paces  of 
the  gate,  which  still  remained  obstinately  closed,  we  stood 
to  breathe  ourselves,  and  balancing  my  bundle  on  my  head, 
I  turned  to  make  sure  that  all  was  right  behind  us.  I  found 
that  M.  d'Agen,  intent  on  keeping  his  distance,  had  chosen 
the  same  moment  for  rest,  and  was  sitting  in  a  very  natural 
manner  on  his  faggot,  mopping  his  face  with  the  sleeve  of 
his  jerkin.  I  scanned  the  brown  leafless  wood,  in  which  we 
had  left  Maignan  and  our  men ;  but  I  could  detect  no  glitter 
among  the  trees  nor  any  appearance  likely  to  betray  us. 
Satisfied  on  these  points,  I  muttered  a  few  words  of  encour- 
agement to  Fanchette,  whose  face  was  sti-eaining  with  per- 
spiration ;  and  together  we  turned  and  addressed  ourselves 
to  our  task,  fatigue — for  we  had  had  no  practice  in  carrying 
burdens  on  the  head — enabling  us  to  counterfeit  the  decrepi- 
tude of  age  almost  to  the  life. 

The  same  silence  prevailing  as  we  drew  nearer  inspired 
me  with  not  a  few  doubts  and  misgivings.  Even  the  bleat 
of  a  sheep  would  have  been  welcome  in  the  midst  of  a  still- 
ness which  seemed  ominous.  But  no  sheep  bleated,  no  voice 
hailed  us.  The  gate,  ill-hung  and  full  of  fissures,  remained 
closed.  Step  by  step  we  staggered  up  to  it,  and  at  length 
reached  it.  Afraid  to  speak  lest  my  accent  should  betray 
me,  I  struck  the  forepart  of  my  faggot  against  it  and  waited : 
doubting  whether  our  whole  stratagem  had  not  been  per- 
ceived from  the  beginning,  and  a  pistol-shot  might  not  be 
the  retort. 


THE  CASTLE  ON  THE  HILL  317 

Nothing  of  the  kind  happened,  however.  The  sound  of 
the  blow,  which  echoed  dully  through  the  building,  died 
away,  and  the  old  silence  resumed  its  sway.  We  knocked 
again,  but  fully  two  minutes  elapsed  before  a  grumbling 
voice,  as  of  a  man  aroused  from  sleep,  was  heard  drawing 
near,  and  footsteps  came  slowly  and  heavily  to  the  gate. 
Probably  the  fellow  inspected  us  through  a  loophole,  for  he 
paused  a  moment,  and  my  heart  sank ;  but  the  next,  seeing 
nothing  suspicious,  he  unbarred  the  gate  with  a  querulous 
oath,  and,  pushing  it  open,  bade  vis  enter  and  be  quick 
about  it. 

I  stumbled  forward  into  the  cool,  dark  shadow,  and  the 
woman  followed  me,  while  the  man,  stepping  out  with  a 
yawn,  stood  in  the  entrance,  stretching  himself  in  the  sun- 
shine. The  roofless  tower,  which  smelled  dank  and  un- 
wholesome, was  empty,  or  cumbered  only  with  rubbish  and 
heaps  of  stones ;  but  looking  through  the  inner  door  I  saw 
in  the  courtyard  a  smouldering  fire  and  half  a  dozen  men  in 
the  act  of  rousing  themselves  from  sleep.  I  stood  a  second 
balancing  my  faggot,  as  if  in  doubt  where  to  lay  it  down ; 
and  then  assuring  myself  by  a  swift  glance  that  the  man 
who  had  let  us  in  still  had  his  back  towards  us,  I  dropped 
it  across  the  inner  doorway.  Fanchette,  as  she  had  been 
instructed,  plumped  hers  upon  it,  and  at  the  same  moment 
I  sprang  to  the  door,  and  taking  the  man  there  by  surprise, 
dealt  him  a  violent  blow  between  the  shoulders,  which  sent 
him  headlong  down  the  slope. 

A  cry  behind  me,  followed  by  an  oath  of  alarm,  told  me 
that  the  action  was  observed  and  that  now  was  the  pinch. 
In  a  second  I  was  back  at  the  faggots,  and  drawing  a  pistol 
from  under  my  blouse  was  in  time  to  meet  the  rush  of  the 
nearest  man,  who,  comprehending  all,  sprang  up,  and  made 
for  me,  with  his  sheathed  sword.  I  shot  him  in  the  chest 
as  he  cleared  the  faggots — which,  standing  nearly  as  high 
as  a  man's  waist,  formed  a  tolerable  obstacle — and  he  pitched 
forward  at  my  feet. 

This  balked  his  companions,  who  drew  back ;  but  unfor- 


3i8  A    GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

tunately  it  was  necessary  for  me  to  stoop  to  get  my  sword, 
which  was  hidden  in  the  faggot  I  had  carried.  The:  fore- 
most of  the  rascals  took  advantage  of  this.  Rushing  at  me 
with  a  long  knife,  he  failed  to  stab  me — for  I  caught  his 
wrist— but  he  succeeded  in  bringing  me  to  the  ground.  J 
thought /I  was  undone.  I  looked  to  have  the  others  swarm 
over  upon  us :  and  so  it  would  doubtless. 'have  happened  had 
not  Fanchette,  with  rare  courage,  dealt  the  first  who  'followed 
alusty  blow  on  the  body  with  a  great  stick  she  snatched  up. 
The 'man  collapsed  on  the  faggots,  and  this  'hampered  the 
rest.  The  check  was  enough.  It  enabled  M.  d'Agen  to 
eome  up,  who,  dashing  in  through  the  gate,  shot 'down  the 
first  he  saw  before  him,; and  running  at  the  doorway  with 
his  sword  with  incredible  fury  and  the  courage  which  I  had 
always  known  him  to  possess,  cleared  it  in  a  twinkling.  The 
man  with  whom  I  was  engaged  on  the  ground,  seeing  what 
had  happened,  wrested  himself  free  with  : the  strength' of 
despair,  and  dashing  through  the  outer  door,  > narrowly  es- 
caped being  ridden  down  by  my  followers  as  they  swept  up 
to  the  gate  at  a  gallop,  and  dismounted  amid  a  whirlwind 
•of  •  cries. 

In  a  moment  they  ihronged  in  on  us  pell-mell,  and. as 
soon  as  I  could  'lay  ;my  hand  on  imy  -sword  I  led  them 
through  the  doorway -with  a  cheer,  hoping  to  be;able  to 
.enter  the  farther  tower  with  the  enemy.  <Butfthe  latter  had 
taken  the  alarm  .too  early  and  too  thoroughly.  The  court 
was  empty.  We  were  barely/' in  time  to  see  the  last  man 
dart  up  a  flight  of  outside  stairs,  which  led  ;to  the  first 
story,  and  disappear,  closing  a  heavy  door  behind  him.  I 
Crushed  to  the 'foot ; of 'the  steps  and  would  have  ascended 
also,  hoping  against  hope  :to  find  the  door  unsecured;  but 
a  shot  which  .was  fired  through  a  loop  hole  and  (narrowly 
missed  my  head,  and  another  which  :brought  down  one  idf 
my  men,  made;me  pause.  Discerning  all  rfche  advantage  to 
be  on  B ruhl's -side,  since  he  could  shoot  us  down '.from. his 
cover,  I  cried  a  retreat;  the  issue  of  the  matter  leaving'. us 
masters  of 'the  entrance-tower,  -while  :fchey  retained  the  dnner 


PESTILENCE  AND  FAMINE  319. 

and  stronger  tower,  the  narrow  court  between  the  two  being 
neutral  ground  unsafe  for 'either  party: 

Two  of  their  men  had:  fled  outwards  and  were  gone,  and 
two  lay  dead;  while,  the  loss  on  our  side  was- confined  to 
the  man  who  was  shot,  and  Fanohette,  who  had  received  a 
blow  on  the  head  in  the  m&lee,  and  was  found,  when  we 
retreated,  lying  sick  and  dazed  against  the  wall. 

It  surprised  me  much,  when  I  came  to 'think  upon  it,  that 
I  had  seen  nothing  of  Brulil,  though  the  skirmish  had : 
lasted  two  or  three  minutes  from  the  first  outcry,  and  been' 
attended  by  an  abundance  of  noise;  Of  Fresnoy,  too,  I 
now  remembered  that  I  had  caught  a  glimpse  only.  These 
two  facts  seemed  so  strange  that  I1  was  beginning- to 'augur 
the  worst,  though  I  scarcely  know  why,  when  my  spirits 
were  marvellously  raised  and  my  fears  relieved  by  a  thing 
which  Maignan;  who  was  the  first  to  notice  it,  pointed' out 
to  me.  This  was  the  appearance  at  an  upper  window  of  a1 
white  'kerchief,  which  was  waved  several  times  towards  us. 
The  window  was  little  more  than  an  arrow-slit,  and  so  nar- 
row and  high  besides  that  it  was  impossible  to  see  who  gave 
the  signal ;  but  my  experience  of  mademoiselle's  coolness 
and  resource  left  me  in  no  doubt  on  the  point.  With  high 
hopes  and  a  lighter  heart  than  I  had  worn  for  some  time  I 
bestirred  myself  to  take  every  precaution,  and  began  by 
bidding  Maignan  select  two  men  and  ride  round  the  hill, 
to  make  sure  that  the  enemy  had  no  way  of  retreat  open  to 
him. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

PESTIEENCE  AND    FAMINE. 


WHILE  Maignan  •  was :  away  about'  this  •  business  I-  de- 
spatched two  men  to  catoh  our  horses,  which  were 'running: 
loose  in  the  valley,  and  to  remove  those  of  Bruhl's  party ' 
kr  a  safe  distance  from  the  castle.  I  also  blocked  up  the- 


320  A   GENTLEMAN  Of  FRANCE 

lower  part  of  the  door  leading  into  the  courtyard,  and 
named  four  men  to  remain  under  arms  beside  it,  that  we 
might  not  be  taken  by  surprise ;  an  event  of  which  I  had 
the  less  fear,  however,  since  the  enemy  were  now  reduced 
to  eight  swords,  and  could  only  escape,  as  we  could  only 
enter,  through  this  doorway.  I  was  still  busied  with  these 
arrangements  when  M.  d;Agen  joined  me,  and  I  broke  off 
to  compliment  him  oil  his  courage,  acknowledging  in  par- 
ticular the  service  he  had  done  me  personally.  The  heat 
of  the  conflict  had  melted  the  young  man's  reserve,  and 
flushed  his  face  with  pride  ;  but  as  he  listened  to  me  he 
gradually  froze  again,  and  when  I  ended  he  regarded  me 
with  the  same  cold  hostility. 

'  I  am  obliged  to  you/  he  said,  bowing.  '  But  may  I  ask 
what  next,  M.  de  Marsac?' 

'  We  have  no  choice,'  I  answered.  (  We  can  dnly  starve 
them  out.' 

'But  the  ladies?'  he  said,  starting  slightly.  'What  of 
them?' 

'  They  Avill  suffer  less  than  the  men,'  I  replied.  '  Trust 
me,  the  latter  will  not  bear  starving  long.' 

He  seemed  surprised,  but  I  explained  that  with  our  small 
numbers  we  could  not  hope  to  storm  the  tower,  and  might 
think  ourselves  fortunate  that  we  now  had  the  enemy 
cooped  up  where  he  could  not  escape,  and  must  eventually 
surrender. 

'Ay,  but  in  the  meantime  how  will  you  ensure  the  women 
against  violence?'  he  asked,  with  an  air  which  showed  he 
was  far  from  satisfied. 

1  I  will  see  to  that  when  Maignan  comes  back,'  I  answered 
pretty  confidently. 

The  equerry  appeared  in  a  moment  with  the  assurance 
that  egress  from  the  farther  side  of  the  tower  was  impos- 
sible. I  bade  him  nevertheless  keep  a  horseman  moving 
round  the  hill,  that  we  might  have  intelligence  of  any 
attempt.  The  order  was  scarcely  given  when  a  man — one 
of  those  I  had  left  on  guard  at  the  door  of  the  courtyard — 


PESTILENCE  AND  FAMINE  321 

came  to  tell  me  that  Fresnoy  desired  to  speak  with  me  on 
behalf  of  M.  de  Bruhl. 

'  Where  is  he  ? '  I  asked. 

'  At  the  inner  door  with  a  flag  of  truce/  was  the  answer. 

'  Tell  him,  then,'  I  said,  without  ottering  to  move,  '  that 
I  will  communicate  with  no  one  except  his  leader,  M.  de 
Bruhl.  And  add  this,  my  friend,'  I  continued.  '  Say  it 
aloud  :  that  if  the  ladies  whom  he  has  in  charge  are  injured 
by  so  much  as  a  hair,  I  will  hang  every  man  within  these 
walls,  from  M.  de  Bruhl  to  the  youngest  lackey.'  And  I 
added  a  solemn  oath  to  that  effect. 

The  man  nodded,  and  went  on  his  errand,  while  I  and  M. 
d'Agen,  with  Maignan,  remained  standing  outside  the  gate, 
looking  idly  over  the  valley  and  the  brown  woods  through 
which  we  had  ridden  in  the  early  morning.  My  eyes  rested 
chiefly  on  the  latter,  Maignan's  as  it  proved  on  the  former. 
Doubtless  we  all  had  our  own  thoughts.  Certainly  I  had, 
and  for  a  while,  in  my  satisfaction  at  the  result  of  the 
attack  and  the  manner  in  which  we  had  Bruhl  confined,  I 
did  not  remark  the  gravity  which  was  gradually  overspread- 
ing the  equerry's  countenance.  When  I  did  I  took  the 
alarm,  and  asked  him  sharply  what  was  the  matter. 

1 1  don't  like  that,  your  Excellency,'  he  answered,  point- 
Ing  into  the  valley. 

I  looked  anxiously,  and  looked,  and  saw  nothing. 

'What  ? '  I  said  in  astonishment. 

'The  blue  mist,'  he  muttered,  with  a  shiver.  'I  have 
been  watching  it  this  half-hour,  your  Excellency.  It  is 
rising  fast.' 

I  cried  out  on  him  for  a  maudlin  fool,  and  M.  d'Agen 
swore  impatiently;  but  for  all  that,  and  despite  the  con- 
tempt I  strove  to  exhibit,  I  felt  a  sudden  chill  at  my  heart 
as  I  recognised  in  the  valley  below  the  same  blue  haze 
which  had  attended  us  through  yesterday's  ride,  and  left  us 
only  at  nightfall.  Involuntarily  we  both  fell  to  watching 
it  as  it  rose  slowly  and  more  slowly,  first  enveloping  the 
lower  woods,  and  then  spreading  itself  abroad  in  the  sun- 


322  A    GENTLEMAN  -  OF  FRANCE 

dhine.  It  is  hard  to  witness  -a  bold  'man's  terror  and 
remain  unaff ected  by  it ;  and  I  confess  'I  'trembled.  Here, 
in  the  moment  of  our  seeming  'success,  'was  something 
which  'I  'had  -not  taken  into  account,  something  against 
which  T  could  not'  guard  either 'myself  •  or  others' ! 

•'See!'  Maignan  whispered  hoarsely,  pointing: again  with 
his  finger.  'It  is  the  Angel  of  Death,  your 'Excellency : ! 
Where  he  kills  by  ones  and  twos,' he  is  invisible.  But  when 
he  slays  by-hundreds  and 'by 'thousands,  men  see  the  shadow 
of  his  wings  ! ' 

'Chut,  fool!'  I  retorte'd  with  anger,1  which  was  secretlv 
proportioned  to  the  impression  his  weird  saying  made  or 
me.  'You  "have -been  in  battles !  Did  you  ever  see  him 
there  ?  or  at  a  -sack'?  A  truce  to  this  folly,'  I  continued. 
1  And  do  you  go  and : inquire  what  food  we  have  with  us.  It 
may  be  necessary  to  send : for  some.' 

I  watched  him  go  doggedly' off,  and 'knowing  the  stout 
nature  of  the  man  and 'his  devotion 'to  his  master,  I  had  iu> 
fear  that  he  would  fail  us ;  but  there  were  others,  almost  as 
necessary  to  us,  in  whom  I  could .  not -place  the  same  confi- 
dence. And  these  had  also  taken  the  alarm.  When  I 
turned  I  found  groups 'ofpalerfaeed' men,  standingly  twos 
and  ; threes  at 'my 'back  j  who, 'pointing  anff  muttering  and 
telling  one  another  what  Maignan  had  told  us,'looked  where 
we  had  looked.  As  one  spoke  and  another  listened,  I  saw 
the  old  panic  revive  in  their  eyes.  Men  who  an  hour  or 
two 'before  had  crossed 'the  court  under  fire  with1  the  utmost 
resolution,  and  dared 'instant  death  without  a  thought,  grew 
pale,  and  looking  from  this  side  of  the  valley  to  that  with 
faltering  eyes,  seemed  to  be  seeking,  like  hunted  animals,  a 
place  of  refuge.  Fear,  once  aroused,  hung  in  the  air.  Men 
talked 'in  whispers  of  the 'abnormal  heat,  and,  gazing  at  the 
cloudless  sky,  fled  from  the  sunshine  to  the  shadow ;  or, 
looking  over  the  expanse  of  woods,  longed 'to  be  undercover 
and  away  from 'this  lofty  eyrie,  which  to  their  morbid  eyes 
seemed  a 'target 'for 'air  the  shafts  of  death. 

I  was  not  slow  to  perceive  the  peril  with  which  these 


PESTILENCE  AND  FAMINE  333 

fears  and.  apprehensions,  which  rapidly  became  general^ 
threatened  my  plans.  I  strove  to  keep  the  mem  employed, 
and  to  occupy  their  thoughts  as  far  as  possible  with:  the 
enemy  and  his  proceedings;  but  I  soon  found  that  even 
here  a  danger  lurked ; :  for  Maignan,  coining  to  me  by-and-by 
with  a^  grave  face,  told  me  that,  one  of  Bruhl's  men  had 
ventured  out,  and  was  parleying  with  the  guard  on  our  side 
of  the  court.  I  went,  at  once  and  broke  the  matter  off, 
threatening  to  shoot. the  fellow  if  he  was  not  under  cover 
before  I  counted  ten..  But  the  scared,  sulky  faces  he  left 
'behind- him  told  me  that  the.  mischief  was 'done,  and  I  could 
think  of  no  better  remedy  for  it  than,  to  give  M.  d'Agen  a 
hint,  and  station-  him  at  the  outer  gate1  with;  his  pistols 
ready. 

The  question  o£  provisions,  too,  .threatened  to  become  a 
serious7 one;  I;  dared  not  leave  to  procure- them  myself,  nor 
could;!  trust  any  of'  my  men, with  the  mission;  In  fact, the 
besiegers  were  rapidly  becoming  the  besieged.  Intent  .on 
the  rising  haze  and  their  own  terrors,  they  forgot  all  else. 
Vigilance  and  caution  were  thrown  to  the  winds.  The  still- 
ness of  the  valley,,  its-  isolation; ,  the:  distant,  woods  that 
encircled  us  and  hung  quivering  in  the  heated  air, .all 'added 
to  the  panic.  Despite  all  my  efforts  and  threats,  the  men 
gradually  left  their  posts,  and  getting,  together,  in  little 
parties,  at  the  gate,  worked  themselves  up  to  such .  a  pitch 
of  dread  that  by,  two,  hours  after  noon  they  were  fit  for  any 
folly;  and  at  the  mere  cry  of  'plague  ! '  would,  have  rushed 
to  their  horses, and  ridden  in  every  direction, 

It  was  plain  that;  I  could  depend  for  useful  service:  on 
myself  and  three  others  only — of  whom^to  his  credit  be  it 
said,  Simon  Eleix  was-  one.  Seeing  this,  I  was.  immensely 
relieved  when  I  presently,  heard  that  Eresnoy  was  again 
seeking  to  speak  with .  me.  L  was  no  longer,  it  will  be 
belie  vedj,  for  standing- on  .formalities;  but  glad  to  waive  in 
silence  the  punctilio  on  which,  I  had  before  insisted,  and 
anxious  to jafford  him.  no  opportunity  of  marking  the  slack- 
ness which  prevailed  among  my  men,  I  hastened  to  meet 

v2 


324  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

him  at  the  door  of  the  courtyard,  where  Maignan  had 
detained  him. 

I  might  have  spared  my  pains,  however.  I  had  no  more 
than  saluted  him  and  exchanged  the  merest  preliminaries 
before  I  saw  that  he  was  in  a  state  of  panic  far  exceeding 
that  of  my  following.  His  coarse  face,  which  had  never 
been  prepossessing,  Avas  mottled  and  bedabbled  with  sweat ; 
his  bloodshot  eyes,  when  they  met  mine,  wore  the  fierce  yet 
terrified  expression  of  an  animal  caught  in  a  trap.  Though 
his  first  word  was  an  oath,  sworn  for  the  purpose  of  raising 
his  courage,  the  bully's  bluster  was  gone.  He  spoke  in  a 
low  voice,  and  his  hands  shook;  and  for  a  penny-piece  I 
saw  he  would  have  bolted  past  me  and  taken  his  chance  in 
open  flight. 

I  judged  from  his  first  words,  uttered,  as  I  have  said,  with 
an  oath,  that  he  was  aware  of  his  state.  'M.  de  Marsac,' 
he  said,  whining  like  a  cur,  'you  know  me  to  be  a  man  of 
courage.' 

I  needed  nothing  after  this  to  assure  me  that  he  meditated 
something  of  the  basest;  and  I  took  care  how  I  answered 
him.  'I  have  known  you  stiff  enough  upon  occasions,'  I 
replied  drily.  '  And  then,  again,  I  have  known  you  not  so 
stiff,  M.  Fresnoy.' 

'  Only  when  you  were  in  question,'  he  muttered  with  an- 
other oath.  '  But  flesh  and  blood  cannot  stand  this.  You 
could  not  yourself.  Between  him  and  them  I  am  fairly 
worn  out.  Give  me  good  terms — good  terms,  you  under- 
stand, M.  de  Marsac  ?  '  he  whispered  eagerly,  sinking  his 
voice  still  lower,  '  and  you  shall  have  all  you  want.' 

'Your  lives,  arid  liberty  to  go  where  you  please,'  I  an- 
swered coldly.  'The  two  ladies  to  be  first  given  up  to  me 
uninjured.  Those  are  the  terms.' 

'  But  for  me  ? '  he  said  anxiously. 

'  For  you  ?  The  same  as  the  others,'  I  retorted.  '  Or  I 
will  make  a  distinction  for  old  acquaintance  sake,  M.  Fres- 
noy; and  if  the  ladies  have  aught  to  complain  of,  I  will 
hang  you  first.' 


PESTILENCE  AND  FAMINE  325 

He  tried  to  bluster  and  hold  out  for  a  sum  of  money.  01 
at  least  for  his  horse  to  be  given  up  to  him.  But  I  had 
made  up  my  mind  to  reward  my  followers  with  a  present  of 
a  horse  apiece ;  and  I  was  besides  well  aware  that  this  was 
only  an  afterthought  on  his  part,  and  that  he  had  fully 
decided  to  yield.  I  stood  fast,  therefore.  The  result  justi- 
fied my  firmness,  for  he  presently  agreed  to  surrender  on 
those  terms. 

1  Ay,  but  M.  de  Bruhl  ? '  I  said,  desiring  to  learn  clearly 
whether  he  had  authority  to  treat  for  all.  '  What  of  him  ? ' 

He  looked  at  me  impatiently.  '  Come  and  see  ! '  he  said, 
with  an  ugly  sneer. 

'No,  no,  my  friend,'  I  answered,  shaking  my  head  warily. 
'That  is  not  according  to  rule.  You  are  the  surrendering 
party,  and  it  is  for  you  to  trust  us.  Bring  out  the  ladies, 
that  I  may  have  speech  with  them,  and  then  I  will  draw  off 
my  men.' 

'Norn  de  Dieu ! '  he  cried  hoarsely,  with  so  much  fear  and 
rage  in  his  face  that  I  recoiled  from  him.  'That  is  just 
what  I  cannot  do.' 

'  You  cannot  ? '  I  rejoined  with  a  sudden  thrill  of  horror. 
'Why  not  ?  why  not,  man  ? '  And  in  the  excitement  of  the 
moment,  conceiving  the  idea  that  the  worst  had  happened 
to  the  women,  I  pushed  him  back  with  so  much  fury  that  he 
laid  his  hand  on  his  sword. 

'  Confound  you ! '  he  stuttered,  '  stand  back  !  It  is  not 
that,  I  tell  you !  Mademoiselle  is  safe  and  sound,  and 
madame,  if  she  had  her  senses,  would  be  sound  too.  It  is 
not  our  fault  if  she  is  not.  But  I  have  not  got  the  key  of 
the  rooms.  It  is  in  Bruhl's  pocket,  I  tell  you ! ' 

'  Oh ! '  I  made  answer  drily.     '  And  Bruhl  ? ' 

'Hush,  man,'  Fresnoy  replied,  wiping  the  perspiration 
from  his  brow,  and  bringing  his  pallid,  ugly  face,  near  to 
mine,  '  he  has  got  the  plague  ! ' 

I  stared  at  him  for  a  moment  in  silence ;  which  he  was 
the  first  to  break.  '  Hush ! '  he  muttered  again,  laying  a 
trembling  hand  on  my  arm,  '  if  the  men  knew  it — and  not 


seeing  him  they  are  beginniag  to: suspect  it — they  would 
rise -.on  us.  .The*  devil  himself  could  not  keep  them  here. 
JBetween  him  and  them  J  am  on  a  razor's  edge.  Madame  is 
with  him,  iand  .the  door  is  locked.  'Mademoiselle  is  in  a 
room  ;  upstairs,  and  .the  door  is  locked.  And  he  has  the 
-keys.  What  can  I  do  ?  What  can  I  do,  .man?'  he  cried, 
his  voice  hoarse  with  terror  and  dismay. 

'  Get  the  keys/  I  said  instinctively. 

•'What?  Prom  him?'  he  muttered,  with  an  irrepressible 
shudder,  which  shook  his  .bloated  cheeks.  'God 'forbid  . I 
should,  see  him !  It  takes  stout  •.  men  infallibly .  I  should 
be  dead  by  night !  By  God,  I  should ! '  he  continued, 
.whining.  ;  Now  you  are  not  stout,  M.  de  Marsac.  If  you 
"will  come'with  me  I  will  draw  off  the  men < from  that  part; 
and  you  may  go  in  and  get  the  key  from  him.' 

His  terror, » which  surpassed  air  feigning,  and' satisfied  me 
without  doubt  that  he  was  in  earnest,  was  so  intense  that 
it  could  not  fail  to  infect  me.  I : felt  my  sfaee,  as  I  looked 
into  his,  grow  to  the  same  hue.  I  trembled  as  he  did  and 
grew  sick.  For  if  there  is  a  word  which  blanches  the:  sol- 
dier^ che^k  and  tries  his  heart  more  than  another,  it  is  the 
•.name  of  the  disease  which. travels  in; the  hot  noonday,  and, 
tainting  the  strongest  as  he  rides  in  his  ;  pride,  leaves  him 
in  a  few  hours  a  poor  mass  of  corruption.  .The  stoutest 
and  the  most  reckless  fear  it ;  nor  could  I,  more  than  an- 
other, boast  myself  indifferent  to.it,  or  think  of  its 'presence 
without  shrinking.  But  the  respect  in  which. a  mantaf 
;brjfth  holds  himself  saves  him  from  the  unreasoning  fear 
/"which  'masters  the  vulgar;  and  .in  a  moment  I  .recovered 
myself,  and  made: up  my  mind  what  it  behoved  me: to  do. 

'Wait  awhile,'  I -said1  sternly,  '.  and  I  wilL  come  with  you.' 

Me  waited  accordingly,  :though  with  .manifest!  impatience, 
'while:!  sent  for  M.  d'Agen,  and  eommunicated'to  him, what 
I  was  about  to  do.  I  did  not  think  it 'necessary  to  enter 
;into  .details,  or  'to  mention  'Bruhl's  state,  :for  some  of  !the 
mien  were  .well  in  hearing.  I  Observed  that  the  young  gen- 
tleman received  nay  directions  with  a  gloomy  and  dissatis- 


PESTILENCE  AND  FAMINE  327, 

lied' air.  But  \  had  become  by  this  time  so  used  to  his- 
moods,  and  found  myself  so  much  mistaken  in  Ms  char- 
acter, that  I  scarcely  gave  the  matter  a  second  thought;  I 
crossed  the  court  with  Fresnoy,  and  in  a  moment  had1 
mounted  the  outside  staircase  and' passed  through  .the  heavy^ 
doorway. 

The  moment  I  entered,  I  was  •  forced  'to  do  Fresnoy  the* 
justice  of  admitting  that  he  -had  not:  come  •  to  me  before  he 
was  obliged.  The  three  men  who  were  on  guard  inside 
tossed  down  their  weapons  at  sight  of  me,  while  a  fourth, 
who -was  posted  at  a  neighbouring  window,  hailed ; me  with 
a  cry  of  relief.  From  the  moment  I  crossed  the  threshold 
the  defence  was  practically  at  an  end.  I  might,  had  I 
chosen  or  found  it  consistent  with  honour,  have  called  in 
my  following  and  secured  the  entrance.  Without  pausing, 
however,  I  passed  on  to 'the  foot  of 'a  gloomy  stone  staircase 
winding  up  between1  walls  of  rough  masonry;  and!  here 
Fresnoy  stood' on  one  side  and  stopped.  He  pointed 'up- 
wards with  a  pale  face  and  muttered,1  'The  door  on  the  left.' 

Leaving  him  there  watching  me  as- 1  went  upwards,  L 
mounted ;  slowly  to  the-  landing,  and  by  the  light  of  an 
arrow-slit  which  dimly  lifr  the  ruinous  place  found  the  door 
he  had  described,'  and  tried'  it  with'  my  hand.  It1  was 
lacked,  but:  I  heard  someone  moan  in  the  room,  and  a  step 
crossed  the  floor,  as  if  he  or  another  came  to  the  door  and 
listened.  I  knocked,  hearmg:iny  heart  beat  in  the  silence. 

At  last  a< voice  quite  strange  to >me -cried,  'Who  is  it?  ' 

'A  friend,'  I  muttered,  striving  to •  dull  my •  voice  that' 
they  might  not  hear  me  'below. 

'  A  friend ! ' '  the  bitter  answer  camev  '  Go  !  You  have- 
made  a  mistake  I  We  'have  no  friends- ' 

'It  is  I,  M.  de  Marsac,'  L rejoined,:  knocking: more  imper- 
atively: <I  would  see  M.  de  Bruhl;  I  must  see  him.' 

The  person  inside,  at  whose  identity  I' could  now  make  a 
guess,  uttered  a-  low  exclamation,  and -still  seemed  to  hesjU 
tate.  But' on  my  repeating  my  demand  I  heard  a  rusty  bolt 
withdrawn,  and  Madame  de- Bruhl,  opening  the  door,  a  few 


328  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

inches,  showed  her  face  in  the  gap.  'What  do  you  want?' 
she  murmured  jealously. 

Prepared  as  I  was  to  see  her,  I  was  shocked  by  the 
change  in  her  appearance,  a  change  which  even  that  im- 
perfect light  failed  to  hide.  Her  blue  eyes  had  grown 
larger  and  harder,  and  there  were  dark  marks  under  them. 
Her  face,  once  so  brilliant,  was  grey  and  pinched ;  her  hair 
had  lost  its  golden  lustre.  '  What  do  you  want  ? '  she  re- 
peated, eyeing  me  fiercely. 

1  To  see  him,'  I  answered. 

'  You  know  ? '  she  muttered.     '  You  know  that  he ' 

I  nodded. 

'  And  you  still  want  to  come  in  ?  My  God !  Swear  you 
will  not  hurt  him  ?  ' 

'  Heaven  forbid  ! '  I  said ;  and  on  that  she  held  the  door 
open  that  I  might  enter.  But  I  was  not  half-way  across 
the  room  before  she  had  passed  me,  and  was  again  between 
me  and  the  wretched  makeshift  pallet.  ^STay,  when  I  stood 
and  looked  down  at  him,  as  he  moaned  and  rolled  in  sense- 
less agony,  with  livid  face  and  distorted  features  (which 
the  cold  grey  light  of  that  miserable  room  rendered  doubly 
appalling),  she  hung  over  him  and  fenced  him  from  me :  so 
that  looking  on  him  and  her,  and  remembering  how  he  had 
treated  her,  and  why  he  came  to  be  in  this  place,  I.  felt 
unmanly  tears  rise  to  my  eyes.  The  room  was  still  a 
prison,  a  prison  with  broken  mortar  covering  the  floor  and 
loopholes  for  windows ;  but  the  captive  was  held  by  other 
chains  than  those  of  force.  When  she  might  have  gone 
free,  her  woman's  love  surviving  all  that  he  had  done  to 
kill  it,  chained  her  to  his  side  with  fetters  which  old  wrongs 
and  present  danger  were  powerless  to  break. 

It  was  impossible  that  I  could  view  a  scene  so  strange 
without  feel;ngs  of  admiration  as  well  as  pity ;  or  without 
forgetting  for  a  while,  in  my  respect  for  Madame  de  Bruhl's 
devotion,  the  risk  which  had  seemed  so  great  to  me  on  the 
stairs.  I  had  come  simply  for  a  purpose  of  my  own,  and 
with  no  thought  of  aiding  him  who  lay  here.  But  so  great, 


PESTILENCE  AND  FAMINE  329 

as  I  have  noticed  on  other  occasions,  is  the  power  of  a  noble 
example,  that,  before  I  knew  it,  I  found  myself  wondering 
what  I  could  do  to  help  this  man,  and  how  I  could  relieve 
madaine  in  the  discharge  of  offices  which  her  husband  had 
as  little  right  to  expect  at  her  hands  as  at  mine.  At  the 
mere  sound  of  the  word  Plague  I  knew  she  would  be  de- 
serted in  this  wilderness  by  all,  or  nearly  all ;  a  reflection 
which  suggested  to  me  that  I  should  first  remove  mademoi- 
selle to  a  distance,  and  then  consider  what  help  I  could 
afford  here. 

I  was  about  to  tell  her  the  purpose  with  which  I  had 
come  when  a  paroxysm  more  than  ordinarily  violent,  and 
induced  perhaps  by  the  excitement  of  my  presence — though 
he  seemed  beside  himself — seized  him,  and  threatened  to 
tax  her  powers  to  the  utmost.     I  could  not  look  on  and  see 
her  spend  herself  in  vain  ;  and  almost  before  I  knew  what  I 
was  doing  I  had  laid  my  hands  on  him  and  after  a  brief 
struggle  thrust  him  back  exhausted  on  the  couch. 

She  looked  at  me  so  strangely  after  that  that  in  the  half- 
light  which  the  loopholes  afforded  I  tried  in  vain  to  read 
her  meaning.  '  Why  did  you  come  ? '  she  cried  at  length, 
breathing  quickly.  '  You,  of  all  men  ?  Why  did  you 
come  ?  He  was  no  friend  of  yours,  Heaven  knows  ! ' 

'  No,  madaine,  nor  I  of  his/  I  answered  bitterly,  with  a 
sudden  revulsion  of  feeling. 

'  Then  why  are  you  here  ? '  she  retorted. 

I 1  could  not  send  one  of  my  men,'  I  answered.     '  And  I 
want  the  key  of  the  room  above.' 

At  the  mention  of  that — the  room  above — she  flinched  as 
if  I  had  struck  her,  and  looked  as  strangely  at  Bruhl  as  she 
had  before  looked  at  me.  No  doubt  the  reference  to  Made- 
moiselle de  la  Vire  recalled  to  her  mind  her  husband's  wild 
passion  for  the  girl,  which  for  the  moment  she  had  forgot- 
ten. Nevertheless  she  did  not  speak,  though  her  face 
turned  very  pale.  She  stooped  over  the  couch,  such  as  it 
was,  and  searching  his  clothes,  presently  stood  up,  and 
held  out  the  key  to  me.  'Take  it,  and  let  her  out,'  she 


A  GENTLEMAN  DF  FRANCE 

•said -with  a  forced  smile.  'Take  it  up  yourself,  and  do -it, 
You  have  done  ;so  much  for  her.it  is  right 'that  you  should 
do  this.' 

I  took  the  key,  thanking  her  "with  -more  haste  than 
•  thought,  and  turned  towards  the  door,  intending  to  go 
straight  .up  to  the  floor  above  and  release  mademoiselle. 
iMy  hand  was  already  on  the  door,  which  ;madame,  I  found, 
.had  left  ajar  in  the  excitement  df  my  \  entrance,  when  .1 
heard  .her  step  .behind  me.  .The  next  instant  she  touched 
me  on  the  shoulder.  'You  fool!'  she  exclaimed, 'her  eyes 
'flashing,  '  would  -you, kill: her  ?  Would'you  go  from  him  to 
her,  and  take  the  plague  .to  her?  -God  forgive  me,  it  was 
in  .-my  mind  to  send  you.  And  men  are  such  puppets  you 
would  have  gone  ! ' 

I  trembled  with  horror,  as  much  at  my  stupidity  as  sat 
her  craft.  ;Eor  she  was  .right : .  in. another  moment  I  should 
have  gone,  .and  comprehension -and  remorse  would  have 
come  too  late.  As  lit  was,  in  my  longing  at  once  to  re- 
.proach  her:for  her  wickedness  and  to  :thank  her  for  her 
timely  repentance,  il  ifound  no  words ;  but  I  -turned  away  in 
silence  and  went  out  with  a  full  heart. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

STBIO-KEN. 

OUTSIDE  the  door,  standing  in  the  dimness*  of  the  landing, 
I  found  M.  d'Agen.  At  any  other  time. I  should  have  been 
the  first  to  ask  him  why  .he  had  left  'the  post  which  •!  had 
assigned  to  him.  But  at  the  (moment  I  was  off  my  balance, 
and  his  presence  suggested  nothing :  more  'than  that  here  was 
the  very  person  who  could  best  execute  my  wishes.  I  held 
out  the  key  to  him  at  arm's  length,  and  bade  him  release 
Mademoiselle  de  la  Vire,  who  was  in  the: room  above,  and 
escort  her  out  of  the  castle.  !Do  not  let  her!  linger;  here, 'il 


STRICKEN  331 

continued  urgently.  'Take  her  to  the  place  where  we  found 
the  wood-cutters.  You  need  fear  no  resistance.' 

'But  Bruhl? '  he  said,  as  he  took  the  key  mechanically 
from  me. 

'He  is  out  of  the  question,'  I  answered  in  a  low  voice. 
'We  have  done  with  him.  He  has  the  plague.' 

He  uttered  a  sharp  exclamation.  'What  of  madame, 
then  ? '  he  muttered. 

'She  is  with  him,'  I  said. 

He  cried  out  suddenly  at  that,  sucking  in  his  breath,  as 
I  have  known  men  do  in  pain.  And  but  that  I  drew  back 
he  would  have  laid  his  hand  on  my  sleeve.  'With  him? ' 
he  stammered.  'How  is  that?' 

'Why,  man,  where  else  should  she  be? '  I  answered, 
forgetting  that  the  sight  of  those  two  together  had  at  first 
surprised  me  also,  as  well  as  moved  me.  'Or  who  else 
should  be  with  him?  He  is  her  husband.' 

He  stared  at  me  for  a  moment  at  that,  and  then  he  turned 
slowly  away  and  began  to  go  up;  while  I  looked  after  him, 
gradually  thinking  out  the  clue  to  his  conduct.  Could  it 
be  that  it  was  not  mademoiselle  attracted  him,  but  Madame 
de  Bruhl? 

And  with  that  hint  I  understood  it  all.  I  saw  in  a 
moment  the  conclusion  to  which  he  had  come  on  hearing 
of  the  presence  of  madame  in  my  room.  In  my  room  at 
night !  The  change  had  dated  from  that  time ;  instead  of  a 
careless,  light-spirited  youth  he  had  become  in  a  moment 
a  morose  and  restive  churl,  as  difficult  to  manage  as  an 
unbroken  colt.  Quite  clearly  I  saw  now  the  meaning  of 
the  change ;  why  he  had  shrunk  from  me,  and  why  all  in- 
tercourse between  us  had  been  so  difficult  and  so  constrained. 

I  laughed  to  think  how  he  had  deceived  himself,  and  how 
nearly  I  had  come  to  deceiving  myself  also.  And  what 
more  I  might  have  thought  I  do  not  know,  for  my  medita- 
tions were  cut  short  at  this  point  by  a  loud  outcry  below, 
which,  beginning  in  one  or  two  sharp  cries  of  alarm  and 
warning,  culminated  quickly  in  a  roar  of  anger  and  dismay. 


332  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

Fancying  I  recognised  Maignan's  voice,  I  ran  down  the 
stairs,  seeking  a  loophole  whence  I  could  command  the 
scene;  but  rinding  none,  and  becoming  more  and  more 
alarmed,  I  descended  to  the  court,  which  1  found,  to  my 
great  surprise,  as  empty  and  silent  as  an  old  battle-field. 
Neither  on  the  enemy's  side  nor  on  ours  was  a  single  man 
to  be  seen.  With  growing  dismay  1  sprang  across  the 
court  and  darted  through  the  outer  tower,  only  to  find  that 
and  the  gateway  equally  unguarded.  Nor  was  it  until  1 
had  passed  through  the  latter,  and  stood  on  the  brow  of  the 
slope,  which  we  had  had  to  clamber  with  so  much  toil,  that 
I  learned  what  was  amiss. 

Far  below  me  a  string  of  men,  bounding  and  running  at 
speed,  streamed  down  the  hill  towards  the  horses.  Some 
were  shouting,  some  running  silently,  with  their  elbows  at 
their  sides  and  their  scabbards  leaping  against  their  calves. 
The  horses  stood  tethered  in  a  ring  near  the  edge  of  the 
wood,  and  by  some  oversight  had  been  left  unguarded.  The 
foremost  runner  I  made  out  to  be  Fresnoy;  but  a  number 
of  his  men  were  close  upon  him,  and  then  after  an  inter- 
val came  Maignan,  waving  his  blade  and  emitting  frantic 
threats  with  every  stride.  Comprehending  at  once  that 
Fresnoy  and  his  following,  rendered  desperate  by  panic  and 
the  prospective  loss  of  their  horses,  had  taken  advantage  of 
my  absence  and  given  Maignan  the  slip,  1  saw  1  could  do 
nothing  save  watch  the  result  of  the  struggle. 

This  was  not  long  delayed.  Maignan's  threats,  which 
seemed  to  me  mere  waste  of  breath,  were  not  without  effect 
on  those  he  followed.  There  is  nothing  which  demoralises 
men  like  flight.  Troopers  who  have  stood  charge  after 
charge  while  victory  was  possible  will  fly  like  sheep,  and 
like  sheep  allow  themselves  to  be  butchered,  when  they 
have  once  turned  the  back.  So  it  was  here.  Many  of 
Fresnoy's  men  were  stout  fellows,  but  having  started  to 
run  they  had  no  stomach  for  fighting.  Their  fears  caused 
Maignan  to  appear  near,  while  the  horses  seemed  distant; 
and  one  after  another  they  turned  aside  and  made  like  rab- 


STRICKEN  333 

bits  for  the  \vuod.  Only  Fresnoy,  who  had  taken  care  to 
have  the  start  of  all,  kept  on,  and,  reaching  the  horses,  cut 
the  rope  which  tethered  the  nearest,  and  vaulted  nimbly 
on.  its  back.  Safely  seated  there,  he  tried  to  frighten  the 
others  into  breaking  loose ;  but  not  succeeding  at  the  first 
attempt,  and  seeing  Maignan,  breathing  vengeance,  coining 
up  with  him,  he  started  his  horse,  a  bright  bay,  and  rode 
off  laughing  along  the  edge  of  the  wood. 

Fully  content  with  the  result — for  our  carelessness,  might 
have  cost  us  very  dearly — I  was  about  to  turn  away  when 
I  saw  that  Maignan  had  mounted  and  was  preparing  to 
follow.  I  stayed  accordingly  to  see  the  end,  and  from  my 
elevated  position  enjoyed  a  first-rate  view  of  the  race  which 
ensued.  Both  were  heavy  weights,  and  at  first  Maignan 
gained  no  ground.  But  when  a  couple  of  hundred  yards 
had  been  covered  Fresnoy  had  the  ill-luck  to  blunder  into 
some  heavy  ground,  and  this  enabling  his  pursuer,  \rho  had 
time  to  avoid  it,  to  get  within  two-score  paces  of  him,  the 
race  became  as  exciting  as  I  could  wish.  Slowly  and  surely 
Maignan,  who  had  chosen  the  Cid,  reduced  the  distance 
between  them  to  a  score  of  paces — to  fifteen — to  ten.  Then 
Fresnoy,  becoming  alarmed,  began  to  look  over  his  shoul- 
der and  ride  in  earnest.  He  had  no  whip,  and  I  saw  him 
raise  his  sheathed  sword,  and  strike  his  beast  on  the  flank. 
It  sprang  forward,  and  appeared  for  a  few  strides  to  be 
holding  its  own.  Again  he  repeated  the  blow — but  this 
time  with  a  different  result.  While  his  hand  was  still  in 
the  air,  his  horse  stumbled,  as  it  seemed  to  me,  made  a 
desperate  effort  to  recover  itself,  fell  headlong  and  rolled 
over  and  over. 

Something  in  the  fashion  of  the  fall,  which  reminded  me 
of  the  mishap  I  had  suffered  on  the  way  to  Chize,  led  me 
to  look  more  particularly  at  the  horse  as  it  rose  trembling 
to  its  feet,  and  stood  with  drooping  head.  Sure  enough,  a 
careful  glance  enabled  me,  even  at  that  distance,  to  identify 
it  as  Matthew's  bay — the  trick-horse.  Shading  my  eyes, 
and  gazing  on  the  scene  with  increased  interest,  I  saw 


334  A   GENTLEMAN-  OF  FRANCE 

Maignan,  who  had  dismounted,  stoop  over  something  on  the 
ground,  and  again  after  an  interval  stand  upright. 

But  Fresnoy  did  not  rise.  Nor  was  it  without  awe  that, 
guessing  what  had  happened  to  him,  I  remembered  how  he 
had  used  this  very  horse  to  befool  me;  how  heartlessly  he 
had  abandoned  Matthew,  its  owner;  and  by  what  marvel- 
lous haps — which  men  call  chances — Providence  had  brought 
it  to  this  place,  and  put  it  in  his  heart  to  choose  it  out  of  a 
score  which  stood  ready  to  his  hand! 

I  was  right.  The  man's  neck  was  broken.  He  was  quite 
dead.  Maignan  passed  the  word  to  one,  and  he  to  another, 
and  so  it  reached  me  on  the  hill.  It  did  not  fail  to  awaken 
memories  both  grave  and  wholesome.  I  thought  of  St. 
Jean  d'Angely,  of  Chiz6,  of  the  house  in  the  Ruelle  d'Arcy ; 
then  in  the  midst  of  these  reflections  I  heard  voices,  and 
turned  to  find  mademoiselle,  with  M.  d'Agen  behind  me. 

Her  hand  was  still  bandaged,  and  her  dress,  which  she 
had  not  changed  since  leaving  Blois,  was  torn  and  stained 
with  mud.  Her  hair  was  in  disorder;  she  walked  with  a 
limp.  Fatigue  and  apprehension  had  stolen  the  colour 
from  her  cheeks,  and  in  a  word  she  looked,  when  I  turned, 
so  wan  and  miserable  that  for  a  moment  I  feared  the  plague 
had  seized  her. 

The  instant,  however,  that  she  caught  sight  of  me  a  wave 
of  colour  invaded,  not  her  cheeks  only,  but  her  brow  and 
neck.  From  her  hair  to  the  collar  of  her  gown  she  was 
all  crimson.  For  a  second  she  stood  gazing  at  me,  and 
then,  as  I  saluted  her,  she  sprang  forward.  Had  I  not 
stepped  back  she  would  have  taken  my  hands. 

My  heart  so  overflowed  with  joy  at  this  sight,  that  in 
the  certainty  her  blush  gave  me  I  was  fain  to  toy  with  my 
happiness.  All  jealousy  of  M.  d'Agen  Avas  forgotten;  only 
I  thought  it  well  not  to  alarm  her  by  telling  her  what  I 
knew  of  the  Bruhls.  'Mademoiselle,'  I  said  earnestly, 
bowing,  but  retreating  from  her,  'I  thank  God  for  your 
escape.  One  of  your  enemies  lies  helpless  here,  and 
another  is  dead  yonder.' 


STRICKEN  335 

^  is  not  of  iny  enemies  I  am  thinking,'  she  answered 
quickly,  'but  of  God,  of  whom  you  rightly  remind  me 5  and 
then  of  iny  friends. ' 

'Nevertheless,'  I  answered  as  quickly,  'I  beg  you  will 
not  stay  to  thank  them  now,  but  go  down  to  the  wood  with 
M.  d'Agen,  who  will  do  all  that  may  be  possible  to  make 
you  comfortable.' 

'And  you,  sir?'  she  said,  with  a  charming  air  of  confu- 
sion. 

'I  must  stay  here,'  I  answered,  'for  a  while.' 

'Why? '  she  asked  with  a  slight  frown. 

I  did  not  know  how  to  tell  her,  and  I  began  lamely. 
'Someone  must  stop  with  madame,'  I  said  without  thought. 

'Madame? '  she  exclaimed.  'Does  she  require  assistance? 
I  will  stop.' 

'God  forbid!'  I  cried. 

I  do  not  know  how  she  understood  the  words,  but  her 
face,  which  had  been  full  of  softness,  grew  hard.  She 
moved  quickly  towards  me;  but,  mindful  of  the  danger  I 
carried  about  me,  I  drew  farther  back.  'No  nearer,  made- 
moiselle,' I  murmured,  'if  you  please.' 

She  looked  puzzled,  and  finally  angry,  turning  away  with 
a  sarcastic  bow.  'So  be  it,  then,  sir,'  she  said  proudly, 
'if  you  desire  it.  M.  d'Agen,  if  you  are  not  afraid  of  me, 
will  you  lead  me  down? ' 

I  stood  and  watched  them  go  down  the  hill,  comforting 
myself  with  the  reflection  that  to-morrow,  or  the  next  day, 
or  within  a  few  days  at  most,  all  would  be  well.  Scanning 
her  figure  as  she  moved,  I  fancied  that  she  went  with  less 
spirit  as  the  space  increased  between  us.  And  I  pleased 
myself  with  the  notion.  A  few  days,  a  few  hours,  I 
thought,  and  all  would  be  well.  The  sunset  which  blazed 
in  the  west  was  no  more  than  a  faint  reflection  of  the  glow 
which  for  a  few  minutes  pervaded  my  mind,  long  accus- 
tomed to  cold  prospects  and  the  chill  of  neglect. 

A  term  was  put  to  these  pleasant  imaginings  by  the  arri- 
val of  Maignan ;  who,  panting:  from  the  ascent  of  the  hill, 


336  A    GENTLEMAN-  OF  FRANCE 

informed  me  with  a  shamefaced  air  that  the  tale  of  horses 
was  complete,  but  that  four  of  our  men  were  missing,  and 
had  doubtless  gone  off  with  the  fugitives.  These  proved 
to  be  M.  d'Agen's  two  lackeys  and  the  two  varlets  M.  de 
Rambouillet  had  lent  us.  There  remained  besides  Simon 
Fleix  only  Maignan's  three  men  from  Rosny;  but  the  state 
in  which  our  affairs  now  stood  enabled  us  to  make  light  of 
this.  I  informed  the  equerry — who  visibly  paled  at  the 
news — that  M.  de  Bruhl  lay  ill  of  the  plague,  and  like  to 
die ;  and  I  bade  him  form  a  camp  in  the  wood  below,  and, 
sending  for  food  to  the  house  where  we  had  slept  the  night 
before,  make  mademoiselle  as  comfortable  as  circumstances 
permitted. 

He  listened  with  surprise,  and  when  I  had  done  asked 
with  concern  what  I  intended  to  do  myself. 

'Someone  must  remain  with  Madame  de  Bruhl,'  I  an- 
swered. 'I  have  already  been  to  the  bedside  to  procure  the 
key  of  mademoiselle's  room,  and  I  run  no  farther  risk. 
All  I  ask  is  that  you  will  remain  in  the  neighbourhood,  and 
furnish  us  with  supplies  should  it  be  necessary.' 

He  looked  at  me  with  emotion,  which,  strongly  in  con- 
flict with  his  fears  as  it  was,  touched  me  not  a  little.  'But 
morbleu!  M.  de  Marsac, '  he  said,  'you  will  take  the  plague 
and  die.' 

'If  God  wills,'  I  answered,  very  lugubriously  I  confess, 
for  pale  looks  in  one  commonly  so  fearless  could  not  but 
depress  me.  'But  if  not,  I  shall  escape.  Any  way,  my 
friend,'  I  continued,  'I  owe  you  a  quittance.  Simon  Fleix 
has  an  inkhorn  and  paper.  Bid  him  bring  them  to  this 
stone  and  leave  them,  and  I  will  write  that  Maignan,  the 
equerry  of  the  Baron  de  Rosny,  served  me  to  the  end  as  a 
brave  soldier  and  an  honest  friend.  What,  mon  ami?'  I 
continued,  for  I  saw  that  he  was  overcome  by  this,  which 
was,  indeed,  a  happy  thought  of  mine.  'Why  not?  It 
is  true,  and  will  aquit  you  with  the  Baron.  Do  it,  and  go. 
Advise  M.  d'Agen,  and  be  to  him  what  you  have  been 
to  me.' 


STRICKEN  337 

He  swore  two  or  three  great  oaths,  such  as  men  of  his 
kind  use  to  hide  an  excess  of  feeling,  and  after  some  fur- 
ther remonstrance  went  away  to  carry  out  my  orders ;  leav- 
ing me  to  stand  on  the  brow  in  a  strange  kind  of  solitude, 
and  watch  horses  and  men  withdraw  to  the  wood,  until  the 
whole  valley  seemed  left  to  me  and  stillness  and  the  grey 
evening.  For  a  time  I  stood  in  thought.  Then  reminding 
myself,  for  a  fillip  to  my  spirits,  that  I  had  been  far  more 
alone  when  I  walked  the  streets  of  St.  Jean  friendless  and 
threadbare  (than  I  was  now),  I  turned,  and  swinging  my 
scabbard  against  my  boots  for  company,  stumbled  through 
the  dark,  silent  courtyard,  and  mounted  as  cheerfully  as  I 
could  to  madame's  room. 

To  detail  all  that  passed  during  the  next  five  days  would 
be  tedious  and  in  indifferent  taste,  seeing  that  I  am  writing 
this  memoir  for  the  perusal  of  men  of  honour;  for  though 
I  consider  the  offices  which  the  whole  can  perform  for  the 
sick  to  be  worthy  of  the  attention  of  every  man,  however 
well  born,  who  proposes  to  see  service,  they  seem  to  be 
more  honourable  in  the  doing  than  the  telling.  One  epi- 
sode, however,  which  marked  those  days  filled  me  then,  as 
it  does  now,  with  the  most  lively  pleasure;  and  that  was 
the  unexpected  devotion  displayed  by  Simon  Fleix,  who, 
coming  to  me,  refused  to  leave,  and  showed  himself  at  this 
pinch  to  be  possessed  of  such  sterling  qualities  that  I  freely 
forgave  him  the  deceit  he  had  formerly  practised  on  me. 
The  fits  of  moody  silence  into  which  he  still  fell  at  times 
and  an  occasional  irascibility  seemed  to  show  that  he  had 
not  altogether  conquered  his  insane  fancy;  but  the  mere 
fact  that  he  had  come  to  me  in  a  situation  of  hazard,  and 
voluntarily  removed  himself  from  mademoiselle's  neigh- 
bourhood, gave  me  good  hope  for  the  future. 

M.  de  Bruhl  died  early  on  the  morning  of  the  second  day, 
and  Simon  and  I  buried  him  at  noon.  He  was  a  man  of 
courage  and  address,  lacking  only  principles.  In  spite  of 
madame's  grief  and  prostration,  which  were  as  great  as 
though  she  had  lost  the  best  husband  in  the  world,  we  r«- 


338  A    GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

moved  before  night  to  a  separate  camp  in  the  woods ;  and 
left  with  the  utmost  relief  the  grey  ruin  on  the  hill,  in 
which,  it  seemed  to  me,  we  had  lived  an  age.  In  our  new 
bivouac,  where,  game  being  abundant,  and  the  weather 
warm,  we  lacked  no  comfort,  except  the  society  of  our 
friends,  we  remained  four  days  longer.  On  the  fifth  morn- 
ing we  met  the  others  of  our  company  by  appointment  on 
the  north  road,  and  commenced  the  return  journey. 

Thankful  that  we  had  escaped  contagion,  we  nevertheless 
still  proposed  to  observe  for  a  time  such  precautions  in 
regard  to  the  others  as  seemed  necessary;  riding  in  the 
rear  and  having  no  communication  with  them,  though  they 
showed  by  signs  the  pleasure  they  felt  at  seeing  us.  From 
the  frequency  with  which  mademoiselle  turned  and  looked 
behind  her,  I  judged  she  had  overcome  her  pique  at  my 
strange  conduct;  which  the  others  should  by  this  time  have 
explained  to  her.  Content,  therefore,  with  the  present, 
and  full  of  confidence  in  the  future,  I  rode  along  in  a  rare 
state  of  satisfaction ;  at  one  moment  planning  what  I  would 
do,  and  at  another  reviewing  what  I  had  done. 

The  brightness  and  softness  of  the  day,  and  the  beauty  of 
the  woods,  which  in  some  places,  I  remember,  were  burst- 
ing into  leaf,  contributed  much  to  establish  me  in  this 
frame  of  mind.  The  hateful  mist,  which  had  so  greatly 
depressed  us,  had  disappeared;  leaving  the  face  of  the 
country  visible  in  all  the  brilliance  of  early  spring.  The 
men  who  rode  before  us,  cheered  by  the  happy  omen, 
laughed  and  talked  as  they  rode,  or  tried  the  paces  of  their 
horses,  where  the  trees  grew  sparsely;  and  their  jests  and 
laughter  coming  pleasantly  to  our  ears  as  we  followed, 
warmed  even  madame's  sad  face  to  a  semblance  of  happi- 
ness. 

I  was  riding  along  in  this  state  of  contentment  when  a 
feeling  of  fatigue,  which  the  distance  we  had  come  did  not 
seem  to  justify,  led  me  to  spur  the  Cid  into  a  brisker  pace. 
The  sensation  of  lassitude  still  continued,  however,  and 
indeed  grew  worse ;  so  that  I  wondered  idly  whether  I  had 


UNDER   THE  GREENWOOD  339 

over-eaten  myself  at  my  last  meal.  Then  the  thing  passed 
for  a  while  from,  my  mind,  which  the  descent  of  a  steep 
hill  sufficiently  occupied. 

But  a  few  minutes  later,  happening  to  turn  in  the  saddle, 
I  experienced  a  strange  and  sudden  dizziness;  so  excessive 
as  to  force  me  to  grasp  the  cantle,  and  cling  to  it,  while 
trees  and  hills  appeared  to  dance  round  me.  A  quick,  hot 
pain  in  the  side  followed,  almost  before  I  recovered  the 
power  of  thought;  and  this  increased  so  rapidly,  and  was 
from  the  first  so  definite,  that,  with  a  dreadful  apprehen- 
sion already  formed  in  my  mind,  I  thrust  my  hand  inside 
my  clothes,  and  found  that  swelling  which  is  the  most  sure 
and  deadly  symptom  of  the  plague. 

The  horror  of  that  moment — in  which  I  saw  all  those 
things  on  the  possession  of  which  I  had  just  been  congratu- 
lating myself,  pass  hopelessly  from  me,  leaving  me  in 
dreadful  gloom — I  will  not  attempt  to  describe  in  this  place. 
Let  it  suffice  that  the  world  lost  in  a  moment  its  joyous- 
ness,  the  sunshine  its  warmth.  The  greenness  and  beauty 
round  me,  which  an  instant  before  had  filled  me  with 
pleasure,  seemed  on  a  sudden  no  more  than  a  grim  and  cruel 
jest  at  my  expense,  and  I  an  atom  perishing  unmarked 
and  unnoticed.  Yes,  an  atom,  a  mote;  the  bitterness  of 
that  feeling  I  well  remember.  Then,  in  no  long  time — 
being  a  soldier — I  recovered  my  coolness,  and,  retaining 
the  power  to  think,  decided  what  it  behoved  me  to  do. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

UNDER    THE    GREENWOOD. 


To  escape  from  my  companions  on  some  pretext,  which 
should  enable  me  to  ensure  their  safety  without  arousing 
their  fears,  was  the  one  thought  which  possessed  me  on 

w2 


340  A    GENTLEMAN'  OF  FRANCE 

the  subsidence  of  my  first  alarm.  Probably  it  answered  to 
that  instinct  in  animals  which  bids  them  get  away  alone 
when  wounded  or  attacked  by  disease ;  and  with  me  it  had 
the  fuller  play  as  the  pain  prevailed  rather  by  paroxysms 
than  in  permanence,  and,  coming  and  going,  allowed  inter- 
vals of  ease,  in  which  I  was  able  to  think  clearly  and  con- 
secutively, and  even  to  sit  firmly  in  the  saddle. 

The  moment  one  of  these  intervals  enabled  me  to  control 
myself,  I  used  it  to  think  where  I  might  go  without  danger 
to  others ;  and  at  once  and  naturally  my  thoughts  turned  to 
the  last  place  we  had  passed;  which  happened  to  be  the 
house  in  the  gorge  where  we  had  received  news  of  Bruhl's 
divergence  from  the  road.  The  man  who  lived  there  alone 
had  had  the  plague ;  therefore  he  did  not  fear  it.  The  place 
itself  was  solitary,  and  I  could  reach  it,  riding  slowly,  in 
half  an  hour.  On  the  instant  and  without  more  delay  I 
determined  on  this  course.  I  would  return,  and,  commit- 
ting myself  to  the  fellow's  good  offices,  bid  him  deny  me 
to  others,  and  especially  to  my  friends — should  they  seek  me. 

Aware  that  I  had  no  time  to  lose  if  I  would  put  this  plan 
into  execution  before  the  pains  returned  to  sap  my  courage, 
I  drew  bridle  at  once,  and  muttered  some  excuse  to  madame ; 
if  I  remember  rightly,  that  I  had  dropped  my  gauntlet. 
Whatever  the  pretext — and  my  dread  was  great  lest  she 
should  observe  any  strangeness  in  my  manner — it  passed 
with  her;  by  reason,  chiefly,  I  think,  of  the  grief  which 
monopolised  her.  She  let  me  go,  and  before  anyone  else 
could  mark  or  miss  me  I  was  a  hundred  yards  away  on  the 
back-track,  and  already  sheltered  from  observation  by  a 
turn  in  the  road. 

The  excitement  of  my  evasion  supported  me  for  a  while 
after  leaving  her;  and  then  for  another  while,  a  paroxysm 
of  pain  deprived  me  of  the  power  of  thought.  But  when 
this  last  was  over,  leaving  me  weak  and  shaken,  yet  clear 
in  my  mind,  the  most  miserable  sadness  and  depression 
that  can  be  conceived  came  upon  me;  and,  accompanying 
me  through  the  wood,  filled  its  avenues  (which  doubtless 


UNDER   THE  GREENWOOD  341 

i 

were  fair  enough  to  others'  eyes)  with  the  blackness  of 
despair.  I  saw  but  the  charnel-house,  and  that  every- 
where. It  was  not  only  that  the  horrors  of  the  first  discov- 
ery returned  upon  me  and  almost  unmanned  me;  nor  only 
that  regrets  and  memories,  pictures  of  the  past  and  plans 
for  the  future,  crowded  thick  upon  my  mind,  so  that  I 
could  have  wept  at  the  thought  of  all  ending  here.  But  in 
my  weakness  mademoiselle's  face  shone  where  the  wood  was 
darkest,  and,  tempting  and  provoking  me  to  return — were 
it  only  to  tell  her  that,  grim  and  dull  as  I  seemed,  I  loved 
her — tried  me  with  a  subtle  temptation  almost  beyond  my 
strength  to  resist.  All  that  was  mean  in  me  rose  in  arms, 
all  that  was  selfish  clamoured  to  know  why  I  must  die  in 
the  ditch  while  others  rode  in  the  sunshine;  why  I  must 
go  to  the  pit,  while  others  loved  and  lived ! 

And  so  hard  was  I  pressed  that  I  think  I  should  have 
given  way  had  the  ride  been  longer  or  my  horse  less  smooth 
and  nimble.  But  in  the  midst  of  my  misery,  which  bodily 
pain  was  beginning  to  augment  to  such  a  degree  that  I 
could  scarcely  see,  and  had  to  ride  gripping  the  saddle 
with  both  hands,  I  reached  the  mill.  My  horse  stopped  of 
its  own  accord.  The  man  we  had  seen  before  came  out.  I 
had  just  strength  left  to  tell  him  what  was  the  matter,  and 
what  I  wanted;  and  then  a  fresh  attack  came  on,  with 
sickness,  and  overcome  by  vertigo  I  fell  to  the  ground. 

I  have  but  an  indistinct  idea  what  happened  after  that; 
until  I  found  myself  inside  the  house,  clinging  to  the  man's 
arm.  He  pointed  to  a  box-bed  in  one  corner  of  the  room 
(which  was,  or  seemed  to  my  sick  eyes,  gloomy  and  dark- 
some in  the  extreme),  and  would  have  had  me  lie  down  in 
it.  But  something  inside  me  revolted  against  the  bed,  and 
despite  the  force  he  used,  I  broke  away,  and  threw  myself 
on  a  heap  of  straw  which  I  saw  in  another  corner. 

'Is  not  the  bed  good  enough  for  you? '  he  grumbled. 

I  strove  to  tell  him  it  was  not  that. 

'It  should  be  good  enough  to  die  on,'  he  continued  bru- 
tally. 'There's  five  have  died  on  that  bed,  I'd  have  you 


342  A    GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

know!  My  wife  one,  and  my  son  another,  and  my  daugh- 
ter another;  and  then  my  son  again,  and  a  daughter  again. 
Five!  Ay,  five  in  that  bed! ' 

Brooding  in  the  gloom  of  the  chimney-corner,  where  he 
was  busied  about  a  black  pot,  he  continued  to  mutter  and 
glance  at  me  askance;  but  after  a  while  I  swooned  away 
with  pain. 

When  I  opened  my  eyes  again  the  room  was  darker. 
The  man  still  sat  where  I  had  last  seen  him,  but  a  noise, 
the  same,  perhaps,  which  had  roused  me,  drew  him  as  I 
looked  to  the  unglazed  window.  A  voice  outside,  the  tones 
of  which  I  seemed  to  know,  inquired  if  he  had  seen  me; 
and  so  carried  away  was  I  by  the  excitement  of  the  moment 
that  I  rose  on  my  elbow  to  hear  the  answer.  But  the  man 
was  staunch.  I  heard  him  deny  all  knowledge  of  me,  and 
presently  the  sound  of  retreating  hoofs  and  the  echo  of 
voices  dying  in  the  distance  assured  me  I  was  left. 

Then,  at  that  instant,  a  doubt  of  the  man  on  whose  com- 
passion I  had  thrown  myself  entered  my  mind.  Plague- 
stricken,  hopeless  as  I  was,  it  chilled  me  to  the  very  heart; 
staying  in  a  moment  the  feeble  tears  I  was  about  to  shed, 
and  curing  even  the  vertigo,  which  forced  me  to  clutch  at 
the  straw  on  which  I  lay.  Whether  the  thought  arose  from 
a  sickly  sense  of  my  own  impotence,  or  was  based  on  the 
fellow's  morose  air  and  the  stealthy  glances  he  continued 
to  cast  at  me,  I  am  as  unable  to  say  as  I  am  to  decide 
whether  it  was  well-founded,  or  the  fruit  of  my  own  fancy. 
Possibly  the  gloom  of  the  room  and  the  man's  surly  words 
inclined  me  to  suspicion ;  possibly  his  secret  thoughts  por- 
trayed themselves  in  his  hang-dog  visage.  Afterwards  it 
appeared  that  he  had  stripped  me,  while  I  lay,  of  every- 
thing of  value;  but  he  may  have  done  this  in  the  belief 
that  I  should  die. 

All  I  know  is  that  I  knew  nothing  certain,  because  the 
fear  died  almost  as  soon  as  it  was  born.  The  man  had 
scarcely  seated  himself  again,  or  I  conceived  the  thought, 
when  a  second  alarm  outside  caused  him  to  spring  to  his 


UNDER  THE  GREENWOOD  343 

feet.  Scowling  and  muttering  as  he  went,  he  hurried  to 
the  window.  But  before  he  reached  it  the  door  was  dashed 
violently  open,  and  Simon  Fleix  stood  in  the  entrance. 

There  came  in  with  him  so  blessed  a  rush  of  light  and 
life  as  in  a  moment  dispelled  the  horror  of  the  room,  and 
stripped  me  at  one  and  the  same  time  of  fear  and  manhood. 
For  whether  I  would  or  no,  at  sight  of  the  familiar  face, 
which  I  had  fled  so  lately,  I  burst  into  tears ;  and,  stretch- 
ing out  my  hands  to  him,  as  a  frightened  child  might  have 
done,  called  on  him  by  name.  I  suppose  the  plague  was  by 
this  time  so  plainly  written  on  my  face  that  all  who  looked 
might  read;  for  he  stood  at  gaze,  staring  at  me,  and  was 
still  so  standing  when  a  hand  put  him  aside  and  a  slighter, 
smaller  figure,  pale-faced  and  hooded,  stood  for  a  moment 
between  me  and  the  sunshine.  It  was  mademoiselle ! 

That,  I  thank  God,  restored  me  to  myself,  or  I  had  been 
for  ever  shamed.  I  cried  to  them  with  all  the  voice  I  had 
left  to  take  her  away;  and  calling  out  frantically  again  and 
again  that  I  had  the  plague  and  she  would  die,  I  bade  the 
man  close  the  door.  iSTay,  regaining  something  of  strength  in 
my  fear  for  her,  I  rose  up,  half -dressed  as  I  was,  and  would 
have  fled  into  some  corner  to  avoid  her,  still  calling  out  to 
them  to  take  her  away,  to  take  her  away — if  a  fresh  par- 
oxysm had  not  seized  me,  so  that  I  fell  blind  and  helpless 
where  I  was. 

For  a  time  after  that  I  knew  nothing;  until  someone  held 
water  to  my  lips,  and  I  drank  greedily,  and  presently  awoke 
to  the  fact  that  the  entrance  was  dark  with  faces  and  fig- 
ures all  gazing  at  me  as  I  lay.  But  I  could  not  see  her; 
and  I  had  sense  enough  to  know  and  be  thankful  that  she 
was  no  longer  among  them.  I  would  fain  have  bidden 
Maignan  begone  too,  for  I  read  the  consternation  in  his 
face.  But  I  could  not  muster  strength  or  voice  for  the  pur- 
pose, and  when  I  turned  my  head  to  see  who  held  me — 
ah  me !  it  comes  back  to  me  still  in  dreams — it  was  made- 
moiselle's hair  that  swept  my  forehead  and  her  hand  that 
ministered  to  me;  while  *ears  she  did  not  try  to  hide  or 


344  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

wipe  away  fell  on  my  hot  cheek.  I  could  have  pushed  her 
away  even  then,  for  she  was  slight  and  small;  but  the 
pains  came  upon  me,  and  with  a  sob  choking  my  voice  I 
lost  all  knowledge. 

I  am  told  that  I  lay  for  more  than  a  month  between  life 
and  death,  now  burning  with  fever  and  now  in  the  cold  fit ; 
and  that  but  for  the  tendance  which  never  failed  nor  fal- 
tered, nor  could  have  been  outdone  had  my  malady  been  the 
least  infectious  in  the  world,  I  must  have  died  a  hundred 
times,  as  hundreds  round  me  did  die  week  by  week  in  that 
year.  From  the  first  they  took  me  out  of  the  house  (where 
I  think  I  should  have  perished  quickly,  so  impregnated  was 
it  with  the  plague  poison)  and  laid  me  under  a  screen  of 
boughs  in  the  forest,  with  a  vast  quantity  of  cloaks  and 
horse-cloths  cunningly  disposed  to  windward.  Here  I  ran 
some  risk  from  cold  and  exposure  and  the  fall  of  heavy 
dews ;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  had  all  the  airs  of  heaven  to 
clear  away  the  humours  and  expel  the  fever  from  my  brain. 

Hence  it  was  that  when  the  first  feeble  beginnings  of 
consciousness  awoke  in  me  again,  they  and  the  light  stole 
in  on  me  through  green  leaves,  and  overhanging  boughs, 
and  the  freshness  and  verdure  of  the  spring  woods.  The 
sunshine  which  reached  my  watery  eyes  was  softened  by 
its  passage  through  great  trees,  which  grew  and  expanded 
as  I  gazed  up  into  them,  until  each  became  a  verdant  world, 
with  all  a  world's  diversity  of  life.  Grown  tired  of  this,  I 
had  still  long  avenues  of  shade,  carpeted  with  flowers,  to 
peer  into;  or  a  little  wooded  bottom — where  the  ground 
fell  away  on  one  side — that  blazed  and  burned  with  red- 
thorn.  Ay,  and  hence  it  was  that  the  first  sounds  I  heard, 
when  the  fever  left  me  at  last,  and  I  knew  morning  from 
evening,  and  man  from  woman,  were  the  songs  of  birds 
calling  to  their  mates. 

Mademoiselle  and  Madame  de  Bruhl,  with  Fanchette  and 
Simon  Fleix,  lay  all  this  time  in  such  shelter  as  could  be 
raised  for  them  where  I  lay;  M.  Franqois  and  three  stout 
fellows,  whom  Maignan  left  to  guard  us,  living  in  a  hut 


UNDER   THE  GREENWOOD  345 

within  hail.  Maignan  himself,  after  seeing  out  a  week  of 
my  illness,  had  perforce  returned  to  his  master,  and  no 
news  had  since  been  received  from  him.  Thanks  to  the 
timely  move  into  the  woods,  no  other  of  the  party  fell  ill, 
and  by  the  time  I  was  able  to  stand  and  speak  the  ravages  of 
the  disease  had  so  greatly  decreased  that  fear  was  at  an  end. 

I  should  waste  words  were  I  to  try  to  describe  how  the 
peace  and  quietude  of  the  life  we  led  in  the  forest  during 
the  time  of  my  recovery  sank  into  my  heart;  which  had 
known,  save  by  my  mother's  bedside,  little  of  such  joys. 
To  awake  in  the  morning  to  sweet  sounds  and  scents,  to  eat 
with  reviving  appetite  and  feel  the  slow  growth  of  strength, 
to  lie  all  day  in  shade  or  sunshine  as  it  pleased  me,  and 
hear  women's  voices  and  tinkling  laughter,  to  have  no 
thought  of  the  world  and  no  knowledge  of  it,  so  that  we 
might  have  been,  for  anything  we  saw,  in  another  sphere — 
these  things  might  have  sufficed  for  happiness  without  that 
which  added  to  each  and  every  one  of  them  a  sweeter  and 
deeper  and  more  lasting  joy.  Of  which  next. 

I  had  not  begun  to  take  notice  long  before  I  saw  that  M. 
Franqois  and  madame  had  come  to  an  understanding;  such 
an  one,  at  least,  as  permitted  him  to  do  all  for  her  comfort 
and  entertainment  without  committing  her  to  more  than 
was  becoming  at  such  a  season.  Naturally  this  left  made- 
moiselle much  in  my  company;  a  circumstance  which  would 
have  ripened  into  passion  the  affection  I  before  entertained 
for  her,  had  not  gratitude  and  a  nearer  observance  of  her 
merits  already  elevated  the  feeling  into  the  most  ardent 
worship  that  even  the  youngest  lover  ever  felt  for  his  mis- 
tress. 

In  proportion,  however,  as  I  and  my  love  grew  stronger, 
and  mademoiselle's  presence  grew  more  necessary  to  my 
happiness — so  that  were  she  away  but  an  hour  I  fell 
a-moping — she  began  to  draw  off  from  me,  and  absenting 
herself  more  and  more  on  long  walks  in  the  woods,  by-and- 
by  reduced  me  to  such  a  pitch  of  misery  as  bid  fair  to  com- 
plete what  the  fever  had  left  undone. 


346  A    GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

If  this  had  happened  in  the  world  I  think  it  likely  that 
I  should  have  suffered  in  silence.  But  here,  under  the 
greenwood,  in  common  enjoyment  of  God's  air  and  earth, 
we  seemed  more  nearly  equal.  She  was  scarce  better 
dressed  than  a  sutler's  wife;  while  recollections  of  her 
wealth  and  station,  though  they  assailed  me  nightly,  lost 
much  of  their  point  in  presence  of  her  youth  and  of  that 
fair  and  patient  gentleness  which  forest  life  and  the  duties 
of  a  nurse  had  fostered. 

So  it  happened  that  one  day,  when  she  had  been  absent 
longer  than  usual,  I  took  my  courage  in  my  hand  and  went 
to  meet  her  as  far  as  the  stream  which  ran  through  the 
bottom  by  the  redthorn.  Here,  at  a  place  where  there 
were  three  stepping-stones,  I  waited  for  her;  first  taking 
away  the  stepping-stones,  that  she  might  have  to  pause,  and, 
being  at  a  loss,  might  be  glad  to  see  me. 

She  came  presently,  tripping  through  an  alley  in  the  low 
wood,  with  her  eyes  on  the  ground,  and  her  whole  carriage 
full  of  a  sweet  pensiveness  which  it  did  me  good  to  see. 
I  turned  my  back  on  the  stream  before  she  saw  me,  and 
made  a  pretence  of  being  taken  up  with  something  in  an- 
other direction.  Doubtless  she  espied  me  soon,  and  before 
she  came  very  near ;  but  she  made  no  sign  until  she  reached 
the  brink,  and  found  the  stepping-stones  were  gone. 

Then,  whether  she  suspected  me  or  not,  she  called  out  to 
me,  not  once,  but  several  times.  For,  partly  to  tantalise 
her,  as  lovers  will,  and  partly  because  it  charmed  me  to 
hear  her  use  my  name,  I  would  not  turn  at  once. 

When  I  did,  and  discovered  her  standing  with  one  small 
foot  dallying  with  the  water,  I  cried  out  with  well-affected 
concern;  and  in  a  great  hurry  ran  towards  her,  paying  no 
attention  to  her  chiding  or  the  pettish  haughtiness  with 
which  she  spoke  to  me. 

'The  stepping-stones  are  all  on  your  side,'  she  said  im- 
periously. 'Who  has  moved  them?  ' 

I  looked  about  without  answering,  and  at  last  pretended 
to  find  them;  while  she  stood  watching  me,  tapping  the 


UNDER   THE  GREENWOOD  347 

ground  with  one  foot  the  while.  Despite  her  impatience, 
the  stone  which  was  nearest  to  her  I  took  care  to  bring  last 
— that  she  might  not  cross  without  my  assistance.  But 
after  all  she  stepped  over  so  lightly  and  quickly  that  the 
hand  she  placed  in  mine  seemed  scarcely  to  rest  there  a 
second.  Yet  when  she  was  over  I  managed  to  retain  it; 
nor  did  she  resist,  though  her  cheek,  which  had  been  red 
before,  turned  crimson  and  her  eyes  fell,  and  bound  to  me 
by  the  link  of  her  little  hand,  she  stood  beside  me  with  her 
whole  figure  drooping. 

'Mademoiselle,'  I  said  gravely,  summoning  all  my  reso- 
lution to  my  aid,  'do  you  know  of  what  that  stream  with 
its  stepping-stones  reminds  me? ' 

She  shook  her  head  but  did  not  answer. 

'Of  the  stream  which  has  flowed  between  us  from  the  day 
when  I  first  saw  you  at  St.  Jean,'  I  said  in  a  low  voice. 
'It  has  flowed  between  us,  and  it  still  does — separating  us.' 

'What  stream?  '  she  murmured,  with  her  eyes  cast  down, 
and  her  foot  playing  with  the  moss.  'You  speak  in  rid- 
dles, sir.' 

'You  understand  this  one  only  too  well,  mademoiselle,'  I 
answered.  'Are  you  not  young  and  gay  and  beautiful, 
while  I  am  old,  or  almost  old,  and  dull  and  grave?  You 
are  rich  and  well-thought-of  at  Court,  and  I  a  soldier  of 
fortune,  not  too  successful.  What  did  you  think  of  me 
when  you  first  saw  me  at  St.  Jean?  What  when  I  came  to 
Rosny?  That,  mademoiselle,'  I  continued  with  fervour, 
'is  the  stream  which  flows  between  us  and  separates  us; 
and  I  know  of  but  one  stepping-stone  that  can  bridge  it.' 

She  looked  aside,  toying  with  a  piece  of  thorn-blossom 
she  had  picked.  It  was  not  redder  than  her  cheeks. 

'That  one  stepping-stone,'  I  said,  after  waiting  vainly 
for  any  word  or  sign  from  her,  'is  Love.  Many  weeks  ago, 
mademoiselle,  when  I  had  little  cause  to  like  you,  I  loved 
you;  I  loved  you  whether  I  would  or  not,  and  without 
thought  or  hope  of  return.  I  should  have  been  mad  had  I 
spoken  to  you  then.  Mad,  and  worse  than  mad.  But  now, 


348  A    GENTLEMAN-  OF  FRANCE 

now  that  I  owe  you  my  life,  now  that  I  have  drunk  from 
your  hand  in  fever,  and,  awaking  early  and  late,  have 
found  you  by  my  pillow — now  that,  seeing  you  come  in  and 
out  in  the  midst  of  fear  and  hardship,  I  have  learned  to 
regard  you  as  a  woman  kind  and  gentle  as  my  mother — 
now  that  I  love  you,  so  that  to  be  with  you  is  joy,  and 
away  from  you  grief,  is  it  presumption  in  me  now,  made- 
moiselle, to  think  that  that  stream  may  be  bridged? ' 

I  stopped,  out  of  breath,  and  saw  that  she  was  trembling. 
But  she  spoke  presently.  'You  said  one  stepping-stone?' 
she  murmured. 

'Yes, '  I  answered  hoarsely,  trying  in  vain  to  look  at  her 
face,  which  she  kept  averted  from  me. 

'There  should  be  two,'  she  said,  almost  in  a  whisper. 
'Your  love,  sir,  and — and  mine.  You  have  said  much  of  the 
one,  and  nothing  of  the  other.  In  that  you  are  wrong,  for 
I  am  proud  still.  And  I  would  not  cross  the  stream  you 
speak  of  for  any  love  of  yours  1 ' 

'Ah!  '  I  cried  in  sharpest  pain. 

'But,'  she  continued,  looking  up  at  me  on  a  sudden  with 
eyes  that  told  me  all,  'because  I  love  you  I  am  willing  to 
cross  it — to  cross  it  once  for  ever,  and  live  beyond  it  all  my 
life — if  I  may  live  my  life  with  you.' 

I  fell  on  my  knee  and  kissed  her  hand  again  and  again  in 
a  rapture  of  joy  and  gratitude.  By-and-by  she  pulled  it 
from  me.  'If  you  will,  sir,'  she  said,  'you  may  kiss  my 
lips.  If  you  do  not,  no  man  ever  will.' 

After  that,  as  may  be  guessed,  we  walked  every  day  in 
the  forest,  making  longer  and  longer  excursions  as  my 
strength  came  back  to  me,  and  the  nearer  parts  grew  famil- 
iar. From  early  dawn,  when  I  brought  my  love  a  posy  of 
flowers,  to  late  evening,  when  Fanchette  hurried  her  from 
me,  our  days  were  passed  in  a  long  round  of  delight;  being 
filled  full  of  all  beautiful  things — love,  and  sunshine,  and 
rippling  streams,  and  green  banks,  on  which  we  sat  to- 
gether under  scented  limes,  telling  one  another  all  we  had 
ever  thought,  and  especially  all  we  had  ever  thought  of 


UNDER   THE  GREENWOOD  349 

one  another.  Sometimes — when  the  light  was  low  in  the 
evening — we  spoke  of  my  mother;  and  once — but  that  was 
in  the  sunshine,  when  the  bees  were  humming  and  my 
blood  had  begun  to  run  strongly  in  my  veins — I  spoke  of 
my  great  and  distant  kinsman,  Rohan.  But  mademoiselle 
would  hear  nothing  of  him,  murmuring  again  and  again  in 
my  ear,  'I  have  crossed,  my  love,  I  have  crossed.' 

Truly  the  sands  of  that  hour-glass  were  of  gold.  But  in 
time  they  ran  out.  First  M.  Francois,  spurred  by  the  rest- 
lessness of  youth,  and  convinced  that  madame  would  for  a 
while  yield  no  farther,  left  us,  and  went  back  to  the  world. 
Then  news  came  of  great  events  that  could  not  fail  to  move 
us.  The  King  of  France  and  the  King  of  Navarre  had  met 
at  Tours,  and  embracing  in  the  sight  of  an  immense  multi- 
tude, had  repulsed  the  League  with  slaughter  in  the  suburb 
of  St.  Symphorien.  Fast  on  this  followed  the  tidings  of 
their  march  northwards  with  an  overwhelming  army  of 
fifty-thousand  men  of  both  religions,  bent,  rumour  had  it, 
on  the  signal  punishment  of  Paris. 

I  grew — shame  that  I  should  say  it — to  think  more  and 
more  of  these  things ;  until  mademoiselle,  reading  the  signs, 
told  me  one  day  that  we  must  go.  'Though  never  again,' 
she  added  with  a  sigh,  'shall  we  be  so  happy.' 

'Then  why  go? '  I  asked  foolishly. 

'Because  you  are  a  man,'  she  answered  with  a  wise 
smile,  'as  I  would  have  you  be,  and  you  need  something 
besides  love.  To-morrow  we  will  go.' 

'Whither?  '  I  said  in  amazement. 

'To  the  camp  before  Paris,'  she  answered.  'We  will  go 
back  in  the  light  of  day — seeing  that  we  have  done  noth- 
ing of  which  to  be  ashamed — and  throw  ourselves  on  the 
justice  of  the  King  of  Navarre.  You  shall  place  me  with 
Madame  Catherine,  who  will  not  refuse  to  protect  me;  and 
so,  s.weet,  you  will  have  only  yourself  to  think  of.  Come, 
sir,'  she  continued,  laying  her  little  hand  in  mine,  and 
looking  into  my  eyes,  'you  are  not  afraid? ' 

'I  am  more  afraid  than  ever  I  used  to  be,J  I  said  trembling. 


35°  A    GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

'So  I  would  have  it,'  she  whispered,  hiding  her  face  on 
my  shoulder.  'Nevertheless  we  Avill  go.' 

And  go  we  did.  The  audacity  of  such  a  return  in  the 
face  of  Turenne,  who  was  doubtless  in  the  King  of  Na- 
varre's suite,  almost  took  my  breath  away ;  nevertheless,  I 
saw  that  it  possessed  one  advantage  which  no  other  course 
promised — that,  I  mean,  of  setting  us  right  in  the  eyes  of 
the  world,  and  enabling  me  to  meet  in  a  straightforward 
manner  such  as  maligned  us.  After  some  considera- 
tion I  gave  my  assent,  merely  conditioning  that  until  we 
reached  the  Court  we  should  ride  masked,  and  shun  as  far 
as  possible  encounters  by  the  road. 


CHAPTEE    XXXII. 

A    TAVERN"    BRAWL. 

ON  the  following  day,  accordingly,  we  started.  But  the 
news  of  the  two  kings'  successes,  and  particularly  the  cer- 
tainty which  these  had  bred  in  many  minds  that  nothing 
short  of  a  miracle  could  save  Paris,  had  moved  so  many 
gentlemen  to  take  the  road  that  we  found  the  inns  crowded 
beyond  example,  and  were  frequently  forced  into  meetings 
which  made  the  task  of  concealing  our  identity  more  difficult- 
and  hazardous  than  I  had  expected.  Sometimes  shelter 
was  not  to  be  obtained  on  any  terms,  and  then  we  had  to  lie 
in  the  fields  or  in  any  convenient  shed.  Moreover,  the  pas- 
sage of  the  army  had  swept  the  country  so  bare  both  of  food 
and  forage,  that  these  commanded  astonishing  prices;  and 
a  long  day's  ride  more  than  once  brought  us  to  our  destina- 
tion without  securing  for  us  the  ample  meal  we  had  earned, 
and  required. 

Under  these  circumstances,  it  was  with  joy  little  short  of 
transport  that  I  recognised  the  marvellous  change  which 
had  come  over  my  mistress.  Bearing  all  without  a  rnur- 


A   TAVERN  BRAWL 


351 


mur,  or  a  frown,  or  so  much  as  one  complaining  word,  she 
acted  on  numberless  occasions  so  as  to  convince  me  that  she 
spoke  truly — albeit  I  scarcely  dared  to  believe  it — when 
she  said  that  she  had  but  one  trouble  in  the  world,  and  that 
was  the  prospect  of  our  coming  separation. 

For  my  part,  and  despite  some  gloomy  moments,  when 
fear  of  the  future  overcame  me,  I  rode  in  Paradise  riding 
by  my  mistress.  It  was  her  presence  which  glorified  alike 
'She  first  freshness  of  the  morning,  when  we  started  with  all 
the  day  before  us,  and  the  coolness  of  the  late  evening,  when 
we  rode  hand-in-hand.  Nor  could  I  believe  without  an 
effort  that  I  was  the  same  Gaston  de  Marsac  whom  she  had 
once  spurned  and  disdained.  God  knows  I  was  thankful  for 
her  love.  A  thousand  times,  thinking  of  my  grey  hairs,  I 
asked  her  if  she  did  not  repent ;  and  a  thousand  times  she 
answered  No,  with  so  much  happiness  in  her  eyes  that  I 
was  fain  to  thank  God  again  and  believe  her. 

Notwithstanding  the  inconvenience  of  the  practice,  we 
made  it  a  rule  to  wear  our  masks  whenever  we  appeared  in 
public ;  and  this  rule  we  kept  more  strictly  as  we  approached 
Paris.  It  exposed  us  to  some  comment  and  more  curiosity, 
but  led  to  no  serious  trouble  until  we  reached  Etampes, 
twelve  leagues  from  the  capital ;  where  we  found  the  prin- 
cipal inn  so  noisy  and  crowded,  and  so  much  disturbed  by 
the  constant  coming  and  going  of  couriers,  that  it  required 
no  experience  to  predicate  the  neighbourhood  of  the  army. 
The  great  courtyard  seemed  to  be  choked  with  a  confused 
mass  of  men  and  horses,  through  which  we  made  our  way 
with  difficulty.  The  windows  of  the  house  were  all  open, 
and  offered  us  a  view  of  tables  surrounded  by  men  eating 
and  drinking  hastily,  as  the  manner  of  travellers  is.  The 
gateway  and  the  steps  of  the  house  were  lined  with  troop- 
ers and  servants  and  sturdy  rogues;  who  scanned  all  who 
passed  in  or  out,  and  not  unfrequently  followed  them  with 
ribald  jests  and  nicknames.  Songs  and  oaths,  brawling 
and  laughter,  with  the  neighing  of  horses  and  the  huzzas 
of  the  beggars,  who  shouted  whenever  a  fresh  party  arrived, 


352  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

rose  above  all,  and  increased  the  reluctance  with  which  I 
assisted  madame  and  mademoiselle  to  dismount 

Simon  was  no  match  for  such  an  occasion  as  this;  but 
the  stalwart  aspect  of  the  three  men  whom  Maignan  had 
left  with  me  commanded  respect,  and  attended  by  two  of 
these  I  made  a  way  for  the  ladies — not  without  some  oppo- 
sition and  a  few  oaths — to  enter  the  house.  The  landlord, 
whom  we  found  crushed  into  a  corner  inside,  and  entirely 
overborne  by  the  crowd  which  had  invaded  his  dwelling, 
assured  me  that  he  had  not  the  smallest  garret  he  could 
place  at  my  disposal;  but  I  presently  succeeded  in  finding 
a  small  room  at  the  top,  which  I  purchased  from  the  four 
men  who  had  taken  possession  of  it.  As  it  was  impossible 
to  get  anything  to  eat  there,  I  left  a  man  on  guard,  and 
myself  descended  with  madame  and  mademoiselle  to  the 
eating-room,  a  large  chamber  set  with  long  boards,  and 
filled  with  a  rough  and  noisy  crew.  Under  a  running  fire 
of  observations  we  entered,  and  found  with  difficulty  three 
seats  in  an  inner  corner  of  the  room. 

I  ran  my  eye  over  the  company,  and  noticed  among  them, 
besides  a  dozen  travelling  parties  like  our  own,  specimens 
of  all  those  classes  which  are  to  be  found  in  the  rear  o^ 
an  army.  There  were  some  officers  and  more  horse-dealers; 
half  a  dozen  forage-agents  and  a  few  priests ;  with  a  large 
sprinkling  of  adventurers,  bravos,  and  led-captains,  and 
here  and  there  two  or  three  whose  dress  and  the  deference 
paid  to  them  by  their  neighbours  seemed  to  indicate  a 
higher  rank.  Conspicuous  among  these  last  were  a  party  of 
four  who  occupied  a  small  table  by  the  door.  An  attempt 
had  been  made  to  secure  some  degree  of  privacy  for  them 
by  interposing  a  settle  between  them  and  the  room;  and 
their  attendants,  who  seemed  to  be  numerous,  did  what 
they  could  to  add  to  this  by  filling  the  gap  with  their  per- 
sons. One  of  the  four,  a  man  of  handsome  dress  and  bear- 
ing, who  sat  in  the  place  of  honour,  was  masked,  as  we  were. 
The  gentleman  at  his  right  hand  I  could  not  see.  The 
others,  whom  I  could  see,  were  strangers  to  me. 


A   TAVERN  BRAWL  353 

Some  time  elapsed  before  our  people  succeeded  in  pro- 
curing us  any  food,  and  during  the  interval  we  were  exposed 
to  an  amount  of  comment  on  the  part  of  those  round  us 
which  I  found  very  little  to  my  liking.  There  were  not 
half  a  dozen  women  present,  and  this  and  our  masks  ren- 
dered my  companions  unpleasantly  conspicuous.  Aware, 
however,  of  the  importance  of  avoiding  an  altercation  which 
might  possibly  detain  us,  and  would  be  certain  to  add  to 
our  notoriety,  I  remained  quiet ;  and  presently  the  entrance 
of  a  tall,  dark-complexioned  man,  who  carried  himself  with 
a  peculiar  swagger,  and  seemed  to  be  famous  for  something 
or  other,  diverted  the  attention  of  the  company  from  us. 

The  new-comer  was  somewhat  of  Maignan's  figure.  He 
wore  a  back  and  breast  over  a  green  doublet,  and  had  an 
orange  feather  in  his  cap  and  an  orange-lined  cloak  on  his 
shoulder.  On  entering  he  stood  a  moment  in  the  doorway, 
letting  his  bold  black  eyes  rove  round  the  room,  the  while 
he  talked  in  a  loud  braggart  fashion  to  his  companions. 
There  was  a  lack  of  breeding  in  the  man's  air,  and  some- 
thing offensive  in  his  look ;  which  I  noticed  produced  wher- 
ever it  rested  a  momentary  silence  and  constraint.  When 
he  moved  farther  into  the  room  I  saw  that  he  wore  a 
very  long  sword,  the  point  of  which  trailed  a  foot  behind 
him. 

He  chose  out  for  his  first  attentions  the  party  of  four 
whom  I  have  mentioned;  going  up  to  them  and  accosting 
them  with  a  ruffling  air,  directed  especially  to  the  gentle- 
man in  the  mask.  The  latter  lifted  his  head  haughtily  on 
finding  himself  addressed  by  a  stranger,  but  did  not  offer  to 
answer.  Someone  else  did,  however,  for  a  sudden  bellow 
like  that  of  an  enraged  bull  proceeded  from  behind  the 
settle.  The  words  were  lost  in  noise,  the  unseen  speaker's 
anger  seeming  so  overpowering  that  he  could  not  articulate ; 
but  the  tone  and  voice,  which  were  in  some  way  familiar 
to  me,  proved  enough  for  the  bully,  who,  covering  his 
retreat  with  a  profound  bow,  backed  out  rapidly,  muttering 
what  was  doubtless  an  apology.  Cocking  his  hat  more 


354  A    GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

fiercely  to  make  up  for  this  repulse,  he  next  proceeded  to 
patrol  the  room,  scowling  from  side  to  side  as  lie  went,  with 
the  evident  intention  of  picking  a  quarrel  with  someone 
less  formidable. 

By  ill-chance  his  eye  lit,  as  he  turned,  on  our  masks.  He 
said  something  to  his  companions;  and  encouraged,  no 
doubt,  by  the  position  of  our  seats  at  the  board,  which  led 
him  to  think  us  people  of  small  consequence,  he  came  to 
a  stop  opposite  us. 

'What!  more  dukes  here?'  he  cried  scoffingly.  'Hallo, 
you  sir! '  he  continued  to  me,  'will  you  not  unmask  and 
drink  a  glass  with  me? ' 

I  thanked  him  civilly,  but  declined. 

His  insolent  eyes  were  busy,  while  I  spoke,  with  madame's 
fair  hair  and  handsome  figure,  which  her  mask  failed  to 
hide.  'Perhaps  the  ladies  will  have  better  taste,  sir,'  he 
said  rudely.  'Will  they  not  honour  us  with  a  sight  of  their 
pretty  faces  ? ' 

Knowing  the  importance  of  keeping  my  temper  I  put 
constraint  on  myself,  and  answered,  still  with  civility,  that 
they  were  greatly  fatigued  and  were  about  to  retire. 

'Zounds! '  he  cried,  'that  is  not  to  be  borne.  If  we  are 
to  lose  them  so  soon,  the  more  reason  we  should  enjoy  their 
beaux  yeux  while  we  can.  A  short  life  and  a  merry  one, 
sir.  This  is  not  a  nunnery,  nor,  I  dare  swear,  are  your 
fair  friends  nuns.' 

Though  I  longed  to  chastise  him  for  this  insult,  I  feigned 
deafness,  and  went  on  witli  my  meal-  as  if  I  had  not  heard 
him ;  and  the  table  being  between  us  prevented  him  going 
beyond  words.  After  he  had  uttered  one  or  two  coarse 
jests  of  a  similar  character,  which  cost  us  less  as  we  were 
masked,  and  our  emotions  could  only  be  guessed,  the  crowd 
about  us,  seeing  I  took  the  thing  quietly,  began  to  applaud 
him;  but  more  as  it  seemed  to  me  out  of  fear  than  love. 
In  this  opinion  I  was  presently  confirmed  on  hearing  from 
Simon — who  whispered  the  information  in  my  ear  as  he 
handed  a  dish — that  the  fellow  was  an  Italian  captain  in 


A   TAVERN  BRAWL  355 

the  king's  pay,  famous  for  his  skill  with  the  sword  and  the 
many  duels  in  which  he  had  displayed  it. 

Mademoiselle,  though  she  did  not  know  this,  bore  with 
his  insolence  with  a  patience  which  astonished  me;  while 
madame  appeared  unconscious  of  it.  Nevertheless,  I  was 
glad  when  he  retired  and  left  us  in  peace.  I  seized  the 
moment  of  his  absence  to  escort  the  ladies  through  the 
room  and  upstairs  to  their  apartment,  the  door  of  which 
I  saw  locked  and  secured.  That  done  I  breathed  more 
freely;  and  feeling  thankful  that  I  had  been  able  to  keep 
my  temper,  took  the  episode  to  be  at  an  end. 

But  in  this  I  was  mistaken,  as  I  found  when  I  returned 
to  the  room  in  which  we  had  supped,  my  intention  being 
to  go  through  it  to  the  stables.  I  had  not  taken  two  paces 
across  the  floor  before  I  found  my  road  blocked  by  the 
Italian,  and  read  alike  in  his  eyes  and  in  the  faces  of  the 
company — of  whom  many  hastened  to  climb  the  tables  to 
see  what  passed — that  the  meeting  was  premeditated.  The 
man's  face  was  flushed  with  wine;  proud  of  his  many 
victories,  he  eyed  me  with  a  boastful  contempt  my  patience 
had  perhaps  given  him  the  right  to  feel. 

'Ha!  well  met,  sir,'  he  said,  sweeping  the  floor  with  his 
cap  in  an  exaggeration  of  respect,  'now,  perhaps,  your  high- 
mightiness  will  condescend  to  unmask?  The  table  is  no 
longer  between  us,  nor  are  your  fair  triends  here  to  protect 
their  cher  ami ! ' 

'If  1  still  refuse,  sir,'  I  said  civilly,  wavering  between 
anger  and  prudence,  and  hoping  still  to  avoid  a  quarrel 
which  might  endanger  us  all,  'be  good  enough  to  attribute 
it  to  private  motives,  and  to  no  desire  to  disoblige  you.' 

'No,  I  do  not  think  you  wish  to  disoblige  me,'  he  an- 
swered, laughing  scornfully — and  a  dozen  voices  echoed 
the  gibe.  'But  for  your  private  motives,  the  devil  take 
them!  Is  that  plain  enough,  sir?  ' 

'It  is  plain  enough  to  show  me  that  you  are  an  ill-bred 
man! '  I  answered,  choler  getting  the  better  of  me.  'Let 
me  pass,  sir.' 


35  6  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

'Unmask! '  he  retorted,  moving  so  as  still  to  detain  me, 
'or  shall  I  call  in  the  grooms  to  perform  the  office  for  you? ' 

Seeing  at  last  that  all  my  attempts  to  evade  the  man 
only  fed  his  vanity,  and  encouraged  him  to  further  ex- 
cesses, and  that  the  motley  crowd,  who  filled  the  room  and 
already  formed  a  circle  round  us,  had  made  up  their  minds 
to  see  sport,  I  would  no  longer  balk  them;  I  could  no 
longer  do  it,  indeed,  with  honour.  I  looked  round,  there- 
fore, for  someone  whom  I  might  enlist  as  my  second,  but  I 
saw  no  one  with  whom  I  had  the  least  acquaintance.  The 
room  was  lined  from  table  to  ceiling  with  mocking  faces 
and  scornful  eyes  all  turned  to  me. 

My  opponent  saw  the  look,  and  misread  it;  being  much 
accustomed,  I  imagine,  to  a  one-sided  battle.  He  laughed 
contemptuously.  'No,  my  friend,  there  is  no  way  out  of 
it,'  he  said.  'Let  me  see  your  pretty  face,  or  fight.' 

'So  be  it,'  I  said  quietly.  'If  I  have  no  other  choice,  I 
will  fight.' 

'In  your  mask?  '  he  cried  incredulously. 

'Yes,'  I  said  sternly,  feeling  every  nerve  tingle  with  long- 
suppressed  rage.  'I  will  fight  as  I  am.  Off  with  your 
back  and  breast,  if  you  are  a  man.  And  I  will  so  deal  with 
you  that  if  you  see  to-morrow's  sun  you  shall  need  a  mask 
for  the  rest  of  your  duys ! ' 

'Ho!  ho! '  he  answered,  scowling  at  me  in  surprise,  'you 
sing  in  a  different  key  now.  But  I  will  put  a  term  to  it. 
There  is  space  enough  between  these  tables,  if  you  can  use 
your  weapon;  and  much  more  than  you  will  need  to- 
morrow. ' 

'To-morrow  will  show,'  I  retorted. 

Without  more  ado  he  unfastened  the  buckles  of  his  breast- 
piece,  and  relieving  himself  of  it,  stepped  back  a  pace. 
Those  of  the  bystanders  who  occupied  the  part  of  the  room 
he  indicated — a  space  bounded  by  four  tables,  and  not  unfit 
for  the  purpose,  though  somewhat  confined — hastened  to 
get  out  of  it,  and  seize  instead  upon  neighbouring  posts  of 
'vantage.  The  man's  reputation  was  such,  and  his  fame  so 


A   TAVERN  BRAWL  357 

great,  that  on  all  sides  I  heard  naught  but  wagers  offered 
against  nie  at  odds;  but  this  circumstance,  which  might 
have  flurried  a  younger  man  and  numbed  his  arm,  served 
only  to  set  me  on  making  the  most  of  such -openings  as  the 
fellow's  presumption  and  certainty  of  success  would  be  sure 
to  afford. 

The  news  of  the  challenge  running  through  the  house  had 
brought  together  by  this  time  so  many  people  as  to  fill  the 
room  from  end  to  end,  and  even  to  obscure  the  light,  which 
was  beginning  to  wane.  At  the  last  moment,  when  we  were 
on  the  point  of  engaging,  a  slight  commotion  marked  the 
admission  to  the  front  of  three  or  four  persons,  whose  con- 
sequence or  attendants  gained  them  this  advantage.  I 
believed  them  to  be  the  party  of  four  I  have  mentioned, 
but  at  the  time  I  could  not  be  certain. 

In  the  few  seconds  of  waiting  while  this  went  forward  I 
examined  our  relative  positions  with  the  fullest  intention 
of  killing  the  man — whose  glittering  eyes  and  fierce  smile 
filled  me  with  a  loathing  which  was  very  nearly  hatred — 
if  I  could.  The  line  of  windows  lay  to  my  right  and  his 
left.  The  evening  light  fell  across  us,  whitening  the  row 
of  faces  on  my  left,  but  leaving  those  on  my  right  in 
shadow.  It  occurred  to  me  on  the  instant  that  my  mask 
was  actually  an  advantage,  seeing  that  it  protected  my 
sight  from  the  side-light,  and  enabled  me  to  watch  his  eyes 
and  point  with  more  concentration. 

'You  will  be  the  twenty -third  man  I  have  killed!'  he 
said  boastfully,  as  we  crossed  swords  and  stood  an  instant 
on  guard. 

'Take  care!'  I  answered.  'You  have  twenty -three 
against  you ! ' 

A  swift  lunge  was  his  only  answer.  I  parried  it,  and 
thrust,  and  we  fell  to  work.  We  had  not  exchanged  half 
a  dozen  blows,  however,  before  I  saw  that  I  should  need  all 
the  advantage  which  my  mask  and  greater  caution  gave  me. 
I  had  met  my  match,  and  it  might  be  something  more;  but 
that  for  a  time  it  was  impossible  to  tell.  He  had  the  longer 


358  A    GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

weapon,  and  I  the  longer  reach.  He  preferred  the  point, 
after  the  new  Italian  fashion,  and  I  the  blade.  He  was 
somewhat  flushed  with  wine,  while  my  arm  had  scarcely 
recovered  the  strength  of  which  illness  had  deprived  me. 
On  the  other  hand,  excited  at  the  first  by  the  cries  of  his 
backers,  he  played  rather  wildly;  while  I  held  myself  pre- 
pared, and  keeping  up  a  strong  guard,  waited  cautiously 
for  any  opening  or  mistake  on  his  part. 

The  crowd  round  us,  which  had  hailed  our  first  passes 
with  noisy  cries  of  derision  and  triumph,  fell  silent  after 
a  while,  surprised  and  taken  aback  by  their  champion's 
failure  to  spit  me  at  the  first  onslaught.  My  reluctance  to 
engage  had  led  them  to  predict  a  short  fight  and  an  easy 
victory. 

Convinced  of  the  contrary,  they  began  to  watch  each 
stroke  with  bated  breath;  or  now  and  again,  muttering 
the  name  of  Jarnac,  broke  into  brief  exclamations  as  a  blo\v 
more  savage  than  usual  drew  sparks  from  our  blades,  and 
made  the  rafters  ring  with  the  harsh  grinding  of  steel  on  steel. 

The  surprise  of  the  crowd,  however,  was  a  small  thing 
compared  with  that  of  my  adversary.  Impatience,  disgust, 
rage,  and  doubt  chased  one  another  in  turn  across  his 
flushed  features.  Apprised  that  he  had  to  do  with  a 
swordsman,  he  put  forth  all  his  power.  With  spite  in  his 
eyes  he  laboured  blow  on  blow,  he  tried  one  form  of  attack 
after  another,  he  found  me  equal,  if  barely  equal,  to  all. 
And  then  at  last  there  came  a  change.  The  perspiration 
gathered  on  his  brow,  the  silence  disconcerted  him;  he  felt 
his  strength  failing  under  the  strain,  and  suddenly,  I  think, 
the  possibility  of  defeat  and  death,  unthought  of  before, 
burst  upon  him.  I  heard  him  groan,  and  for  a  moment  he 
fenced  wildly.  Then  he  again  recovered  himself.  But 
now  I  read  terror  in  his  eyes,  and  knew  that  the  moment 
of  retribution  was  at  hand.  With  his  back  to  the  table, 
and  my  point  threatening  his  breast,  he  knew  at  last  what 
those  others  had  felt! 

He  would  fain  have  stopped  to  breathe,  but  I  would  not 


A    TAVERN  BRAWL  359 

let  him  though  my  blows  also  were  growing  feeble,  and  my 
guard  weaker;  for  I  knew  that  if  I  gave  him  time  to  re- 
cover himself  he  would  have  recourse  to  other  tricks,  and 
might  out-manoeuvre  me  in  the  end.  As  it  was,  my  black 
unchanging  mask,  which  always  confronted  him,  which  hid 
all  emotions  and  veiled  even  fatigue,  had  grown  to  be  full 
of  terror  to  him — full  of  blank,  passionless  menace.  He 
could  not  tell  how  I  fared,  or  what  I  thought,  or  how 
my  strength  stood.  A  superstitious  dread  was  on  him, 
and  threatened  to  overpower  him.  Ignorant  who  I  was  or 
whence  I  came,  he  feared  and  doubted,  grappling  with  mon- 
strous suspicions,  which  the  fading  light  encouraged.  His 
face  broke  out  in  blotches,  his  breath  came  and  went  in 
gasps,  his  eyes  began  to  protrude.  Once  or  twice  they 
quitted  mine  for  a  part  of  a  second  to  steal  a  despairing 
glance  at  the  rows  of  onlookers  that  ran  to  right  and  left  of 
us.  But  he  read  no  pity  there. 

At  last  the  end  came — more  suddenly  than  I  had  looked 
for  it,  but  I  think  he  was  unnerved.  His  hand  lost  its  grip 
of  the  hilt,  and  a  parry  which  I  dealt  a  little  more  briskly 
than  usual  sent  the  weapon  flying  among  the  crowd,  as 
much  to  my  astonishment  as  to  that  of  the  spectators.  A 
volley  of  oaths  and  exclamations  hailed  the  event;  and  for 
a  moment  I  stood  at  gaze,  eyeing  him  watchfully.  He 
shrank  back ;  then  he  made  for  a  moment  as  if  he  would 
fling  himself  upon  me  dagger  in  hand.  But  seeing  my 
point  steady,  he  recoiled  a  second  time,  his  face  distorted 
with  rage  and  fear. 

'Go!'  I  said  sternly.'  'Begone!  Follow  your  sword! 
But  spare  the  next  man  you  conquer. ' 

He  stared  at  me,  fingering  his  dagger  as  if  he  did  not 
understand,  or  as  if  in  the  bitterness  of  his  shame  at  being 
so  defeated  even  life  were  unwelcome.  I  was  about  to  re- 
peat my  words  when  a  heavy  hand  fell  on  my  shoulder. 

'Fool!'  a  harsh  growling  voice  muttered  in  my  ear.  'Do 
you  want  him  to  serve  you  as  Achon  served  Matas?  This 
is  the  way  to  deal  with  him. ' 


360  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

And  before  I  knew  who  spoke  or  what  to  expect  a  man 
vaulted  over  the  table  beside  me.  Seizing  the  Italian  by 
the  neck  and  waist,  he  flung  him  bodily — without  paying 
the  least  regard  to  his  dagger — into  the  crowd.  'There! ' 
the  new-comer  cried,  stretching  his  arms  as  if  the  effort 
had  relieved  him,  'so  much  for  him!  And  do  you  breathe 
yourself.  Breathe  yourself,  my  friend, '  he  continued  with 
a  vain-glorious  air  of  generosity.  'When  you  are  rested 
and  ready,  you  and  I  will  have  a  bout.  Mon  dieu !  what  a 
thing  it  is  to  see  a  man !  And  by  my  faith  you  are  a  man ! ' 

'But,  sir,'  I  said,  staring  at  him  in  the  utmost  bewilder- 
ment, 'we  have  no  quarrel.' 

'Quarrel?  '  he  cried  in  his  loud,  ringing  voice.  'Heaven 
forbid!  Why  should  we?  I  love  a  man,  however,  and 
when  I  see  one  I  say  to  him,  "  I  am  Crillon !  Fight  me !  " 
But  I  see  you  are  not  yet  rested.  Patience !  There  is  no 
hurry.  Berthon  de  Crillon  is  proud  to  wait  your  conven- 
ience. In  the  meantime,  gentlemen,'  he  continued,  turn- 
ing with  a  grand  air  to  the  spectators,  who  viewed  this 
sudden  bouleversement  with  unbounded  surprise,  'let  us  do 
what  we  can.  Take  the  word  from  me,  and  cry  all,  "  Vive 
le  Roi,  et  vive  Vlnconnu!" 

Like  people  awaking  from  a  dream — so  great  was  their 
astonishment — the  company  complied  and  with  the  utmost 
heartiness.  When  the  shout  died  away,  someone  cried 
in  turn,  'Vive  Crillon!'  and  this  was  honoured  with  a 
fervour  which  brought  the  tears  to  the  eyes  of  that  remark- 
able man,  in  whom  bombast  was  so  strangely  combined 
with  the  firmest  and  most  reckless  courage.  He  bowed 
again  and  again,  turning  himself  about  in  the  small  space 
between  the  tables,  while  his  face  shone  with  pleasure 
and  enthusiasm.  Meanwhile  I  viewed  him  with  per- 
plexity. I  comprehended  that  it  was  his  voice  I  had  heard 
behind  the  settle;  but  I  had  neither  the  desire  to  fight 
him  nor  so  great  a  reserve  of  strength  after  my  illness 
as  to  be  able  to  enter  on  a  fresh  contest  with  equanimity. 
Wrhen  he  turned  to  me,  therefore,  and  again  asked,  'Well, 


A   TAVERN  BRAWL  361 

sir,  are  you  ready?  '  I  could  think  of  no  better  answer  than 
that  I  had  already  made  to  him,  'But,  sir,  I  have  no  quarrel 
with  you.' 

'Tut,  tut! '  he  answered  querulously,  'if  that  is  all,  let 
us  engage.' 

'That  is  not  all,  however,'  I  said,  resolutely  putting  up 
my  sword.  'I  have  not  only  no  quarrel  with  M.  de  Cril- 
lon,  but  I  received  at  his  hands  when  I  last  saw  him  a 
considerable  service. ' 

'Then  now  is  the  time  to  return  it,'  he  answered  briskly, 
and  as  if  that  settled  the  matter. 

I  could  not  refrain  from  laughing.  'Nay,  but  I  have 
still  an  excuse,'  I  said.  'I  am  barely  recovered  from  an 
illness,  and  am  weak.  Even  so,  I  should  be  loth  to  decline 
a  combat  with  some ;  but  a  better  man  than  I  may  give  the 
wall  to  M.  de  Crillon  and  suffer  no  disgrace.' 

'Oh,  if  you  put  it  that  way — enough  said,'  he  answered 
in  a  tone  of  disappointment.  'And,  to  be  sure,  the  light 
is  almost  gone.  That  is  a  comfort.  But  you  will  not 
refuse  to  drink  a  cup  of  wine  with  me?  Your  voice  I 
remember,  though  I  cannot  say  who  you  are  or  what  ser- 
vice I  did  you.  For  the  future,  however,  count  on  me.  I 
love  a  man  who  is  brave  as  well  as  modest,  and  know  no 
better  friend  than  a  stout  swordsman.' 

I  was  answering  him  in  fitting  terms — while  the  fickle 
crowd,  which  a  few  minutes  earlier  had  been  ready  to  tear 
me,  viewed  us  from  a  distance  with  respectful  homage — 
when  the  masked  gentleman  who  had  before  been  in  his 
company  drew  near  and  saluted  me  with  much  stateliness. 

'I  congratulate  you,  sir,'  he  said,  in  the  easy  tone  of  a 
great  man  condescending.  '  You  use  the  sword  as  few  use  it, 
and  fight  with  your  head  as  well  as  your  hands.  Should  you 
need  a  friend  or  employment,  you  will  honour  me  by  remem- 
bering that  you  are  known  to  the  Vicomte  de  Turenne. ' 

I  bowed  low  to  hide  the  start  which  the  mention  of  his 
name  caused  me.  For  had  I  tried,  ay,  and  possessed  to  aid 
me  all  the  wit  of  M.  de  Brantome,  I  could  have  imagined 


362  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

nothing  more  fantastic  than  this  meeting;  or  more  enter- 
taining than  that  I,  masked,  should  talk  with  the  Vicomte 
de  Turenrie  masked,  and  hear  in  place  of  reproaches  and 
threats  of  vengeance  a  civil  offer  of  protection.  Scarcely 
knowing  whether  I  should  laugh  or  tremble,  or  which 
should  occupy  me  more,  the  diverting  thing  that  had. 
happened  or  the  peril  we  had  barely  escaped,  I  made  shift 
to  answer  him,  craving  his  indulgence  if  I  still  preserved 
my  incognito.  Even  while  I  spoke  a  fresh  fear  assailed 
me:  lest  M.  de  Crillon,  recognising  my  voice  or  figure, 
should  cry  my  name  on  the  spot,  and  explode  in  a  moment 
the  mine  on  which  we  stood. 

This  rendered  me  extremely  impatient  to  be  gone.  But 
M.  le  Vicomte  had  still  something  to  say,  and  I  could  not 
withdraw  myself  without  rudeness. 

'You  are  travelling  north  like  everyone  else?'  he  said, 
gazing  at  me  curiously.  'May  I  ask  whether  you  are  for 
Meudori,  where  the  King  of  Navarre  lies,  or  for  the  Court 
at  St.  Cloud? ' 

I  muttered,  moving  restlessly  under  his  keen  eyes,  that 
I  was  for  Meudon. 

'Then,  if  you  care  to  travel  with  a  larger  company,'  he 
rejoined,  bowing  with  negligent  courtesy,  'pray  command 
me.  I  am  for  Meudon  also,  and  shall  leave  here  three 
hours  before  noon.' 

Fortunately  he  took  my  assent  to  his  gracious  invitation 
for  granted,  and  turned  away  before  I  had  well  begun  to 
thank  him.  From  Crillon  I  found  it  more  difficult  to 
escape.  He  apppeared  to  have  conceived  a  great  fancy  for 
me,  and  felt  also,  I  imagine,  some  curiosity  as  to  my  iden- 
tity. But  I  did  even  this  at  last,  and,  evading  the  obse- 
quious offers  which  were  made  me  on  all  sides,  escaped  to 
the  stables,  where  I  sought  out  the  Cid's  stall,  and  lying 
down  in  the  straw  beside  him,  began  to  review  the  past, 
and  plan  the  future.  Under  cover  of  the  darkness  sleep 
soon  came  to  me ;  my  last  waking  thoughts  being  divided 
between  thankfulness  for  my  escape  and  a  steady  purpose 


AT  MEUDON  363 

to  reach  Meudon  before  the  Vicomte,  so  that  I  might  make 
good  my  tale  in  his  absence.  For  that  seemed  to  be 
my  only  chance  of  evading  the  dangers  I  had  chosen  to 
encounter. 


CHAPTEE  XXXIII. 

AT   MEUDON. 

MAKING  so  early  a  start  from  Etampes  that  the  inn,  which 
had  continued  in  an  uproar  till  long  after  midnight,  lay 
sunk  in  sleep  when  we  rode  out  of  the  yard,  we  reached 
Meudon  about  noon  next  day.  I  should  be  tedious  were  I 
to  detail  what  thoughts  my  mistress  and  I  had  during  that 
day's  journey — the  last,  it  might  be,  which  we  should  take 
together;  or  what  assurances  we  gave  one  another,  or  how 
often  we  repented  the  impatience  which  had  impelled  us  to 
put  all  to  the  touch.  Madame,  with  kindly  forethought, 
detached  herself  from  us,  and  rode  the  greater  part  of  the 
distance  with  Fanchette;  but  the  opportunities  she  gave  us 
went  for  little;  for,  to  be  plain,  the  separation  we  dreaded 
seemed  to  overshadow  us  already.  We  uttered  iew  words, 
though  those  few  were  to  the  purpose,  but  riding  hand-in- 
hand,  with  full  hearts,  and  eyes  which  seldom  quitted  one 
another,  looked  forward  to  Meudon  and  its  perils  with  such 
gloomy  forebodings  as  our  love  and  my  precarious  position 
suggested. 

Long  before  we  reached  the  town,  or  could  see  more  of  it 
than  the  Chateau,  over  which  the  Lilies  of  France  and  the 
broad  white  banner  of  the  Bourbons  floated  in  company, 
we  found  ourselves  swept  into  the  whirlpool  which  sur- 
rounds an  army.  Crowds  stood  at  all  the  cross-roads, 
wagons  and  sumpter-mules  encumbered  the  bridges;  each 
moment  a  horseman  passed  us  at  a  gallop,  or  a  troop  of 
disorderly  rogues,  soldiers  only  in  name,  reeled,  shouting 
and  singing,  along  the  road.  Here  and  there,  for  a  warn- 


364  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

ing  to  the  latter  sort,  a  man  dangled  on  a  rude  gallows; 
under  which  sportsmen  returning  from  the  chase  and  ladies 
who  had  been  for  an  airing  rode  laughing  on  their  way. 

Amid  the  multitude  entering  the  town  we  passed  unno- 
ticed. A  little  way  within  the  walls  we  halted  to  inquire 
where  the  Princess  of  Navarre  had  her  lodging.  Hearing 
that  she  occupied  a  house  in  the  town,  while  her  brother 
had  his  quarters  in  the  Chateau,  and  the  King  of  France 
at  St.  Cloud,  I  stayed  my  party  in  a  by-road,  a  hundred 
paces  farther  on,  and,  springing  from  the  Cid,  went  to  my 
mistress's  knee. 

'Mademoiselle,'  I  said  formally,  and  so  loudly  that  all 
my  men  might  hear,  'the  time  is  come.  I  dare  not  go 
farther  with  you.  I  beg  you,  therefore,  to  bear  me  witness 
that  as  I  took  you  so  I  have  brought  you  back,  and  both 
with  your  good-will.  I  beg  that  you  will  give  me  this 
quittance,  for  it  may  serve  me.' 

She  bowed  her  head  and  laid  her  ungloved  hand  on  mine, 
which  I  had  placed  on  the  pommel  of  her  saddle.  'Sir,' 
she  answered  in  a  broken  voice,  'I  will  not  give  you  this 
quittance,  nor  any  quittance  from  me  while  I  live.'  With 
that  she  took  off  her  mask  before  them  all,  and  I  saw  the 
tears  running  down  her  white  face.  'May  God  protect  you, 
M.  de  Marsac,'  she  continued,  stooping  until  her  face 
almost  touched  mine,  'and  bring  you  to  the  thing  you 
desire.  If  not,  sir,  and  you  pay  too  dearly  for  what  you 
have  done  for  me,  I  will  live  a  maiden  all  my  days.  And, 
if  I  do  not,  these  men  may  shame  me ! ' 

My  heart  was  too  full  for  words,  but  I  took  the  glove 
she  held  out  to  me,  and  kissed  her  hand  with  my  knee 
bent.  Then  I  waved — for  I  could  not  speak — to  madame 
to  proceed;  and  with  Simon  Fleix  and  Maignan's  men  to 
guard  them  they  went  on  their  way.  Mademoiselle's  white 
face  looked  back  to  me  until  a  bend  in  the  road  hid  them, 
and  I  saw  them  no  more. 

I  turned  when  all  were  gone,  and  going  heavily  to  where 
my  Sard  stood  with  his  head  drooping,  I  climbed  to  the 


AT  MEUDON  365 

saddle,  and  rode  at  a  foot-pace  towards  the  Chateau.  The 
way  was  short  and  easy,  for  the  next  turning  showed  me 
the  open  gateway  and  a  crowd  about  it.  A  vast  number  of 
people  were  entering  and  leaving,  while  others  rested  in  the 
shade  of  the  wall,  and  a  dozen  grooms  led  horses  up  and 
down.  The  sunshine  fell  hotly  on  the  road  and  the  court- 
yard, and  flashed  back  by  the  cuirasses  of  the  men  on  guard, 
seized  the  eye  and  dazzled  it  with  gleams  of  infinite  bright- 
ness. I  was  advancing  alone,  gazing  at  all  this  with  a 
species  of  dull  indifference  which  masked  for  the  moment 
the  suspense  I  felt  at  heart,  when  a  man,  coming  on  foot 
along  the  street,  crossed  quickly  to  me  and  looked  me  in 
the  face. 

I  returned  his  look,  and  seeing  he  was  a  stranger  to  me, 
was  for  passing  on  without  pausing.  But  he  wheeled  be- 
side me  and  uttered  my  name  in  a  low  voice. 

I  checked  the  Cid  and  looked  down  at  him.  'Yes,'  I 
said  mechanically,  'I  am  M.  de  Marsac.  But  I  do  not 
know  you.' 

'Nevertheless  I  have  been  watching  for  you  for  three 
days,'  he  replied.  'M.  de  Eosny  received  your  message. 
This  is  for  you. ' 

He  handed  me  a  scrap  of  paper.     'From  whom?'  Tasked. 

'Maignan,'  he  answered  briefly.  And  with  that,  and  a 
stealthy  look  round,  he  left  me,  and  went  the  way  he  had 
been  going  before. 

I  tore  open  the  note,  and  knowing  that  Maignan  could 
not  write,  was  not  surprised  to  find  that  it  lacked  any  signa- 
ture. The  brevity  of  its  contents  vied  with  the  curtness  of 
its  bearer.  '  In  Heaven's  name  go  back  and  wait,'  it  ran. 
'Your  enemy  is  here,  and  those  who  wish  you  well  are 
powerless.' 

A  warning  so  explicit,  and  delivered  under  such  circum- 
stances, might  have  been  expected  to  make  me  pause  even 
then.  But  I  read  the  message  with  the  same  dull  indiffer- 
ence, the  same  dogged  resolve  with  which  the  sight  of  the 
crowded  gateway  before  me  had  inspired  me.  I  had  not 


366  A  GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

come  so  far  and  baffled  Turenne  by  an  hour  to  fail  in  my 
purpose  at  the  last;  nor  given  such  pledges  to  another  to 
prove  false  to  myself.  Moreover,  the  distant  rattle  of 
musketry,  which  went  to  show  that  a  skirmish  was  taking 
place  on  the  farther  side  of  the  Castle,  seemed  an  invitation 
to  me  to  proceed;  for  now,  if  ever,  my  sword  might  earn 
protection  and  a  pardon.  Only  in  regard  to  M.  de  Rosny, 
from  whom  I  had  no  doubt  that  the  message  came,  I  resolved 
to  act  with  prudence ;  neither  making  any  appeal  to  him  in 
public  nor  mentioning  his  name  to  others  in  private. 

The  Cid  had  borne  me  by  this  time  into  the  middle  of 
the  throng  about  the  gateway,  who,  wondering  to  see  a 
stranger  of  my  appearance  arrive  without  attendants,  eyed 
me  with  a  mixture  of  civility  and  forwardness.  I  recog- 
nised more  than  one  man  whom  I  had  seen  about  the  Court 
at  St.  Jean  d'Angely  six  months  before;  but  so  great  is  the 
disguising  power  of  handsome  clothes  and  equipments  that 
none  of  these  knew  me.  I  beckoned  to  the  nearest,  and 
asked  him  if  the  King  of  Navarre  was  in  the  Chateau. 

'He  has  gone  to  see  the  King  of  France  at  St.  Cloud,'  the 
man  answered,  with  something  of  wonder  that  anyone 
should  be  ignorant  of  so  important  a  fact.  'He  is  expected 
here  in  an  hour.' 

I  thanked  him,  and  calculating  that  I  should  still  have 
time  and  to  spare  before  the  arrival  of  M.  de  Turenne,  I 
dismounted,  and  taking  the  rein  over  my  arm,  began  to 
walk  up  and  down  in  the  shade  of  the  wall.  Meanwhile 
the  loiterers  increased  in  numbers  as  the  minutes  passed. 
Men  of  better  standing  rode  up,  and,  leaving  their  horses 
in  charge  of  their  lackeys,  went  into  the  Chateau.  Officers 
in  shining  corslets,  or  with  boots  and  scabbards  dulled  with 
dust,  arrived  and  clattered  in  through  the  gates.  A  mes- 
senger galloped  up  with  letters,  and  was  instantly  sur- 
rounded by  a  curious  throng  of  questioners;  who  left  him 
only  to  gather  about  the  next  comers,  a  knot  of  townsfolk, 
whose  downcast  visages  and  glances  of  apprehension  seemed 
to  betoken  no  pleasant  or  easy  mission. 


AT  MEUDOK  367 

Watching  many  of  these  enter  and  disappear,  while  only 
the  humbler  sort  remained  to  swell  the  crowd  at  the  gate, 
I  began  to  experience  the  discomfort  and  impatience  which 
are  the  lot  of  the  man  who  finds  himself  placed  in  a  false 
position.  I  foresaw  with  clearness  the  injury  I  was  about 
to  do  my  cause  by  presenting  myself  to  the  king  among  the 
common  herd;  and  yet  I  had  no  choice  save£o  do  this,  for  I 
dared  not  run  the  risk  of  entering,  lest  I  should  be  required 
to  give  my  name,  and  fail  to  see  the  King  of  Navarre  at  all. 

As  it  was  I  came  very  near  to  being  foiled  in  this  way; 
for  I  presently  recognised,  and  was  recognised  in  turn,  by 
a  gentleman  who  rode  up  to  the  gates  and,  throwing  his 
reins  to  a  groom,  dismounted  with  an  air  of  immense 
gravity.  This  was  M.  Forget,  the  king's  secretary,  and  the 
person  to  whom  I  had  on  a  former  occasion  presented  a 
petition.  He  looked  at  me  with  eyes  of  profound  astonish- 
ment, and  saluting  me  stiffly  from  a  distance,  seemed  in 
two  minds  whether  he  should  pass  in  or  speak  to  me.  On 
second  thoughts,  however,  he  came  towards  me,  and  again 
saluted  me  with  a  peculiarly  dry  and  austere  aspect. 

'I  believe,  sir,  I  am  speaking  to  M.  de  Marsac?'  he  said 
in  a  low  voice,  but  not  impolitely. 

I  replied  in  the  affirmative. 

'And  that,  I  conclude,  is  your  horse?'  he  continued, 
raising  his  cane,  and  pointing  to  the  Cid,  which  I  had  fas- 
tened to  a  hook  in  the  wall. 

I  replied  again  in  the  affirmative. 

'Then  take  a  word  of  advice,'  he  answered,  screwing  up 
his  features,  and  speaking  in  a  dry  sort  of  way.  'Get  upon 
its  back  without  an  instant's  delay,  and  put  as  many 
leagues  between  yourself  and  Meudon  as  horse  and  man 
may.' 

'I  am  obliged  to  you,'  I  said,  though  I  was  greatly 
startled  by  his  words.  'And  what  if  I  do  not  take  your 
advice? ' 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  'In  that  case  look  to  your- 
self ! '  he  retorted.  'But  you  will  look  in  vain ! ' 


368  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

He  turned  on  his  heel  as  he  spoke,  and  in  a  moment  was 
gone.  I  watched  him  enter  the  Chateau,  and  in  the  uncer- 
tainty which  possessed  me  whether  he  was  not  gone — after 
salving  his  conscience  by  giving  me  warning — to  order  my 
instant  arrest,  I  felt,  and  I  doubt  not  I  looked,  as  ill  at 
ease  for  the  time  being  as  the  group  of  trembling  townsfolk 
who  stood  near  me.  Reflecting  that  he  should  know  his 
master's  mind,  I  recalled  with  depressing  clearness  the 
repeated  warnings  the  King  of  Navarre  had  given  me  that 
I  must  not  look  to  him  for  reward  or  protection.  I  be- 
thought me  that  I  was  here  against  his  express  orders: 
presuming  on  those  very  services  which  he  had  given  me 
notice  he  should  repudiate.  I  remembered  that  Eosny  had 
always  been  in  the  same  tale.  And  in  fine  I  began  to  see 
that  mademoiselle  and  I  had  together  decided  on  a  step 
which  I  should  never  have  presumed  to  take  on  my  own 
motion. 

I  had  barely  arrived  at  this  conclusion  when  the  tramp- 
ling of  hoofs  and  a  sudden  closing  in  of  the  crowd  round 
the  gate  announced  the  King  of  Navarre's  approach.  With 
a  sick  heart  I  drew  nearer,  feeling  that  the  crisis  was  at 
hand;  and  in  a  moment  he  came  in  sight,  riding  beside  an 
elderly  man,  plainly  dressed  and  mounted,  with  whom  he 
was  carrying  on  an  earnest  conversation.  A  train  of  nobles 
and  gentlemen,  whose  martial  air  and  equipments  made  up 
for  the  absence  of  the  gewgaws  and  glitter,  to  which  my 
eyes  had  become  accustomed  at  Blois,  followed  close  on  his 
heels.  Henry  himself  wore  a  suit  of  white  velvet,  frayed 
in  places  and  soiled  by  his  armour;  but  his  quick  eye  and 
eager,  almost  fierce,  countenance  could  not  fail  to  win  and 
keep  the  attention  of  the  least  observant.  He  kept  glan- 
cing from  side  to  side  as  he  came  on;  and  that  with  so 
cheerful  an  air  and  a  carriage  so  full  at  once  of  dignity  and 
good-humour  that  no  one  could  look  on  him  and  fail  to  see 
that  here  was  a  leader  and  a  prince  of  men,  temperate  in 
victory  and  unsurpassed  in  defeat. 

The  crowd  raising  a  cry  of  '  Vive  Navarre  I '  as  he  drew 


AT  MEUDON  369 

near,  he  bowed,  with  a  sparkle  in  his  eye.  But  when  a 
few  by  the  gate  cried  '  Vivent  les  Rois ! '  he  held  up  his 
hand  for  silence,  and  said  in  a  loud,  clear  voice,  'Not  that, 
my  friends.  There  is  but  one  king  in  France.  Let  us  say 
instead,  "Vive  leEoi!"' 

The  spokesman  of  the  little  group  of  townsfolk,  who, 
I  learned,  were  from  Arcueil,  and  had  come  to  complain  of 
the  excessive  number  of  troops  quartered  upon  them,  took 
advantage  of  the  pause  to  approach  him.  Henry  received 
the  old  man  with  a  kindly  look,  and  bent  from  his  saddle 
to  hear  what  he  had  to  say.  While  they  were  talking  I 
pressed  forward,  the  emotion  I  felt  on  my  own  account 
heightened  by  my  recognition  of  the  man  who  rode  by  the 
King  of  Navarre — who  was  no  other  than  M.  de  la  Noue. 
No  Huguenot  worthy  of  the  name  could  look  on  the  veteran 
who  had  done  and  suffered  more  for  the  cause  than  any 
living  man  without  catching  something  of  his  stern  enthu- 
siasm; and  the  sight,  while  it  shamed  me,  who  a  moment 
before  had  been  inclined  to  prefer  my  safety  to  the  assist- 
ance I  owed  my  country,  gave  me  courage  to  step  to  the 
king's  rein,  so  that  I  heard  his  last  words  to  the  men  of 
Arcueil. 

'Patience,  my  friends,'  he  said  kindly.  'The  burden  is 
heavy,  but  the  journey  is  a  short  one.  The  Seine  is  ours; 
the  circle  is  complete.  In  a  week  Paris  must  surrender. 
The  king,  my  cousin,  will  enter,  and  you  will  be  rid  of  us. 
For  France's  sake  one  week,  my  friends.' 

The  men  fell  back  with  low  obeisances,  charmed  by  his 
good-nature,  and  Henry,  looking  up,  saw  me  before  him. 
On  the  instant  his  jaw  fell.  His  brow,  suddenly  contract- 
ing above  eyes,  which  flashed  with  surprise  and  displeasure, 
altered  in  a  moment  the  whole  aspect  of  his  face;  which 
grew  dark  and  stern  as  night.  His  first  impulse  was  to  pass 
by  me;  but  seeing  that  I  held  my  ground,  he  hesitated,  so 
completely  chagrined  by  my  appearance  that  he  did  not 
know  how  to  act,  or  in  what  way  to  deal  with  me.  I  seized 
the  occasion,  and  bending  my  knee  with  as  much  respect 


370  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

as  I  had  ever  used  to  the  King  of  France,  begged  to  bring 
myself  to  his  notice,  and  to  crave  his  protection  and 
favour. 

'This  is  no  time  to  trouble  me,  sir,'  he  retorted,  eyeing 
me  with  an  angry  side-glance.  'I  do  not  know  you.  You 
are  unknown  to  me,  sir.  You  must  go  to  M.  de  Rosny.' 

'It  would  be  useless  sire,'  I  answered,  in  desperate  per- 
sistence. 

'Then  I  can  do  nothing  for  you/  he  rejoined  peevishly. 
'Stand  on  one  side,  sir.' 

But  I  was  desperate.  I  knew  that  I  had  risked  all  on 
the  event,  and  must  establish  my  footing  before  M.  de 
Turenne's  return,  or  run  the  risk  of  certain  recognition 
and  vengeance.  I  cried  out,  caring  nothing  who  heard, 
that  I  was  M.  de  Marsac,  that  I  had  come  back  to  meet 
whatever  my  enemies  could  allege  against  me. 

'  Venire  Saint  Gris ! '  Henry  exclaimed,  starting  in  his 
saddle  with  well-feigned  surprise.  'Are  you  that  man? ' 

'I  am,  sire,'  I  answered. 

'  Then  you  must  be  mad ! '  he  retorted,  appealing  to  those 
behind  him.  'Stark,  staring  mad  to  show  your  face  here! 
Ventre  Saint  Gris !  Are  we  to  have  all  the  ravishers  and 
plunderers  in  the  country  come  to  us?  ' 

'I  am  neither  the  one  nor  the  other! '  I  answered,  looking 
with  indignation  from  him  to  the  gaping  train  behind  him. 

'That  you  will  have  to  settle  with  M.  de  Turenne! '  he 
retorted,  frowning  down  at  me  with  his  whole  face  turned 
gloomy  and  fierce.  'I  know  you  well,  sir,  now.  Com- 
plaint has  been  made  that  you  abducted  a  lady  from  his 
Castle  of  Chize  some  time  back.' 

'The  lady,  sire,  is  now  in  charge  of  the  Princess  of 
Navarre. ' 

'She  is?  '  he  exclaimed,  quite  taken  aback. 

'And  if  she  has  aught  of  complaint  against  me,'  I  con- 
tinued with  pride,  'I  will  submit  to  whatever  punishment 
you  order  or  M.  de  Turenne  demands.  But  if  she  has  no 
complaint  to  make,  and  vows  that  she  accompanied  me  of 


AT  MEUDON  371 

her  own  free-will  and  accord,  and  has  suffered  neither 
wrong  nor  displeasure  at  my  hands,  then,  sire,  I  claim  that 
this  is  a  private  matter  between  myself  and  M.  de  Turenne.' 

'Even  so  I  think  you  will  have  your  hands  full,'  he  an- 
swered grimly.  At  the  same  time  he  stopped  by  a  gesture 
those  who  would  have  cried  out  upon  me,  and  looked  at  me 
himself  with  an  altered  countenance.  'Do  I  understand 
that  you  assert  that  the  lady  went  of  her  own  accord?  '  he 
asked. 

'She  went  and  has  returned,  sire,'  I  answered. 

'Strange! '  he  ejaculated.     'Have  you  married  her? ' 

'No,  sire,'  I  answered.     'I  desire  leave  to  do  so.' 

'Mon  dieu!  she  is  M.  de  Turenne's  ward,'  he  rejoined, 
almost  dumbfounded  by  my  audacity. 

'I  do  not  despair  of  obtaining  his  assent,  sire,'  I  said 
patiently. 

' Saint  Gris!  the  man  is  mad!'  he  cried,  wheeling  his 
horse  and  facing  his  train  with  a  gesture  of  the  utmost 
wonder.  .  'It  is  the  strangest  story  I  ever  heard.' 

'But  somewhat  more  to  the  gentleman's  credit  than  the 
lady's ! '  one  said  with  a  smirk  and  a  smile. 

'A  lie! '  I  cried,  springing  forward  on  the  instant  with  a 
boldness  which  astonished  myself.  'She  is  as  pure  as  your 
Highness's  sister!  I  swear  it.  That  man  lies  in  his  teeth, 
and  I  will  maintain  it.' 

'Sir!'  the  King  of  Navarre  cried,  turning  on  me  with 
the  utmost  sternness,  'you  forget  yourself  in  my  presence! 
Silence,  and  beware  another  time  how  you  let  your  tongue 
run  on  those  above  you.  You  have  enough  trouble,  let  me 
tell  you,  on  your  hands  already.' 

'Yet  the  man  lies!'  I  answered  doggedly,  remembering 
Crillon  and  his  ways.  'And  if  he  will  do  me  the  honour 
of  stepping  aside  with  me,  I  will  convince  him  of  it !  ' 

'  Venire  Saint  Gris ! '  Henry  replied,  frowning,  and  dwell- 
ing on  each  syllable  of  his  favourite  oath.  'Will  you  be 
silent,  sir,  and  let  me  think?  Or  must  I  order  your  instant 
artrest? ' 


372  A    GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

'Surely  that  at  least,  sire,'  a  suave  voice  interjected. 
And  with  that  a  gentleman  pressed  forward  from  the  rest, 
and  gaming  a  place  of  'vantage  by  the  King's  side,  shot  at 
me  a  look  of  extreme  malevolence.  'My  lord  of  Turenne 
will  expect  no  less  at  your  Highness's  hands,'  he  contin- 
ued warmly.  'I  beg  you  will  give  the  order  on  the  spot, 
and  hold  this  person  to  answer  for  his  misdeeds.  M.  de 
Turenne  returns  to-day.  He  should  be  here  now.  I  say 
again,  sire,  he  will  expect  no  less  than  this.' 

The  king,  gazing  at  me  with  gloomy  eyes,  tugged  at  his 
moustaches.  Someone  had  motioned  the  common  herd  to 
stand  back  out  of  hearing;  at  the  same  time  the  suite  had 
moved  up  out  of  curiosity  and  formed  a  half-circle ;  in  the 
midst  of  which  I  stood  fronting  the  king,  who  had  La  Noiie 
and  the  last  speaker  on  either  hand.  Perplexity  and  an- 
noyance struggled  for  the  mastery  in  his  face  as  he  looked 
darkly  down  at  me,  his  teeth  showing  through  his  beard. 
Profoundly  angered  by  my  appearance,  which  he  had  taken 
at  first  to  be  the  prelude  to  disclosures  which  must  detach 
Turenne  at  a  time  when  union  was  all-important,  he  had 
now  ceased  to  fear  for  himself;  and  perhaps  saw  some- 
thing in  the  attitude  I  adopted  which  appealed  to  hii 
nature  and  sympathies. 

'If  the  girl  is  really  back,'  he  said  at  last,  'M.  d'Arem- 
burg,  I  do  not  see  any  reason  why  I  should  interfere.  At 
present,  at  any  rate. 

'I  think,  sire,  M.  de  Turenne  will  see  reason,'  the  gentle- 
man answered  drily. 

The  king  coloured.     'M.  de  Turenne,'  he  began, 

'Has  made  many  sacrifices  at  your  request,  sire,'  the 
other  said  with  meaning.  'And  buried  some  wrongs,  or 
fancied  wrongs,  in  connection  with  this  very  matter.  This 
person  has  outraged  him  in  the  grossest  manner,  and  in  M. 
le  Vicomte's  name  I  ask,  nay  I  press  upon  you,  that  he  be 
instantly  arrested,  and  held  to  answer  for  it. ' 

'I  am  ready  to  answer  for  it  now! '  I  retorted,  looking 
from  face  to  face  for  sympathy,  and  finding  none  save  in  M. 


AT  MEUDON  373 

de  la  Nou'e's,  who  appeared  to  regard  me  with  grave  ap- 
probation. 'To  the  Vicomte  de  Turenne,  or  the  person  he 
may  appoint  to  represent  him.' 

'Enough! '  Henry  said,  raising  his  hand  and  speaking  in 
the  tone  of  authority  he  knew  so  well  how  to  adopt.  '  For 
you,  M.  d'Aremburg,  I  thank  you.  Turenne  is  happy  in 
his  friend.  But  this  gentleman  came  to  me  of  his  own  free 
will  and  I  do  not  think  it  consistent  with  my  honour  to  de- 
tain him  without  warning  given.  I  grant  him  an  hour  to 
remove  himself  from  my  neighbourhood.  If  he  be  found 
after  that  time  has  elapsed,'  he  continued  solemnly,  'his 
fate  be  on  his  own  head.  Gentlemen,  we  are  late  already. 
Let  us  on.' 

I  looked  at  him  as  he  pronounced  this  sentence,  and 
strove  to  find  words  in  which  to  make  a  final  appeal  to  him. 
But  no  words  came ;  and  when  he  bade  me  stand  aside,  I 
did  so  mechanically,  remaining  with  my  head  bared  to  the 
sunshine  while  the  troop  rode  by.  Some  looked  back  at 
me  with  curiosity,  as  at  a  man  of  whom  they  had  heard  a 
tale,  and  some  with  a  jeer  on  their  lips ;  a  few  with  dark 
looks  of  menace.  When  they  were  all  gone,  and  the  ser- 
vants who  followed  them  had  disappeared  also,  and  I  was 
left  to  the  inquisitive  glances  of  the  rabble  who  stood  gap- 
ing after  the  sight,  I  turned  and  went  to  the  Cid,  and 
loosed  the  horse  with  a  feeling  of  bitter  disappointment. 

The  plan  which  mademoiselle  had  proposed  and  I  had 
adopted  in  the  forest  by  St.  Gaultier — when  it  seemed 
to  us  that  our  long  absence  and  the  great  events  of 
which  we  heard  must  have  changed  the  world  and 
opened  a  path  for  our  return — had  failed  utterly.  Things 
were  as  they  had  been ;  the  strong  were  still  strong, 
and  friendship  under  bond  to  fear.  Plainly  we  should 
have  shewn  ourselves  wiser  had  we  taken  the  lowlier 
course,  and,  obeying  the  warnings  given  us,  waited  the 
King  of  Navarre's  pleasure  or  the  tardy  recollection  of 
Eosny.  I  had  not  then  stood,  as  I  now  stood,  in  instant 
jeopardy,  nor  felt  the  keen,  pangs  of  a  separation  which 


374  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

bade  fair  to  be  lasting.  She  ,vas  safe,  and  that  was  much; 
but  I,  after  long  service  and  brief  happiness,  must  go  out 
again  alone,  with  only  memories  to  comfort  me. 

It  was  Simon  Fleix's  voice  which  awakened  me  from 
this  unworthy  lethargy — as  selfish  as  it  was  useless — and, 
recalling  me  to  myself,  reminded  me  that  precious  time 
was  passing  while  I  stood  inactive.  To  get  at  me  he  had 
forced  his  way  through  the  curious  crowd,  and  his  face  was 
flushed.  He  plucked  me  by  the  sleeve,  regarding  the 
varlets  round  him  with  a  mixture  of  anger  and  fear. 

'Norn  de  Dieu!  do  they  take  you  for  a  rope-dancer?'  he 
muttered  in  my  ear.  'Mount,  sir,  and  come.  There  is 
not  a  moment  to  be  lost. ' 

'You  left  her  at  Madame  Catherine's? '  I  said. 

'To  be  sure,'  he  answered  impatiently.  'Trouble  not 
about  her.  Save  yourself,  M.  de  Marsac.  That  is  the 
thing  to  be  done  now.' 

I  mounted  mechanically,  and  felt  my  courage  return  as 
the  horse  moved  under  me.  I  trotted  through  the  crowd, 
and  without  thought  took  the  road  by  which  we  had  come. 
When  we  had  ridden  a  hundred  yards,  however,  I  pulled 
up.  'An  hour  is  a  short  start, '  I  said  sullenly.  'Whither? ' 

'To  St.  Cloud,'  he  answered  promptly.  'The  protection 
of  the  King  of  France  may  avail  for  a  day  or  two.  After 
that,  there  will  still  be  the  League,  if  Paris  have  not  fallen. ' 

I  saw  there  was  nothing  else  for  it,  and  assented,  and  we 
set  off.  The  distance  which  separates  Meudon  from  St. 
Cloud  we  might  have  ridden  under  the  hour,  but  the  direct 
road  runs  across  the  Scholars'  Meadow,  a  wide  plain  north 
of  Meudon.  This  lay  exposed  to  the  enemy's  fire,  and  was, 
besides,  the  scene  of  hoiirly  conflicts  between  the  horse  of 
both  parties,  so  that  to  cross  it  without  an  adequate  force 
was  impossible.  Driven  to  make  a  circuit,  we  took  longer 
to  reach  our  destination,  yet  did  so  without  mishap;  find- 
ing the  little  town,  when  we  came  in  sight  of  it,  given  up 
to  all  the  bustle  and  commotion  which  properly  belong  to 
the  Court  and  camp. 


"T/S  AN  ILL    WIND^  375 

It  was,  indeed,  as  full  as  it  could  be,  for  the  surrender  of 
Paris  being  momentarily  expected,  St.  Cloud  had  become 
the  rendezvous  as  well  of  the  few  who  had  long  followed  a 
principle  as  of  the  many  who  wait  upon  success.  The' 
streets,  crowded  in  every  part,  shone  with  glancing  colours, 
with  steel  and  velvet,  the  garb  of  fashion  and  the  plumes 
of  war.  Long  lines  of  flags  obscured  the  eaves  and  broke 
the  sunshine,  while,  above  all,  the  bells  of  half  a  dozen 
churches  rang  merry  answer  to  the  distant  crash  of  guns. 
Everywhere  on  flag  and  arch  and  streamer  I  read  the  motto, 
'Vive  le  Hoi!' — words  written,  God  knew  then,  and  we 
know  now,  in  what  a  mockery  of  doom ! 


CHAPTER  XXXir 

"TIS    AN    ILL    WIND.* 

WE  had  made  our  way  slowly  and  with  much  jostling  as 
far  as  the  principal  street,  finding  the  press  increase  as  we 
advanced,  when  I  heard,  as  I  turned  a  corner,  my  name 
called,  and,  looking  up,  saw  at  a  window  the  face  of  which 
I  was  in  search.  After  that  half  a  minute  sufficed  to  bring 
M.  d' Agen  flying  to  my  side,  when  nothing,  as  I  had  expected, 
would  do  but  I  must  dismount  where  I  was  and  share  his 
lodging.  He  made  no  secret  of  his  joy  and  surprise  at  sight 
of  me,  but  pausing  only  to  tell  Simon  where  the  stable  was, 
haled  me  through  the  crowd  and  up  his  stairs  with  a  fervour 
and  heartiness  which  brought  the  tears  to  my  eyes,  and 
served  to  impress  the  company  whom  I  found  above  with  a 
more  than  sufficient  sense  of  my  importance. 

Seeing  him  again  in  the  highest  feather  and  in  the  full 
employment  of  all  those  little  arts  and  graces  which  served 
as  a  foil  to  his  real  worth,  I  took  it  as  a  great  honour  that 
he  laid  them  aside  for  the  nonce ;  and  introduced  me  to  the 
seat  of  honour  and  gaade  me  known  to  his  companions  with 


376  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

a  boyish  directness  and  a  simple  thought  for  my  comfort 
which  infinitely  pleased  me.  He  bade  his  landlord,  without 
a  moment's  delay,  bring  wine  and  meat  and  everything  which 
could  refresh  a  traveller,  and  was  himself  up  and  down  a 
hundred  times  in  a  minute,  calling  to  his  servants  for  this 
or  that,  or  railing  at  them  for  their  failure  to  bring  me  a 
score  of  things  I  did  not  need.  I  hastened  to  make  my 
excuses  to  the  company  for  interrupting  them  in  the  midst 
of  their  talk ;  and  these  they  were  kind  enough  to  accept 
in  good  part.  At  the  same  time,  reading  clearly  in  M. 
d'Agen's  excited  face  and  shining  eyes  that  he  longed  to  be 
alone  with  me,  they  took  the  hint,  and  presently  left  us 
together. 

'  Well,'  he  said,  coming  back  from  the  door,  to  which  he 
had  conducted  them,  '  what  have  you  to  tell  me,  my  friend  ? 
She  is  not  with  you  ? ' 

1  She  is  with  Mademoiselle  de  la  Vire  at  Meudon,'  I  an- 
swered, smiling.  '  And  for  the  rest,  she  is  well  and  in  better 
spirits.' 

'  She  sent  me  some  message  ? '  he  asked. 

I  shook  my  head.  '  She  did  not  know  I  should  see  you,' 
I  answered. 

'  But  she — she  has  spoken  of  me  lately  ? '  he  continued, 
his  face  falling. 

'  I  do  not  think  she  has  named  your  name  for  a  fortnight,' 
I  answered,  laughing.  '  There's  for  you !  Why,  man/  I 
continued,  adopting  a  different  tone,  and  laying  my  hand  on. 
his  shoulder  in  a  manner  which  reassured  him  at  least  as 
much  as  my  words,  'are  you  so  young  a  lover  as  to  be  igno- 
rant that  a  woman  says  least  of  that  of  which  she  thinks 
most  ?  Pluck  up  courage  !  Unless  I  am  mistaken,  you  have 
little  to  be  afraid  of  except  the  past.  Only  have  patience.' 

'  You  think  so  ? '  he  said  gratefully. 

I  assured  him  that  I  had  no  doubt  of  it ;  and  on  that  he 
fell  into  a  reverie,  and  I  to  watching  him.  Alas  for  the 
littleness  of  our  natures  !  He  had  received  me  with  open 
arms,  yet  at  sight  of  the  happiness  which  took  possession  of 


"77.9  AN  ILL    WIND'  377 

his  handsome  face  I  gave  way  to  the  pettiest  feeling  which 
can  harbour  in  a  man's  breast.  I  looked  at  him  with  eyes 
of  envy,  bitterly  comparing  my  lot  with  that  which  fate  had 
reserved  for  him.  He  had  fortune,  good  looks,  and  success 
on  his  side,  great  relations,  and  high  hopes ;  I  stood  in 
instant  jeopardy,  my  future  dark,  and  every  path  which 
presented  itself  so  hazardous  that  I  knew  not  which  to 
adopt.  He  was  young,  and  I  past  my  prime ;  he  in  favour, 
and  I  a  fugitive. 

To  such  reflections  he  put  an  end  in  a  way  which  made 
me  blush  for  my  churlishness.  For,  suddenly  awaking  out 
of  his  pleasant  dream,  he  asked  me  about  myself  and  my 
fortunes,  inquiring  eagerly  how  I  came  to  be  in  St.  Cloud, 
and  listening  to  the  story  of  my  adventures  with  a  generous 
anxiety  which  endeared  him  to  me  more  and  more.  When 
I  had  done — and  by  that  time  Simon  had  joined  us,  and  was 
waiting  at  the  lower  end  of  the  room — he  pronounced  that 
I  must  see  the  king. 

'  "^here  is  nothing  else  for  it,'  he  said. 

(  t  have  come  to  see  him,'  I  answered. 

'  Mon  dieu,  yes  ! '  he  continued,  rising  from  his  seat  and 
looking  at  me  with  a  face  of  concern.  '  No  one  else  can 
help  you.' 

I  nodded. 

'  Turenne  has  four  thousand  men  here.  You  can  do  noth- 
ing against  so  many? ' 

'Nothing,'  I  said.  'The  question  is,  Will  the  king  protect 
me?' 

'  It  is  he  or  no  one,'  M.  d'Agen  answered  warmly.  '  You 
cannot  see  him  to-night :  he  has  a  Council.  To-morrow  at 
daybreak  you  may.  You  must  lie  here  to-night,  and  I  will 
set  my  fellows  to  watch,  and  I  think  you  will  be  safe.  I 
will  away  now  and  see  if  my  uncle  will  help.  Can  you 
think  of  anyone  else  who  would  speak  for  you  ?  ' 

I  'considered,  and  was  about  to  answer  in  the  negative, 
when  Simon,  who  had  listened  with  a  scared  face,  suggested 
M.  de  Crillon. 


378  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

'Yes,  if  he  would,'  M.  d'Agen  exclaimed,  looking  at  the 
lad  with  approbation.  '  He  has  weight  with  the  king.' 

'  I  think  he  might,'  I  replied  slowly.  '  I  had  a  curious 
encounter  with  him  last  night.'  And  with  that  I  told  M. 
d'Agen  of  the  duel  I  fought  at  the  inn. 

1  Good  ! '  he  said,  his  eyes  sparkling.  ( I  wish  I  had  been 
there  to  see.  At  any  rate  we  will  try  him.  Crillon  fears 
no  one,  not  even  the  king.' 

So  it  was  settled.  For  that  night  I  was  to  keep  close  in 
my  friend's  lodging,  showing  not  even  my  nose  at  the 
window. 

When  he  had  gone  on  his  errand,  and  I  found  myself 
alone  in  the  room,  I  am  fain  to  confess  that  I  fell  very  low 
in  my  spirits.  M.  d'Agen's  travelling  equipment  lay  about 
the  apartment,  but  failed  to  give  any  but  an  untidy  air  to 
its  roomy  bareness.  The  light  was  beginning  to  wane,  the 
sun  was  gone.  Outside,  the  ringing  of  bells  and  the  distant 
muttering  of  guns,  with  the  tumult  of  sounds  which  rose 
from  the  crowded  street,  seemed  to  tell  of  joyous  life  and 
freedom,  and  all  the  hopes  and  ambitions  from  which  I  was 
cut  off. 

Having  no  other  employment,  I  watched  the  street,  and 
keeping  myself  well  retired  from  the  window,  saw  knots  of 
gay  riders  pass  this  way  and  that  through  the  crowd,  their 
corslets  shining  and  their  voices  high.  Monks  and  ladies, 
a  cardinal  and  an  ambassador,  passed  under  my  eyes — these 
and  an  endless  procession  of  townsmen  and  beggars,  sol- 
diers and  courtiers,  Gascons,  Normans  and  Picards.  Never 
had  I  seen  such  a  sight  or  so  many  people  gathered  to- 
gether. It  seemed  as  if  half  Paris  had  come  out  to  make 
submission,  so  that  while  my  gorge  rose  against  my  own 
imprisonment,  the  sight  gradually  diverted  my  mind  from 
my  private  distresses,  by  bidding  ine  find  compensation  for. 
them  in  the  speedy  and  glorious  triumph  of  the  cause. 

Even  when  the  light  failed  the  pageant  did  not  cease,-but, 
torches  and  lanthorns  springing  into  life,  turned  night  into 
day.  From  every  side  came  sounds  of  revelry  or  strife.  The 


"77S  AN  ILL   WIND^  379 

crowd  continued  to  perambulate  the  streets  until  a  late  hour, 
with  cries  of  '  Vive  le  Roi ! '  and  '  Vive  Navarre  ! '  while  now 
and  again  the  passage  of  a  great  noble  with  his  suite  called 
forth  a  fresh  outburst  of  enthusiasm.  Nothing  seemed  more 
certain,  more  inevitable,  more  clearly  predestinated  than  that 
twenty-four  hours  must  see  the  fall  of  Paris. 

Yet  Paris  did  not  fall. 

When  M.  d'Agen  returned  a  little  before  midnight,  he 
found  me  still  sitting  in  the  dark  looking  from  the  window. 
I  heard  him  call  roughly  for  lights,  and  apprised  by  the 
sound  of  his  voice  that  something  was  wrong,  I  rose  to  meet 
him.  He  stood  silent  awhile,  twirling  his  small  moustaches, 
and  then  broke  into  a  passionate  tirade,  from  which  I  was 
not  slow  to  gather  that  M.  de  Rambouillet  declined  to  serve 
me. 

'  Well,'  I  said,  feeling  for  the  young  man's  distress  and 
embarrassment,  '  perhaps  he  is  right.' 

'  He  says  that  word  respecting  you  came  this  evening', 
my  friend  answered,  his  cheeks  red  with  shame,  '  and  that 
to  countenance  you  after  that  would  only  be  to  court  cer- 
tain humiliation.  I  did  not  let  him  off  too  easily,  I  assure 
you,'  M.  d'Agen  continued,  turning  away  to  evade  my  gaze; 
'  but  I  got  no  satisfaction.  He  said  you  had  his  good-will, 
and  that  to  help  you  he  would  risk  something,  but  that 
to  do  so  under  these  circumstances  would  be  only  to  injure 
himself.' 

1  There  is  still  Crillon,'  I  said,  with  as  much  cheerfulness 
as  I  could  assume.  '  Pray  Heaven  he  be  there  early  !  Did 
M.  de  Kambouillet  say  anything  else  ? ' 

'  That  your  only  chance  was  to  fly  as  quickly  and  secretly 
as  possible.' 

'  He  thought  my  situation  desperate,  then  ? ' 

My  friend  nodded;  and  scarcely  less  depressed  on  my 
account  than  ashamed  on  his  own,  evinced  so  much  feeling 
that  it  was  all  I  could  do  to  comfort  him ;  which  I  succeeded 
in  doing  only  when  I  diverted  the  conversation  to  Madame 
de  Bruhl.  We  passed  the  short  night  together,  sharing  the 


380  A    GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

same  room  and  the  same  bed,  and  talking  more  than  we 
slept — of  madame  and  mademoiselle,  the  castle  on  the  hill, 
and  the  camp  in  the  woods,  of  all  old  days  in  fine,  but  little 
of  the  future.  Soon  after  dawn  Simon,  who  lay  on  a  pallet 
across  the  threshold,  roused  me  from  a  fitful  sleep  into 
which  I  had  just  fallen,  and  a  few  minutes  later  I  stood  up 
dressed  and  armed,  ready  to  try  the  last  chance  left  to  me. 

M.  d'Agen  had  dressed  stage  for  stage  with  me,  and  I  had 
kept  silence.  But  when  he  took  up  his  cap,  and  showed 
clearly  that  he  had  it  in  his  mind  to  go  with  me,  I  withstood 
him.  '  No/  I  said,  '  you  can  lo  me  little  good,  and  may  do 
yourself  much  harm.' 

'  You  shall  not  go  without  one  friend,'  he  cried  fiercely. 

<  Tut,  tut ! '  I  said.     '  1  shall  have  Simon.' 

But  Simon,  when  I  turned  to  speak  to  him,  was  gone. 
Few  men  are  at  their  bravest  in  the  early  hours  of  the  day, 
and  it  did  not  surprise  me  that  the  lad's  courage  had  failed 
him.  The  defection  only  strengthened,  however,  the  reso- 
lution I  had  formed  that  I  would  not  injure  M.  d'Agen; 
though  it  was  some  time  before  I  could  persuade  him  that 
I  was  in  earnest,  and  would  go  alone  or  not  at  all.  In  the 
end  he  had  to  content  himself  with  lending  me  his  back  and 
breast,  which  I  gladly  put  on,  thinking  it  likely  enough  that 
I  might  be  set  upon  before  I  reached  the  castle.  And  then, 
the  time  being  about  seven,  I  parted  from  him  with  many 
embraces  and  kindly  words,  and  went  into  the  street  with 
my  sword  under  my  cloak. 

The  town,  late  in  rising  after  its  orgy,  lay  very  still  and 
quiet.  The  morning  was  grey  and  warm,  with  a  cloudy  sky. 
The  flags,  which  had  made  so  gay  a  show  yesterday,  hung 
close  to  the  poles,  or  flapped  idly  and  fell  dead  again.  I 
walked  slowly  along  beneath  them,  keeping  a  sharp  look-out 
on  every  side ;  but  there  were  few  persons  moving  in  the 
streets,  and  I  reached  the  Castle  gates  without  misadven- 
ture. Here  was  something  of  life ;  a  bustle  of  officers  and 
soldiers  passing  in  and  out,  of  courtiers  whose  office  made 
their  presence  necessary,  of  beggars  who  had  flocked  hither 


AN  ILL   WIND  381 

in  the  night  for  company.  In  the  middle  of  these  I  recog- 
nised on  a  sudden  and  with  great  surprise  Simon  Fleix  walk- 
ing my  horse  up  and  down.  On  seeing  me  he  handed  it  to 
a  boy,  and  came  up  to  speak  to  me  with  a  red  face,  muttering 
that  four  legs  were  better  than  two.  I  did  not  say  much  to 
him,  my  heart  being  full  and  my  thoughts  occupied  with 
the  presence  chamber  and  what  I  should  say  there ;  but  I 
nodded  kindly  to  him,  and  he  fell  in  behind  me  as  the  sen- 
tries challenged  me.  I  answered  them  that  I  sought  M.  de 
Crillon,  and  so  getting  by,  fell  into  the  rear  of  a  party  of 
three  who  seemed  bent  on  the  same  errand  as  myself. 

One  of  these  was  a  Jacobin  monk,  whose  black  and  white 
robes,  by  reminding  me  of  Father  Antoine,  sent  a  chill  to 
my  heart.  The  second,  whose  eye  I  avoided,  I  knew  to  be 
M.  la  Guesle,  the  king's  Solicitor-General.  The  third  was  a 
stranger  to  me.  Enabled  by  M.  la  Guesle's  presence  to  pass 
the  main  guards  without  challenge,  the  party  proceeded 
through  a  maze  of  passages  and  corridors,  conversing  to- 
gether in  a  low  tone ;  while  I,  keeping  in  their  train  with 
my  face  cunningly  muffled,  got  as  far  by  this  means  as  the 
ante-chamber,  which  I  found  almost  empty.  Here  I  inquired 
of  the  usher  for  M.  de  Crillou,  and  learned  with  the  utmost 
consternation  that  he  was  not  present. 

This  blow,  which  almost  stunned  me,  opened  my  eyes  to 
the  precarious  nature  of  my  position,  which  only  the  early 
hour  and  small  attendance  rendered  possible  for  a  moment. 
At  any  minute  I  might  be  recognised  and  questioned,  or  my 
name  be  required ;  while  the  guarded  doors  of  the  chamber 
shut  me  off  as  effectually  from  the  king's  face  and  grace  as 
though  I  were  in  Paris,  or  a  hundred  leagues  away.  Endeav- 
ouring to  the  best  of  my  power  to  conceal  the  chagrin  and 
alarm,  which  possessed  me  as  this  conviction  took  hold  of 
me,  I  walked  to  the  window ;  and  to  hide  my  face  more 
completely  and  at  the  same  time  gain  a  moment  to  collect 
my  thoughts,  affected  to  be  engaged  in  looking  through  it. 

Nothing  which  passed  in  the  room,  however,  escaped  me. 
I  marked  everything  and  everyone,  though  all  my  thought 


382  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

was  how  I  might  get  to  the  king.  The  barber  came  out  of 
the  chamber  with  a  silver  basin,  and  stood  a  moment,  and 
went  in  again  with  an  air  of  vast  importance.  The  guards 
yawned,  and  an  officer  entered,  looked  round,  and  retired. 
M.  la  Guesle,  who  had  gone  in  to  the  presence,  came  out 
again  and  stood  near  me  talking  with  the  Jacobin,  whose 
pale  nervous  face  and  hasty  movements  reminded  me  some- 
how of  Simon  Fleix.  The  monk  held  a  letter  or  petition 
in  his  hand,  and  appeared  to  be  getting  it  by  heart,  for  his 
lips  moved  continually.  The  light  which  fell  on  his  face 
from  the  window  showed  it  to  be  of  a  peculiar  sweaty  pal- 
lor, and  distorted  besides.  But  supposing  him  to  be  de- 
voted, like  many  of  his  kind,  to  an  unwholesome  life,  I 
thought  nothing  of  this  ;  though  I  liked  him  little,  and 
would  have  shifted  my  place  but  for  the  convenience  of  his 
neighbourhood. 

Presently,  while  I  was  cudgelling  my  brains,  a  person 
came  out  and  spoke  to  La  Guesle  ;  who  called  in  his  turn 
to  the  monk,  and  started  hastily  towards  the  door.  The 
Jacobin  followed.  The  third  person  who  had  entered  in 
their  company  had  his  attention  directed  elsewhere  at  the 
moment ;  and  though  La  Guesle  called  to  him,  took  no  heed. 
On  the  instant  I  grasped  the  situation.  Taking  my  courage 
in  my  hands,  I  crossed  the  floor  behind  the  monk;  who,  hear- 
ing me,  or  feeling  his  robe  come  in  contact  with  me,  presently 
started  and  looked  round  suspiciously,  his  face  wearing  a 
scowl  so  black  and  ugly  that  I  almost  recoiled  from  him, 
dreaming  for  a  moment  that  I  saw  before  me  the  very  spirit 
of  Father  Antoine.  But  as  the  man  said  nothing,  and  the 
next  instant  averted  his  gaze,  I  hardened  my  heart  and 
pushed  on  behind  him,  and  passing  the  usher,  found  myself 
as  by  magic  in  the  presence  which  had  seemed  a  while  ago  as 
unattainable  by  my  wits  as  it  was  necessary  to  my  safety. 

It  was  not  this  success  alone,  however,  which  caused  my 
heart  to  beat  more  hopefully.  The  king  was  speaking  as  I 
entered,  and  the  gay  tones  of  his  voice  seemed  to  promise 
a  favourable  reception.  His  Majesty  sat  half-dressed  on  a 


"TYS  AN  ILL    WIND^  383 

stool  at  the  farther  end  of  the  apartment,  surrounded  by  five 
or  six  noblemen,  while  as  many  attendants,  among  whom 
I  hastened  to  mingle,  waited  near  the  door. 

La  Guesle  made  as  if  he  would  advance,  and  then,  seeing 
the  king's  attention  was  not  on  him,  held  back.  But  in  a 
moment  the  king  saw  him  and  called  to  him.  '  Ha,  Guesle ! ' 
he  said  with  good-temper,  '  is  it  you  ?  Is  your  friend  with 
you?' 

The  Solicitor  went  forward  with  the  monk  at  his  elbow, 
and  I  had  leisure  to  remark  the  favourable  change  which 
had  taken  place  in  the  king,  who  spoke  more  strongly  and 
seemed  in  better  health  than  of  old.  His  face  looked  less 
cadaverous  under  the  paint,  his  form  a  trifle  less  emaciated. 
That  which  struck  me  more  than  anything,  however,  was 
the  improvement  in  his  spirits.  His  eyes  sparkled  from 
time  to  time,  and  he  laughed  continually,  so  that  I  could 
scarcely  believe  that  he  was  the  same  man  whom  I  had  seen 
overwhelmed  with  despair  and  tortured  by  his  conscience. 

Letting  his  attention  slip  from  La  Guesle,  he  began  tc 
bandy  words  with  the  nobleman  who  stood  nearest  to  him ; 
looking  up  at  him  with  a  roguish  eye,  and  making  bets  or. 
the  fall  of  Paris. 

'  Morbleu  ! '  I  heard  him  cry  gaily,  '  I  would  give  a  thous- 
and pounds  to  see  the  Montpensier  this  morning!  She  may 
keep  her  third  crown  for  herself.  Or,  peste  !  we  might  put 
her  in  a  convent.  That  would  be  a  fine  vengeance ! ' 

'  The  veil  for  the  tonsure,'  the  nobleman  said  with  a 
smirk. 

'  Ay.  Why  not  ?  She  would  have  made  a  monk  of  me,' 
the  king  rejoined  smartly.  'She  must  be  ready  to  hang 
herself  with  her  garters  this  morning,  if  she  is  not  dead  of 
^pite  already.  Or,  stay,  I  had  forgotten  her  golden  scissors. 
Let  her  open  a  vein  with  them.  Well,  what  does  your 
friend  want,  La  Guesle  ?  ' 

I  did  not  hear  the  answer,  but  it  was  apparently  satis- 
factory, for  in  a  minute  all  except  the  Jacobin  fell  back, 
leaving  the  monk  standing  before  the  king ;  who,  stretching 


384  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

out  his  hand,  took  from  him  a  letter.  The  Jacobin,  trem- 
bling visibly,  seemed  scarcely  able  to  support  the  honour 
done  him,  and  the  king,  seeing  this,  said  in  a  voice  audible 
to  all,  '  Stand  up,  man.  You  are  welcome.  I  love  a  cowl 
as  some  love  a  lady's  hood.  And  now,  what  is  this  ?  ' 

He  read  a  part  of  the  letter  and  rose.  As  he  did  so  the 
monk  leaned  forward  as  though  to  receive  the  paper  back 
again,  and  then  so  swiftly,  so  suddenly,  with  so  unexpected 
a  movement  that  no  one  stirred  until  all  was  over,  struck 
the  king  in  the  body  with  a  knife  !  As  the  blade  flashed 
and  was  hidden,  and  His  Majesty  with  a  deep  sob  fell  back  on 
the  stool,  then,  and  not  till  then,  I  knew  that  I  had  missed 
a  providential  chance  of  earning  pardon  and  protection. 
For  had  I  only  marked  the  Jacobin  as  we  passed  the  door 
together,  and  read  his  evil  face  aright,  a  word,  one  word, 
had  done  for  me  more  than  the  pleading  of  a  score  of 
Crillons ! 

Too  late  a  dozen  sprang  forward  to  the  king's  assistance ; 
but  before  they  reached  him  he  had  himself  drawn  the 
knife  from,  the  wound  and  struck  the  assassin  with  it  on 
the  head.  While  some,  with  cries  of  grief,  ran  to  support 
Henry,  from  whose  body  the  blood  was  already  flowing  fast, 
others  seized  and  struck  down  the  wretched  monk.  As 
they  gathered  round  him  I  saw  him  raise  himself  for  a 
moment  on  his  knees  and  look  upward ;  the  blood  which 
ran  down  his  face,  no  less  than  the  mingled  triumph  and 
horror  of  his  features,  impressed  the  sight  on  my  recollec- 
tion. The  next  instant  three  swords  were  plunged  into  his 
breast,  and  his  writhing  body,  plucked  up  from  the  floor 
amid  a  transport  of  curses,  was  forced  headlong  through 
the  casement  and  flung  down  to  make  sport  for  the  grooms 
and  scullions  who  stood  below. 

A  scene  of  indescribable  confusion  followed,  some  crying 
that  the  king  was  dead,  while  others  called  for  a  doctor,  and 
some  by  name  for  Dortoman.  I  expected  to  see  the  doors 
closed  and  all  within  secured,  that  if  the  man  had  confeder- 
ates they  might  be  taken.  But  there  was  no  one  to  give  the 


"775"  AN  ILL    WIND^  385 

order.  Instead,  many  who  had  neither  the  entr&e  nor  any- 
business  in  the  chamber  forced  their  way  in,  and  by  their 
cries  and  pressure  rendered  the  hub-bub  and  tumult  a 
hundred  times  worse.  In  the  midst  of  this,  while  I  stood 
stunned  and  dumbfounded,  my  own  risks  and  concerns 
forgotten,  I  felt  my  sleeve  furiously  plucked,  and,  looking 
round,  found  Simon  at  my  elbow.  The  lad's  face  was 
crimson,  his  eyes  seemed  starting  from  his  head. 

'  Come,'  he  muttered,  seizing  my  arm.  '  Come  ! '  And 
without  further  ceremony  or  explanation  he  dragged  me 
towards  the  door,  while  his  face  and  manner  evinced  as  much 
heat  and  impatience  as  if  he  had  been  himself  the  assassin. 
'Come,  there  is  not  a  moment  to  be  lost/  he  panted,  continu- 
ing his  exertions  without  the  least  intermission. 

<  Whither  ? '  I  said,  in  amazement,  as  I  reluctantly  per- 
mitted him  to  force  me  along  the  passage  and  through  the 
gaping  crowd  on  the  stairs.  '  Whither,  man  ? ' 

1  Mount  and  ride ! '  was  the  answer  he  hissed  in  my  ear. 
'  Bide  for  your  life  to  the'  King  of  Navarre — to  the  King  of 
France  it  may  be !  Ride  as  you  have  never  ridden  before, 
and  tell  him  the  news,  and  bid  him  look  to  himself !  Be 
the  firs,t,  and,  Heaven  helping  us,  Turenne  may  do  his 
worst ! ' 

I  felt  every  nerve  in  my  body  tingle  as  I  awoke  to  his 
meaning.  Without  a  word  I  left  his  arm,  and  flung  myself 
into  the  crowd  which  filled  the  lower  passage  to  suffocation. 
As  I  struggled  fiercely  with  them  Simon  aided  me  by  crying 
1  A  doctor !  a  doctor !  make  way  there  ! '  and  this  induced 
many  to  give  place  to  me  under  the  idea  that  I  was  an 
accredited  messenger.  Eventually  I  succeeded  in  forcing 
my  way  through  and  reaching  the  courtyard;  being,  as  it 
turned  out,  the  first  person  to  issue  from  the  Chateau.  A 
dozen  people  sprang  towards  me  with  anxious  eyes  and  ques- 
tions on  their  lips,  but  I  ran  past  them  and,  catching  the 
Cid,  which  was  fortunately  at  hand,  by  the  rein,  bounded 
into  the  saddle. 

As  I  turned  the  horse  to  the  gate  I  heard  Simon  cry  after 


386  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

me,  '  The  Scholars'  Meadow !  Go  that  way ! '  and  then  I 
heard  no  more.  I  was  out  of  the  yard  and  galloping  bare- 
headed down  the  pitched  street,  while  women  snatched  their 
infants  up  and  ran  aside,  and  men  came  startled  to  the 
doors,  crying  that  the  League  was  upon  us.  As  the  good 
horse  flung  up  his  head  and  bounded  forward,  hurling  the 
gravel  behind  him  with  hoofs  which  slid  and  clattered  on 
the  pavement,  as  the  wind  began  to  whistle  by  me,  and  I 
seized  the  reins  in  a  shorter  grip,  I  felt  my  heart  bound  with 
exultation.  I  experienced  such  a  blessed  relief  and  elation 
as  the  prisoner  long  fettered  and  confined  feels  when  restored 
to  the  air  of  heaven. 

Down  one  street  and  through  a  narrow  lane  we  thundered, 
until  a  broken  gateway  stopped  with  fascines — through 
which  the  Cid  blundered  and  stumbled — brought  us  at  a 
bound  into  the  Scholars'  Meadow  just  as  the  tardy  sun  broke 
through  the  clouds  and  flooded  the  low,  wide  plain  with 
brightness.  Half  a  league  in  front  of  us  the  towers  of 
Meudon  rose  to  view  on  a  hill.  In  the  distance,  to  the  left, 
lay  the  walls  of  Paris,  and  nearer,  on  the  same  side,  a  dozen 
forts  and  batteries ;  while  here  and  there,  in  that  quarter,  a 
shining  clump  of  spears  or  a  dense  mass  of  infantry  betrayed 
the  enemy's  presence. 

I  heeded  none  of  these  things,  however,  nor  anything 
except  the  towers  of  Meudon,  setting  the  Cid's  head  straight 
for  these  and  riding  on  at  the  top  of  his  speed.  Swiftly 
ditch  and  dyke  came  into  view  before  us  and  flashed  away 
beneath  us.  Men  lying  in  pits  rose  up  and  aimed  at  us  ;  or 
ran  with  cries  to  intercept  us.  A  cannon-shot  fired  from 
the  fort  by  Issy  tore  up  the  earth  to  one  side ;  a  knot  of 
lancers  sped  from  the  shelter  of  an  earthwork  in  the  same 
quarter,  and  raced  us  for  half  a  mile,  with  frantic  shouts 
and  threats  of  vengeance.  But  all  such  efforts  were  vanity. 
The  Cid,  fired  by  this  sudden  call  upon  his  speed,  and  feeling 
himself  loosed — rarest  of  events — to  do  his  best,  shook  the 
foam  from  his  bit,  and  opening  his  blood-red  nostrils  to 
the  wind,  crouched  lower  and  lower:  until  his  long  neck, 


"775"  AN  ILL    WIND11  387 

stretched  out  before  him,  seemed,  as  the  sward  swept  by, 
like  the  point  of  an  arrow  speeding  resistless  to  its  aim. 

God  knows,  as  the  air  rushed  by  me  and  the  sun  shone  in 
my  face,  I  cried  aloud  like  a  boy,  and  though  I  sat  still  and 
stirred  neither  hand  nor  foot,  last  I  should  break  the  good 
Sard's  stride,  I  prayed  wildly  that  the  horse  which  I  had 
groomed  with  my  own  hands  and  fed  with  my  last  crown 
might  hold  on  unfaltering  to  the  end.  For  I  dreamed  that 
the  fate  of  a  nation  rode  in  my  saddle ;  and  mindful  alike 
of  Simon's  words, '  Bid  him  look  to  himself,'  and  of  my  own 
notion  that  the  League  would  not  be  so  foolish  as  to  remove 
one  enemy  to  exalt  another,  I  thought  nothing  more  likely 
than  that,  with  all  my  fury,  I  should  arrive  too  late,  and 
find  the  King  of  Navarre  as  I  had  left  the  King  of  France. 

In  this  strenuous  haste  I  covered  a  mile  as  a  mile  has 
seldom  been  covered  before  ;  and  I  was  growing -under  the 
influence  of  the  breeze  which  whipped  my  temples  some- 
what more  cool  and  hopeful,  when  I  saw  on  a'  sudden  right 
before  me,  and  between  me  and  Meudon,  a  handful  of  men 
engaged  in  a  m&l6e.  There  were  red  and  white  jackets  in 
it — Leaguers  and  Huguenots — and  the  red  coats  seemed  to 
be  having  the  wornt  of  it.  Still,  while  I  watched,  they 
came  off  in  order,  and  unfortunately  in  such  a  way  and  at 
such  a  speed  that  I  saw  they  must  meet  me  face  to  face 
whether  I  tried  to  avoid  the  encounter  or  not.  I  had 
barely  time  to  take  in  the  danger  and  its  nearness,  and 
discern  beyond  both  parties  the  main-guard  of  the  Hugue- 
nots, enlivened  by  a  score  of  pennons,  when  the  Leaguers 
were  upon  me. 

I  suppose  they  knew  that  no  friend  would  ride  for  Meu- 
don at  that  pace,  for  they  dashed  at  me  six  abreast  with  a 
shout  of  triumph ;  and  before  I  could  count  a  score  we  met. 
The  Cid  was  still  running  strongly,  and  I  had  not  thought 
to  stay  him,  so  that  I  had  no  time  to  use  my  pistols.  My 
sword  I  had  out,  but  the  sun  dazzled  me  and  the  men  wore 
corslets,  and  I  made  but  poor  play  with  it ;  though  I 
struck  out  savagely,  as  we  crashed  together,  in  my  rage  at 


388  A    GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

this  sudden  crossing  of  my  hopes  when  all  seemed  done  and 
gained.  The  Cid  faced  them  bravely — I  heard  the  distant 
huzza  of  the  Huguenots — and  I  put  aside  one  point  which 
threatened  my  throat.  But  the  sun  was  in  my  eyes  and 
something  struck  me  on  the  head.  Another  second,  and  a 
blow  in  the  breast  forced  me  fairly  from  the  saddle.  Grip- 
ping furiously  at  the  air  I  went  down,  stunned  and  dizzy, 
my  last  thought  as  I  struck  the  ground  being  of  mademoi- 
selle, and  the  little  brook  with  the  stepping-stones. 


CHAPTER   XXXV. 
*LE  EOI  EST  MOBT!  ' 

IT  was  M.  d'Agen's  breastpiece  saved  my  life  by  ward- 
ing off  the  point  of  the  varlet's  sword,  so  that  the  worst 
injury  I  got  was  the  loss  of  my  breath  for  five  minutes, 
with  a  swimming  in  the  head  and  a  kind  of  syncope. 
These  being  past,  I  found  myself  on  my  back  on  the  ground, 
with  a  man's  knee  on  my  breast  and  a  dozen  horsemen 
standing  round  me.  The  sky  reeled  dizzily  before  my  eyes 
and  the  men's  figures  loomed  gigantic;  yet  I  had  sense 
enough  to  know  what  had  happened  to  me,  and  that  matters 
might  well  be  worse. 

Resigning  myself  to  the  prospect  of  captivity,  I  prepared 
to  ask  for  quarter ;  which  I  did  not  doubt  I  should  receive, 
since  they  had  taken  me  in  an  open  skirmish,  and  honestly, 
and  in  the  daylight.  But  the  man  whose  knee  already 
incommoded  me  sufficiently,  seeing  me  about  to  speak, 
squeezed  me  on  a  sudden  so  fiercely,  bidding  me  at  the 
same  time  in  a  gruff  whisper  be  silent,  that  I  thought  1 
could  not  do  better  than  obey. 

Accordingly  I  lay  still,  and  as  in  a  dream,  for  my  brain 
was  still  clouded,  heard  someone  say,  'Dead!  Is  he?  I 


*LE  ROI  EST  MORT\">  389 

hoped  we  had  come  in  time.  Well,  he  deserved  a  better 
fate.  Who  is  he,  Rosny? ' 

'Do  you  know  him,  Maignan?'  said  a  voice  which 
sounded  strangely  familiar. 

The  man  who  knelt  upon  me  answered,  'No,  my  lord. 
He  is  a  stranger  to  me.  He  has  the  look  of  a  Norman.' 

'Like  enough!'  replied  a  high-pitched  voice  I  had  not 
heard  before.  'For  he  rode  a  good  horse.  Give  me  a  hun- 
dred like  it,  and  a  hundred  men  to  ride  as  straight,  and  I 
would  not  envy  the  King  of  France.' 

'Much  less  his  poor  cousin  of  Navarre,'  the  first  speaker 
rejoined  in  a  laughing  tone,  'without  a  whole  shirt  to  his 
back  or  a  doublet  that  is  decently  new.  Come,  Turenne, 
acknowledge  that  you  are  not  so  badly  off  after  all ! ' 

At  that  word  the  cloud  which  had  darkened  my  faculties 
swept  on  a  sudden  aside.  I  saw  that  the  men  into  whose 
hands  I  had  fallen  wore  white  favours,  their  leader  a  white 
plume;  and  comprehended  without  more  that  the  King  of 
Navarre  had  come  to  my  rescue,  and  beaten  off  the  Leaguers 
who  had  dismounted  me.  At  the  same  moment  the  remem- 
brance of  all  that  had  gone  before,  and  especially  of  the 
scene  I  had  witnessed  in  the  king's  chamber,  rushed  upon 
my  mind  with  such  overwhelming  force  that  I  fell  into  a 
fury  of  impatience  at  the  thought  of  the  time  I  had  wasted ; 
and  rising  up  suddenly  I  threw  off  Maignan  with  all  my 
force,  crying  out  that  I  was  alive — that  I  was  alive,  and 
had  news. 

The  equerry  did  his  best  to  restrain  me,  cursing  me  under 
his  breath  for  a  fool,  and  almost  squeezing  the  life  out  of 
me.  But  in  vain,  for  the  King  of  Navarre,  riding  nearer, 
saw  me  struggling.  'Hallo!  hallo!  'tis  a  strange  dead 
man,'  he  cried,  interposing.  'What  is  the  meaning  of  this? 
Let  him  go!  Do  you  hear,  sirrah?  Let  him  go! ' 

The  equerry  obeyed  and  stood  back  sullenly,  and  I  stag- 
gered to  my  feet,  and  looked  round  with  eyes  which  still 
swam  and  watered.  On  the  instant  a  cry  of  recognition 
greeted  me,  with  a  hundred  exclamations  of  astonishment. 


390  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FR4NCE 

While  I  heard  my  name  uttered  on  every  side  in  a  dozen 
different  tones,  I  remarked  that  M.  de  Kosny,  upon  whom 
my  eyes  first  fell,  alone  stood  silent,  regarding  me  with  a 
face  of  sorrowful  surprise. 

'By  heavens,  sir,  I  knew  nothing  of  this!'  I  heard  the 
King  of  Navarre  declare,  addressing  himself  to  the 
Vicomte  de  Turenne.  'The  man  is  here  by  no  connivance 
of  mine.  Interrogate  him  yourself,  if  you  will.  Or  I  will. 
Speak,  sir,'  he  continued,  turning  to  me  with  his  counte- 
nance hard  and  forbidding.  'You  heard  me  yesterday, 
what  I  promised  you?  Why,  in  God's  name,  are  you  here 
to-day? ' 

I  tried  to  answer,  but  Maignan  had  so  handled  me  that  I 
had  not  breath  enough,  and  stood  panting. 

'Your  Highness's  clemency  in  this  matter,'  M.  de  Tu- 
renne said,  with  a  sneer,  'has  been  so  great  he  trusted  to  its 
continuance.  And  doubtless  he  thought  to  find  you  alone. 
I  fear  I  am  in  the  way.' 

I  knew  him  by  his  figure  and  his  grand  air,  which  in  any 
other  company  would  have  marked  him  for  master;  and 
forgetting  the  impatience  which  a  moment  before  had 
consumed  me — doubtless  I  was  still  light-headed — I  an- 
swered him.  'Yet  I  had  once  the  promise  of  your  lord- 
ship's protection,'  I  gasped. 

'My  protection,  sir? '  he  exclaimed,  his  eyes  gleaming 
angrily. 

'Even  so, '  I  answered.  'At  the  inn  at  Etampes,  where  M. 
de  Crillon  would  have  fought  me.' 

He  was  visibly  taken  aback.    'Are  you  that  man?'  he  cried. 

'I  am.  But  I  am  not  here  to  prate  of  myself,'  I  replied. 
And  with  that — the  remembrance  of  my  neglected  errand 
flashing  on  me  again — I  staggered  to  the  King  of  Navarre's 
side,  and,  falling  on  my  knees,  seized  his  stirrup.  'Sire, 
I  bring  you  news!  great  news!  dreadful  news!'  I  cried, 
clinging  to  it.  'His  Majesty  was  but  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
ago  stabbed  in  the  body  in  his  chamber  by  a  villain  monk. 
And  is  dying,  or,  it  may  be,  dead. ' 


'LE  ROI  EST  MORTr  391 

'Dead?  The  King! '  Turenne  cried  with  an  oatu.  'Im- 
possible ! ' 

Vaguely  I  heard  others  crying,  some  this,  some  that,  as 
surprise  and  consternation,  or  anger,  or  incredulity  moved 
them.  But  I  did  not  answer  them,  for  Henry,  remaining 
silent,  held  me  spellbound  and  awed  by  the  marvellous 
change  which  I  saw  fall  on  his  face.  His  eyes  became 
on  a  sudden  suffused  with  blood,  and  seemed  to  retreat 
under  his  heavy  brows;  his  cheeks  turned  of  a  brick-red 
colour;  his  half -open  lips  showed  his  teeth  gleaming  through 
his  beard;  while  his  great  nose,  which  seemed  to  curve  and 
curve  until  it  well-nigh  met  his  chin,  gave  to  his  mobile 
countenance  an  aspect  as  strange  as  it  was  terrifying. 
Withal  he  uttered  for  a  time  no  word,  though  I  saw  his 
hand  grip  the  riding-whip  he  held  in  a  convulsive  grasp, 
as  though  his  thought  were  "Tis  mine!  Mine!  Wrest  it 
away  who  dares ! ' 

'Bethink  you,  sir,'  he  said  at  last,  fixing  his  piercing  eyes 
on  me,  and  speaking  in  a  harsh,  low  tone,  like  the  growling  of 
a  great  dog,  'this  is  no  jesting- time.  Nor  will  you  save  your 
skin  by  a  ruse.  Tell  me,  on  your  peril,  is  this  a  trick? ' 

'Heaven  forbid,  sire! '  I  answered  with  passion.  'I  was 
iii  the  chamber,  and  saw  it  with  my  own  eyes.  I  mounted 
on  the  instant,  and  rode  hither  by  the  shortest  route  to 
warn  your  Highness  to  look  to  yourself.  Monks  are  many, 
and  the  Holy  Union  is  not  apt  to  stop  half-way.' 

I  saw  he  believed  me,  for  his  face  relaxed.  His  breath 
seemed  to  come  and  go  again,  and  for  the  tenth  part  of  a 
second  his  eyes  sought  M.  de  Rosny's.  Then  he  looked  at 
me  again.  'I  thank  you,  sir,'  he  said,  bowing  gravely  and 
courteously,  'for  your  care  for  me — not  for  your  tidings, 
which  are  of  the  sorriest.  God  grant  my  good  cousin  and 
king  may  be  hurt  only.  Now  tell  us  exactly — for  these 
gentlemen  are  equally  interested  with  myself — had  a  sur- 
geon seen  him?' 

I  replied  in  the  negative,  but  added  that  the  wound  was 
in  the  groin,  and  bled  much. 


392  A    GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

'You  said  a  few  minutes  ago,  "dying  or  already  dead!  "  * 
the  King  of  Navarre  rejoined.  'Why?  ' 

'His  Majesty's  face  was  sunken,'  I  stammered. 

He  nodded.  'You  may  be  mistaken,'  he  said.  'I  pray 
that  you  are.  But  here  comes  Mornay.  He  may  know 
more.' 

In  a  moment  I  was  abandoned,  even  by  M.  de  Turenne, 
so  great  was  the  anxiety  which  possessed  all  to  learn  the 
truth.  Maignan  alone,  under  pretence  of  adjusting  a  stir- 
rup, remained  beside  me,  and  entreated  me  in  a  low  voice 
to  begone.  'Take  this  horse,  M.  de  Marsac,  if  you  will, ' 
he  urged,  'and  ride  back  the  way  you  came.  You  have 
done  what  you  came  to  do.  Go  back,  and  be  thankful.' 

'Chut! '  I  said,  'there  is  no  danger.' 

'You  will  see,'  he  replied  darkly,  'if  you  stay  here. 
Come,  come,  take  my  advice  and  the  horse,'  he  persisted, 
'and  begone!  Believe  me,  it  will  be  for  the  best.' 

I  laughed  outright  at  his  earnestness  and  his  face  of  per- 
plexity. 'I  see  you  have  M.  de  Rosny's  orders  to  get  rid 
of  me,'  I  said.  'But  I  am  not  going,  my  friend.  He  must 
find  some  other  way  out  of  his  embarrassment,  for  here  I 
stay. ' 

'Well,  your  blood  be  on  your  own  head,'  Maignan  re- 
torted, swinging  himself  into  the  saddle  with  a  gloomy  face. 
'I  have  done  my  best  to  save  you! ' 

'And   your   master!'  I  answered,  laughing. 

For  flight  was  the  last  thing  I  had  in  my  mind.  I  had 
ridden  this  ride  with  a  clear  perception  that  the  one  thing  I 
needed  was  a  footing  at  Court.  By  the  special  kindness  of 
Providence  I  had  now  gained  this ;  and  I  was  not  the  man  to 
resign  it  because  it  proved  to  be  scanty  and  perilous.  It  was 
something  that  I  had  spoken  to  the  great  Vicomte  face  to 
face  and  not  been  consumed,  that  I  had  given  him  look  for 
look  and  still  survived,  that  I  had  put  in  practice  Crillon's 
lessons  and  come  to  no  harm. 

Nor  was  this  all.  I  had  never  in  the  worst  times  blamed 
the  King  of  Navarre  for  ^is  denial  of  me.  I  had  been  fool- 


<LE  ROI  EST  MORTr  393 

ish,  indeed,  seeing  that  it  was  in  the  bargain,  had  I  done 
so;  nor  had  I  ever  doubted  his  good-will  or  his  readiness  to 
reward  me  should  occasion  arise.  Now,  I  flattered  myself, 
I  had  given  him  that  which  he  needed,  and  had  hitherto 
lacked — an  excuse,  I  mean,  for  interference  in  my  behalf. 

Whether  I  was  right  or  wrong  in  this  notion  I  was  soon 
to  learn,  for  at  this  moment  Henry's  cavalcade,  which  had 
left  me  a  hundred  paces  behind,  came  to  a  stop,  and  while 
some  of  the  number  waved  to  me  to  come  on,  one  spurred 
back  to  summon  me  to  the  king.  I  hastened  to  obey  the 
order  as  fast  as  I  could,  but  I  saw  on  approaching  that 
though  all  was  at  a  standstill  till  I  came  up,  neither  the 
King  of  Navarre  nor  M.  de  Turenne  was  thinking  princi- 
pally of  me.  Every  face,  from  Henry's  to  that  of  his  least 
important  courtier,  wore  an  air  of  grave  preoccupation; 
which  I  had  no  difficulty  in  ascribing  to  the  doubt  present 
in  every  mind,  and  outweighing  every  interest,  whether  the 
King  of  France  was  dead,  or  dying,  or  merely  wounded. 

'Quick,  sir!'  Henry  said  with  impatience,  as  soon  as  I 
came  within  hearing.  'Do  not  detain  me  with  your  affairs 
longer  than  is  necessary.  M.  de  Turenne  presses  me  to 
carry  into  effect  the  order  I  gave  yesterday.  But  as  you 
have  placed  yourself  in  jeopardy  on  my  account  I  feel  that 
something  is  due  to  you.  You  will  be  good  enough,  there- 
fore, to  present  yourself  at  once  at  M.  la  Varenne's  lodg- 
ing, and  give  me  your  parole  to  remain  there  without 
stirring  abroad  until  your  affair  is  concluded. ' 

Aware  that  I  owed  this  respite,  which  at  once  secured 
my  present  safety  and  promised  well  for  the  future,  to  the 
great  event  that,  even  in  M.  de  Turenne 's  mind,  had  over- 
shadowed all  others,  I  bowed  in  silence.  Henry,  however, 
was  not  content  with  this.  'Come,  sir,'  he  said  sharply, 
and  with  every  appearance  of  anger,  'do  you  agree  to  that?  ' 

I  replied  humbly  that  I  thanked  him  for  his  clemency. 

'There  is  no  need  of  thanks,'  he  replied  coldly.  'What  I 
have  done  is  without  prejudice  to  M.  de  Turjenne's  com- 
plaint. He  must  have  justice.' 


394  A    GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

I  bowed  again,  and  in  a  moment  the  troop  were  gone  at 
a  gallop  towards  Meudon,  whence,  as  I  afterwards  learned, 
the  King  of  Navarre,  attended  by  a  select  body  of  hve-and- 
twenty  horsemen,  wearing  private  arms,  rode  on  at  full 
speed  to  St.  Cloud  to  present  himself  at  His  Majesty's  bed- 
side. A  groom  who  had  caught  the  Cid,  which  had  escaped 
into  the  town  with  no  other  injury  than  a  slight  wound  in 
the  shoulder,  by-and-by  met  me  with  the  horse ;  and  in  this 
way  I  was  enabled  to  render  myself  with  some  decency  at 
Varenne's  lodging,  a  small  house  at  the  foot  of  the  hill, 
not  far  from  the  Castle-gate. 

Here  I  found  myself  under  no  greater  constraint  than 
that  which  my  own  parole  laid  upon  me;  and  my  room 
having  the  conveniency  of  a  window  looking  upon  the  pub- 
lic street,  I  was  enabled  from  hour  to  hour  to  comprehend 
and  enter  into  the  various  alarms  and  surprises  which  made 
that  day  remarkable.  The  manifold  reports  which  flew 
from  mouth  to  mouth  on  the  occasion,  as  well  as  the  over- 
mastering excitement  which  seized  all,  are  so  well  remem- 
bered, however,  that  I  forbear  to  dwell  upon  them,  though 
they  served  to  distract  my  mind  from  my  own  position. 
Suffice  it  that  at  one  moment  we  heard  that  His  Majesty 
was  dead,  at  another  that  the  wound  was  skin  deep,  and 
again  that  we  might  expect  him  at  Meudon  before  sunset. 
The  rumour  that  the  Duchess  de  Montpensier  had  taken 
poison  was  no  sooner  believed  than  we  were  asked  to  listen 
to  the  guns  of  Paris  firing  feux  de  joie  in  honour  of  the 
King's  death. 

The  streets  were  so  closely  packed  with  persons  telling 
and  hearing  these  tales  that  I  seemed  from  my  window  to 
be  looking  on  a  fair.  Xor  was  all  my  amusement  without  - 
doors ;  for  a  number  of  the  gentlemen  of  the  Court,  hearing 
that  I  had  been  at  St.  Cloud  in  the  morning,  and  in  the 
very  chamber,  a  thing  which  made  me  for  the  moment  the 
most  desirable  companion  in  the  world,  remembered  on  a 
sudden  that  they  had  a  slight  acquaintance  with  me,  and 
honoured  me  by  calling  upon  me  and  sitting  a  great  part  ol 


'LE  ROf  EST  MORTr 


395 


the  day  with  me.  From  which  circumstance  I  confess  1 
derived  as  much  hope  as  they  di version ;  knowing  that 
courtiers  are  the  best  weather-prophets  in  the  world,  who 
hate  nothing  so  much  as  to  be  discovered  in  the  company 
of  those  on  whom  the  sun  does  not  shine. 

The  return  of  the  King  of  Navarre,  which  happened  about 
the  middle  of  the  afternoon,  while  it  dissipated  the  fears  of 
some  and  dashed  the  hopes  of  others,  put  an  end  to  this 
state  of  uncertainty  by  confirming,  to  the  surprise  of  many, 
that  His  Majesty  was  in  no  danger.  We  learned  with 
varying  emotions  that  the  first  appearances,  which  had  de- 
ceived, not  myself  only,  but  experienced  leeches,  had  been 
themselves  belied  by  subsequent  conditions;  and  that,  in  a 
word,  Paris  had  as  much  to  fear,  and  loyal  men  as  much  to 
hope,  as  before  this  wicked  and  audacious  attempt. 

I  had  no  more  than  stomached  this  surprising  informa- 
tion, which  was  less  welcome  to  me,  I  confess,  than  it 
should  have  been,  when  the  arrival  of  M.  d'Agen,  who 
greeted  me  with  the  affection  which  he  never  failed  to  show 
me,  distracted  my  thoughts  for  a  time.  Immediately  on 
learning  where  I  was  and  the  strange  adventures  which  had 
befallen  me  he  had  ridden  off;  stopping  only  once,  when 
he  had  nearly  reached  me,  for  the  purpose  of  waiting  on 
Madame  de  Bruhl.  I  asked  him  how  she  had  received  hire- 

'Like  herself,'  he  replied  with  an  ingenuous  blush. 
'More  kindly  than. I  had  a  right  to  expect,  if  not  as  warmly 
as  I  had  the  courage  to  hope.' 

'That  will  come  with  time,'  I  said,  laughing.  'And 
Mademoiselle  de  la  Vire?  ' 

'I  did  not  see  her,'  he  answered,  *but  I  heard  she  was 
well.  And  a  hundred  fathoms  deeper  in  love/  he  added, 
eyeing  me  roguishly,  'than  when  I  saw  her  last.' 

It  was  my  turn  to  colour  now,  and  I  did  so,  feeling  all 
the  pleasure  and  delight  such  a  statement  was  calculated 
to  afford  me.  Picturing  mademoiselle  as  I  had  seen  her 
last,  leaning  from  her  horse  with  love  written  so  plainly 
on  her  weeping  face  that  all  wlio  ran  might  read,  I  sank 


396  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

into  so  delicious  a  reverie  that  M.  la  Varenne,  entering 
suddenly,  surprised  us  both  before  another  word  passed  on 
either  side. 

His  look  and  tone  were  as  abrupt  as  it  was  in  his  nature, 
which  was  soft  and  compliant,  to  make  them.  'M.  de 
Marsac,'  he  said,  'I  am  sorry  to  put  any  constraint  upon 
you,  but  I  am  directed  to  forbid  you  to  your  friends.  And 
I  must  request  this  gentleman  to  withdraw.' 

'But  all  day  my  friends  have  come  in  and  out/  I  said 
with  surprise.  'Is  this  a  new  order?  ' 

'A  written  order,  which  reached  me  no  farther  back  than 
two  minutes  ago,'  he  answered  plainly.  'I  am  also  directed 
to  remove  you  to  a  room  at  the  back  of  the  house,  that  you 
may  not  overlook  the  street.' 

'But  my  parole  was  taken,'  I  cried,  with  a  natural  feel- 
ing of  indignation. 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  'I  am  sorry  to  say  that  I  have 
nothing  to  do  with  that,'  he  answered.  'I  can  only  obey 
orders.  I  must  ask  this  gentleman,  therefore,  to  withdraw.' 

Of  course  M.  d'Agen  had  no  option  but  to  leave  me; 
which  he  did,  I  could  see,  notwithstanding  his  easy  and 
confident  expressions,  with  a  good  deal  of  mistrust  and 
apprehension.  When  he  was  gone,  La  Varenne  lost  no 
time  in  carrying  out  the  remainder  of  his  orders.  As  a 
consequence  I  found  myself  confined  to  a  small  and  gloomy 
apartment  which  looked,  at  a  distance  of  three  paces,  upon 
the  smooth  face  of  the  rock  on  which  the  Castle  stood.  This 
change,  from  a  window  which  commanded  all  the  life  of 
the  town,  and  intercepted  every  breath  of  popular  fancy,  to 
a  closet  whither  no  sounds  penetrated,  and  where  the  very 
transition  from  noon  to  evening  scarcely  made  itself  known, 
could  not  fail  to  depress  my  spirits  sensibly ;  the  more  as 
I  took  it  to  be  significant  of  a  change  in  my  fortunes  fully 
as  grave.  Reflecting  that  I  must  now  appear  to  the  King  of 
Navarre  in  the  light  of  a  bearer  of  false  tidings,  I  associated 
the  order  to  confine  me  more  closely  Avith  his  return  from 
St.  Cloud;  and  comprehending  that  M.  de  Turenne  was  once 


<LE  ROI  EST  MORTr  397 


more  at  liberty  to  attend  to  my  affairs,  I  began  to 
about  me  with  forebodings  which  were  none  the  less  pain- 
ful because  the  parole  I  had  given  debarred  me  from  any 
attempt  to  escape. 

Sleep  and  habit  enabled  me,  nevertheless,  to  pass  the 
night  in  comfort.  Very  early  in  the  morning  a  great  firing 
of  guns,  which  made  itself  heard  even  in  my  quarters,  led 
me  to  suppose  that  Paris  had  surrendered;  but  the  servant 
who  brought  me  my  breakfast  declined  in  a  surly  fashion 
to  give  me  any  information.  In  the  end,  I  spent  the  whole 
day  alone,  my  thoughts  divided  between  my  mistress  and 
my  own  prospects,  which  seemed  to  grow  more  and  more 
gloomy  as  the  hours  succeeded  one  another.  No  one  came 
near  me,  no  step  broke  the  silence  of  the  house  ;  and  for  a 
while  I  thought  my  guardians  had  forgotten  even  that  I 
needed  food.  This  omission,  it  is  true,  was  made  good 
about  sunset,  but  still  M.  la  Varenne  did  not  appear,  the 
servant  seemed  to  be  dumb,  and  I  heard  no  sounds  in  the 
house. 

I  had  finished  my  meal  an  hour  or  more,  and  the  room 
was  growing  dark,  when  the  silence  was  at  last  broken  by 
quick  steps  passing  along  the  entrance.  They  paused,  and 
seemed  to  hesitate  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  but  the  next 
moment  they  came  on  again,  and  stopped  at  my  door.  I 
rose  from  my  seat  on  hearing  the  key  turned  in  the  lock, 
and  my  astonishment  may  be  conceived  when  I  saw  no 
other  than  M.  de  Turenne  enter,  and  close  the  door  behind 
him. 

He  saluted  me  in  a  haughty  manner  as  he  advanced  to 
the  table,  raising  his  cap  for  an  instant  and  then  replacing 
it.  This  done  he  stood  looking  at  me,  and  I  at  him,  in  a 
silence  which  on  my  side  was  the  result  of  pure  astonish- 
ment; on  his,  of  contempt  and  a  kind  of  wonder.  The 
evening  light,  which  was  fast  failing,  lent  a  sombre  white- 
ness to  his  face,  causing  it  to  stand  out  from  the  shadows 
behind  him  in  a  way  which  was  not  without  its  influence 
on  me. 


398  A    GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

'Well!  *  he  said  at  last,  speaking  slowly  and  with  un- 
imaginable insolence,  *I  am  here  to  look  at  you.  I5 

I  felt  my  anger  rise,  and  gave  him  back  look  for  look. 
'At  your  will,'  I  said,  shrugging  my  shoulders, 

'And  to  solve  a  question,.3  he  continued  in  the  same  tone. 
'To  learn  whether  the  man  who  was  mad  enough  to  insult 
and  defy  me  was  the  old  penniless  dullard  some  called  him, 
or  the  dare-devil  others  painted  him,* 

'You  are  satisfied  now? '  I  said. 

He  eyed  me  for  a  moment  closely;  then  with  sudden 
heat  he  cried,  'Curse  me  if  I  am!  Nor  whether  I  have  to 
do  with  a  man  very  deep  or  very  shallow,  a  fool  or  a 
knave! ' 

'You  may  say  what  you  please  to  a  prisoner,'  I  retorted 
coldly. 

'Turenne  commonly  does — to  whom  he  pleases ! '  he  an- 
swered. The  next  moment  he  made  me  start  by  saying,  as 
he  drew  out  a  comfit -box  and  opened  it,  'I  am  just  from 
the  little  fool  you  have  bewitched.  If  she  were  in  my 
power  I  would  have  her  whipped  and  put  on  bread  and 
water  till  she  came  to  her  senses..  As  she  is  not,  I  must 
take  another  way.  Have  you  any  idea,  may  I  ask, '  he  con- 
tinued in  his  cynical  tone,  'what  is  going  to  become  of  you, 
M.  de  Marsac? ' 

I  replied,  my  heart  inexpressibly  lightened  by  what  he 
had  said  of  mademoiselle,  that  I  placed  the  fullest  confi- 
dence in  the  justice  of  the  King  of  Navarre. 

He  repeated  the  name  in  a  tone  I  did  not  understand. 

'Yes,  sir,  the  King  of  Navarre,'  I  answered  firmly. 

'Well,  I  daresay  you  have  good  reason  to  do  so,'  he  res- 
joined  with  a  sneer.  'Unless  I  am  mistaken  he  knew  a 
little  more  of  this  affair  than  he  acknowledges.' 

'Indeed?  The  King  of  Navarre?'  I  said,  staring- stolidly 
at  him. 

'Yes,  indeed,  indeed,  the  King  of  Navarre ! '  he  retorted, 
mimicking  me,  with  a  nearer  approach  to  anger  than  I  had 
yet  witnessed  in  him.  'But  let  him  be  a  moment,  sirrah! ' 


*LE  ROI  EST  MORTr 


399 


he  continued,  'and  do  you  listen  to  me.  Or  first  look  at 
that.  Seeing  is  believing.' 

He  drew  out  as  lie  spoke  a  paper,  or,  to  speak  more 
correctly,  a  parchment,  vvhich  he  thrust  with  a  kind  of 
savage  scorn  into  my  hand.  Repressing  tor  the  moment 
the  surprise  I  felt,  I  took  it  to  the  window,  and  reading  it 
with  difficulty,  found  it  to  be  a  royal  patent  drawn,  as  far 
as  I  could  judge,  in  due  form,  and  appointing  some  person 
unknown — for  the  name  was  left  blank — to  the  post  of 
Lieutenant-Governor  of  the  Armagnac,  with  a  salary  of 
twelve  thousand  livres  a  year ! 

'Well,  sir?'  he  said  impatiently. 

'Well?'  I  answered  mechanically.  For  my  brain  reeled ; 
•die  exhibition  of  such  a  paper  in  such  a  way  raised  ex- 
traordinary thoughts  in  my  mind. 

'Can  you  read  it? '  he  asked. 

'Certainly,'  I  answered,  telling  myself  that  he  wo-uld 
fain  play  a  trick  on  me. 

'Very  well,'  he  replied,  'then  listen.  I  am  going  to  con- 
descend ;  to  make  you  an  offer,  M.  de  Marsac.  I  will  pro- 
cure you  your  freedom,  and  fill  up  the  blank,  which  you 
see  there,  with  your  name — upon  one  condition. ' 

I  stared  at  him  with  all  the  astonishment  it  was  natural 
for  me  to  feel  in  the  face  of  such  a  proposition,  'You  will 
confer  this  office  on  me? '  I  muttered  incredulously. 

'The  king  having  placed  it  at  my  disposal,'  lie  answered, 
'I  will.  But  first  let  me  remind  you,'  he  went  on  proudly, 
'that  the  affair  has  another  side.  On  the  one  hand  I  offer 
you  such  employment,  M.  de  Marsac,  as  should  satisfy  your 
highest  ambition.  On  the  other,  I  warn  you  that  my 
power  to  avenge  myself  is  no  less  to-day  than  it  was  yester- 
day,; and  that  if  I  condescend  to  buy  you,  it  is  because  that 
course  commends  itself  to  me  for  reasons,  not  because  it  is 
the  only  one  open.' 

I  bowed,  'The  condition,  M.  le  Vicomte?'  I  said 
huskily,  beginning  to  understand  him. 

'That  you  give  up  all  claim  and  suit  to  the  ihand  of  my 


400  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

kinswoman,'  he  answered  lightly.  'That  is  all.  It  is  a 
simple  and  easy  condition.' 

I  looked  at  him  in  renewed  astonishment,  in  wonder,  in 
stupefaction;  asking  myself  a  hundred  questions.  Why 
did  he  stoop  to  bargain,  who  could  command?  Why  did 
he  condescend  to  treat,  who  held  me  at  his  mercy?  Why 
did  he  gravely  discuss  my  aspirations,  to  whom  they  must 
seem  the  rankest  presumption?  Why? — but  I  could  not 
follow  it.  I  stood  looking  at  him  in  silence;  in  perplexity 
as  great  as  if  he  had  offered  me  the  Crown  of  France;  in 
amazement  and  doubt  and  suspicion  that  knew  no  bounds. 

'Well!'  he  said  at  last,  misreading  the  emotion  which 
appeared  in  my  face.  'You  consent,  sir?' 

'Never! '  I  answered  firmly. 

He  started.  '  I  think  I  cannot  have  heard  you  aright, '  he 
said,  speaking  slowly  and  almost  courteously.  'I  offer  you 
a  great  place  and  my  patronage,  M.  de  Marsac.  Do  I  un- 
derstand that  you  prefer  a  prison  and  my  enmity? ' 

'On  those  conditions,'  I  answered. 

'Think,  think!  '  he  said  harshly. 

'I  have  thought,'  I  answered. 

'Ay,  but  have  you  thought  where  you  are?'  he  retorted. 
'Have  you  thought  how  many  obstacles  lie  between  you  and 
this  little  fool?  How  many  persons  you  must  win  over, 
how  many  friends  you  must  gain?  Have  you  thought  what 
it  will  be  to  have  me  against  you  in  this,  or  which  of  us  is 
more  likely  to  win  in  the  end?  ' 

'I  have  thought,'  I  rejoined. 

But  my  voice  shook,  my  lips  were  dry.  The  room  had 
grown  dark.  The  rock  outside,  intercepting  the  light, 
gave  it  already  the  air  of  a  dungeon.  Though  I  did  not 
dream  of  yielding  to  him,  though  I  even  felt  that  in  this 
interview  he  had  descended  to  my  level,  and  I  had  had  the 
better  of  him,  I  felt  my  heart  sink.  For  I  remembered  how 
men  immured  in  prisons  drag  out  their  lives  always  petition- 
ing, always  forgotten;  how  wearily  the  days  go,  that  to 
free  men  are  bright  with  hope  and  ambition.  And  I  saw  in 


'VIVE  LE  ROIl"*  401 

a  flash  what  it  would  be  to  remain  here,  or  in  some  such 
place;  never  to  cross  horse  again,  or  breathe  the  free  air  of 
heaven,  never  to  hear  the  clink  of  sword  against  stirrup,  or 
the  rich  tones  of  M.  d'Agen's  voice  calling  for  his  friend! 

I  expected  M.  de  Turenne  to  go  when  I  had  made  my  an- 
swer, or  else  to  fall  into  such  a  rage  as  opposition  is  apt  to 
cause  in  those  who  seldom  encounter  it.  To  my  surprise, 
however,  he  restrained  himself.  'Come,'  he  said,  with  pa- 
tience which  fairly  astonished  me,  and  so  much  the  more  as 
chagrin  was  clearly  marked  in  his  voice,  'I  know  where  you 
put  your  trust.  You  think  the  King  of  Navarre  will  pro- 
tect you.  Well,  I  pledge  you  the  honour  of  Turenne  that 
he  will  not;  that  the  King  of  Navarre  will  do  nothing  to 
save  you.  Now,  what  do  you  say? ' 

'As  I  said  before,'  I  answered  doggedly. 

He  took  up  the  parchment  from  the  table  with  a  grim 
laugh.  'So  much  the  worse  for  you  then! '  he  said,  shrug- 
ging his  shoulders.  'So  much  the  worse  for  you!  I  took 
you  for  a  rogue!  It  seems  you  are  a  fool! ' 


CHAPTER    XXXVI. 
'VIVE  LE  KOI!  ' 

HE  took  his  leave  with  those  words.  But  his  departure, 
which  I  should  have  hailed  a  few  minutes  before  with  joy, 
as  a  relief  from  embarrassment  and  humiliation,  found  me 
indifferent.  The  statement  to  which  he  had  solemnly 
pledged  himself  in  regard  to  the  King  of  Navarre,  that  I 
could  expect  no  further  help  from  him,  had  prostrated  me ; 
dashing  my  hopes  and  spirits  so  completely  that  I  remained 
rooted  to  the  spot  long  after  his  step  had  ceased  to  sound 
on  the  stairs.  If  what  he  said  was  true,  in  the  gloom 
which  darkened  alike  my  room  and  my  prospects  I  could 
descry  no  glimmer  of  light.  I  knew  His  Majesty's  weak- 


402  A   GENTLEMAN  QF  FRANCE 

ness  and  vacillation  too  well  to  repose  any  confidence  in 
him;  if  the  King  of  Navarre  also  abandoned  me,  I  was 
indeed  without  hope,  as  without  resource. 

I  had  stood  some  time  with  my  mind  painfully  employed 
upon  this  problem,  which  my  knowledge  of  M.  de  Turenne's 
strict  honour  in  private  matters  did  not  allow  me  to  dismiss 
lightly,  when  I  heard  another  step  on  the  stairs,  and  in  a 
moment  M.  la  Varenne  opened  the  door.  Finding  me  in 
the  dark  he  muttered  an  apology  for  the  remissness  of  the 
servants;  which  I  accepted,  seeing  nothing  else  for  it,  in 
good  part. 

'We  have  been  at  sixes-and-sevens  all  day,  and  you  have 
been  forgotten/  he  continued.  'But  you  will  have  no  rea- 
son to  complain  now.  I  am  ordered  to  conduct  you  to  His 
Majesty  without  delay.' 

'To  St.  Cloud ! 3  I  exclaimed,  greatly  astonished. 

'No,  the  king  of  France  is  here,'  he  answered. 

'AtMeudon?* 

'To  be  sure.     Why  not?' 

I  expressed  my  wonder  at  his  Majesty's  rapid  recovery. 

'Pooh! '  he  answered  roughly.  'He  is  as  well  as  he  ever 
was.  I  will  leave  you  my  light.  Be  good  enough  to  de- 
scend as  soon  as  you  are  ready,  for  it  is  ill  work  keeping 
kings  waiting.  Oh!  and  I  had  forgotten  one  thing,'  he 
continued,  returning  when  he  had  already  reached  the 
door.  'My  orders  are  to  see  that  you  do  not  hold  converse 
with  anyone  until  you  have  seen  the  king,  M.  de  Marsac. 
You  will  kindly  remember  this  if  we  are  kept  waiting  in 
the  antechamber.5 

'Am  I  to  be  transported  to — other  custody? '  I  asked,  my 
mind  full  of  apprehension. 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  'Possibly,'  he  replied.  'I 
do  not  know. ' 

Of  course  there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  murmur  that  I 
was  at  the  king's  disposition;  after  which  La  Varenne 
retired,  leaving  me  to  put  the  best  face  on  the  matter  I 
could.  Naturally  I  augured  anything  but  well  of  an  inter- 


<  VIVE  LE  ROIi '  403 

view  weighted  with  such  a  condition  ;  and  this  contributed 
still  further  to  depress  my  spirits,  already  lowered  by  the 
long  solitude  in  which  I  had  passed  the  day.  Peaking 
nothing,  however,  so  much  as  suspense,  I  hastened  to  do 
what  I  could  to  repair  my  costume,  and  then  descended  to 
the  foot  of  the  stairs,  where  I  found  my  custodian  await- 
ing me  with  a  couple  of  servants,  of  whom  one  bore 
a  link. 

We  went  out  side  by  side,  and  having  barely  a  hundred 
yards  to  go,  seemed  in  a  moment  to  be  passing  through  the 
gate  of  the  Castle.  I  noticed  that  the  entrance  was  very 
strongly  guarded,  but  an  instant's  reflection  served  to  re- 
iniud  me  that  this  was  not  surprising  after  what  had  hap- 
pened at  St.  Cloud.  I  remarked  to  M.  la  Varenne  as  we 
crossed  the  courtyard  that  I  supposed  Paris  had  surren- 
dered j  but  he  replied  in  the  negative  so  curtly,  and  with  so 
little  consideration,  that  I  forebore  to  ask  any  other  ques- 
tions ;  and  the  Chateau  being  small,  we  found  ourselves 
almost  at  once  in  a  long,  narrow  corridor,  which  appeared 
to  serve  as  the  antechamber. 

It  was  brilliantly  lighted  and  crowded  from  end  to  end, 
and  almost  from  wall  to  wall,  with  a  mob  of  courtiers; 
whose  silence,  no  less  than  feheir  keen  and  anxious  looks, 
took  me  by  surprise.  Here  and  there  two  or  three,  who 
had  seized  upon  the  embrasure  of  a  window,  talked  to- 
gether in  a  low  tonej  or  a  couple,  who  thought  themselves 
sufficiently  important  to  pace  the  narrow  passage  between 
the  waiting  lines,  conversed  in  whispers  as  they  walked. 
But  even  these  "were  swift  to  take  alarm,  and  continually 
looked  askance;  while  the  general  company  stood  at  gaze, 
starting  and  looking  up  eagerly  whenever  the  door  swung 
open  or  a  newcomer  was  announced.  The  strange  silence 
which  prevailed  reminded  me  of  nothing  so  much  as  of  the 
Court  at  Blois  on  the  night  of  the  Duke  of  Mercosur's  de- 
sertion ;  but  that  stillness  had  brooded  over  empty  chambers, 
this  gave  a  peculiar  air  of  strangeness  to  a  room  thronged 
in  every  part. 


404  A    GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

M.  la  Varenne,  who  was  received  by  those  about  the 
door  with  silent  politeness,  drew  me  into  the  recess  of  a 
window ;  whence  I  was  able  to  remark,  among  other  things, 
that  the  Huguenots  present  almost  outnumbered  the  king's 
immediate  following.  Still,  among  those  who  were  walk- 
ing up  and  down,  I  noticed  M.  de  Eambouillet,  to  whom  at 
another  time  I  should  have  hastened  to  pay  my  respects; 
with  Marshal  d'Aumont,  Sancy,  and  Humieres.  Nor  had 
I  more  than  noted  the  presence  of  these  before  the  door  of 
the  chamber  opened  and  added  to  their  number  Marshal 
Biron,  who  came  out  leaning  on  the  arm  of  Crillon.  The 
sight  of  these  old  enemies  in  combination  was  sufficient  of 
itself  to  apprise  me  that  some  serious  crisis  was  at  hand; 
particularly  as  their  progress  through  the  crowd  was  watched, 
I  observed,  by  a  hundred  curious  and  attentive  eyes. 

They  disappeared  at  last  through  the  outer  door,  and  the 
assemblage  turned  as  with  one  accord  to  see  who  came 
next.  But  nearly  half  an  hour  elapsed  before  the  Chamber 
door,  which  all  watched  so  studiously,  again  opened.  This 
time  it  was  to  give  passage  to  my  late  visitor,  Turenne, 
who  came  out  smiling,  and  leaning,  to  my  great  surprise, 
on  the  arm  of  M.  de  Rosny. 

As  the  two  walked  down  the  room,  greeting  here  and 
there  an  obsequious  friend,  and  followed  in  their  progress 
by  all  eyes,  I  felt  my  heart  sink  indeed;  both  at  sight  of 
Turenne 's  good-humour,  and  of  the  company  in  which  I 
found  him.  Aware  that  in  proportion  as  he  was  pleased  I 
was  like  to,  meet  with  displeasure,  I  still  might  have  had 
hope  left  had  I  had  Rosny  left.  Losing  him,  however — 
and  I  could  not  doubt,  seeing  him  as  I  saw  him,  that  I  had 
lost  him — and  counting  the  King  of  Navarre  as  gone  already, 
I  felt  such  a  failure  of  courage  as  I  had  never  known  before. 
I  told  myself  with  shame  that  I  was  not  made  for  Courts, 
or  for  such  scenes  as  these;  and  recalling  with  new  and 
keen  mortification  the  poor  figure  I  had  cut  in  the  King  of 
Navarre's  antechamber  at  St.  Jean,  I  experienced  so  strange 
a  gush  of  pity  for  my  mistress  that  nothing  could  exceed 


'  VIVE  LE  ROI! '  405 

the  tenderness  I  felt  for  her.  I  had  won  her  under  false 
colours,  I  was  not  worthy  of  her.  I  felt  that  my  mere 
presence  in  her  company  in  such  a  place  as  this,  and  among 
these  people,  must  cover  her  with  shame  and  humiliation. 

To  my  great  relief,  since  I  knew  my  face  was  on  fire, 
neither  of  the  two,  as  they  walked  down  the  passage,  looked 
my  way  or  seemed  conscious  of  my  neighbourhood.  At 
the  door  they  stood  a  moment  talking  earnestly,  and  it 
seemed  as  if  M.  de  Eosny  would  have  accompanied  the 
Vicomte  farther.  The  latter  would  not  suffer  it,  however, 
but  took  his  leave  there;  and  this  with  so  many  polite  ges- 
tures that  my  last  hope  based  on  M.  de  Kosny  vanished. 

Nevertheless,  that  gentleman  was  not  so  wholly  changed 
that  on  his  turning  to  re-traverse  the  room  I  did  not  see  a 
smile  flicker  for  an  instant  on  his  features  as  the  two  lines 
of  bowing  courtiers  opened  before  him.  The  next  moment 
his  look  fell  on  me,  and  though  his  face  scarcely  altered, 
he  stopped  opposite  me. 

'M.  de  Marsac  is  waiting  to  see  His  Majesty? '  he  asked 
aloud,  speaking  to  M.  la  Varenne. 

My  companion  remaining  silent,  I  bowed. 

'In  five  minutes,'  M.  de  Eosny  replied  quietly,  yet  with 
a  distant  air,  which  made  me  doubt  whether  I  had  not 
dreamed  all  I  remembered  of  this  man.  'Ah!  M.  de  Paul, 
what  can  I  do  for  you? '  he  continued.  And  he  bent  his 
head  to  listen  to  the  application  which  a  gentleman  who 
stood  next  me  poured  into  his  ear.  'I  will  see,'  I  heard 
him  answer.  'In  any  case  you  shall  know  to-morrow.' 

'But  you  will  be  my  friend?'  M.  Paul  urged,  detaining 
him  by  the  sleeve. 

'I  will  put  only  one  before  you,'  he  answered. 

My  neighbour  seemed  to  shrink  into  himself  with  disap- 
pointment. 'Who  is  it? '  he  murmured  piteously. 

'The  king  and  his  service,  my  friend,'  M.  de  Rosny 
replied  drily.  And  with  that  he  walked  away.  But  half 
a  dozen  times  at  least  before  he  reached  the  upper  end  of 
the  room  I  saw  the  scene  repeated. 


406  A    GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

I  looked  on  at  all  this  in  the  utmost  astonishment,  un- 
able to  guess  or  conceive  what  had  happened  to  give  M.  de 
Bosny  so*  much  importance^  For  it  did  not  escape  me  that 
the  few  words  he  had  stopped  to  speak  to  me  had  invested 
me  with  interest  in  the  eyes  of  all  who  stood  near.  They 
gave  me  more  room  and  a  wider  breathing-space,  and  look- 
ing at  me  askance,  muttered  my  name  in  whispers.  In  my 
uncertainty,  however,  what  this  portended  I  drew  no  com- 
fort from  it;  and  before  I  had  found  time  to  weigh  it  thor- 
oughly the  door  through  which  Turenne  and  Rosiiy  had 
entered  opened  again.  The  pages  and  gentlemen  who  stood 
about  it  hastened  to  range  themselves,  on  either  side. 
An  usher  carrying  a  white  wand  came  rapidly  down  the 
room,  here  and  there  requesting  the  courtiers  to  stand  back 
where  the  passage  was  narrow.  Then  a  loud  voice  with- 
out cried,  'The  King,  gentlemen!  the  King!'  and  one  in 
every  two  of  us  stood  a-tiptoe  to  see  him  enter. 

But  there  came  in  only  Henry  of  Navarre,  wearing  a 
violet  cloak  and  cap. 

I  turned  to  La  Varenne  and  with  my  head  full  of  confu- 
sion, muttered  impatiently,  'But  the  king,  man!  Where  is 
tide  king? » 

He  grinned  at  me,  with  his  hand  before  his  mouth. 
'Hush!'  he  whispered.  "Twas  a  jest  we  played  on  you! 
His  late  Majesty  died  at  daybreak  this  morning.  This  is 
the  king. ' 

'ThisF  the  King  of  Navarre?'  I  cried;  so  loudly  that 
some  round  ras  called  'Silence! ' 

'No,  the  King  of  France,  fool! '  he  replied.  'Your  sword 
must  be  sharper  than  your  wits,  or  I  have  been  told  some 
lies !  ' 

I  let  the  gibe  pass  and  the  jest,  for  my  heart  was  beating 
so  fast  and  painfully  that  I  could  scarcely  preserve  my 
outward  composure.  There  was  a  mist  before  my  eyes, 
and  a  darkness  which  set  the  lights  at  defiance.  It  was  in 
vain  I  tried  to  think  what  this  might  mean — to  me.  I 
could  not  put  two  thoughts  together,  and  while  I  still  ques- 


-  VIVE  LE  ROI! '  407 

tioned  what  reception  I  might  expect,  and  who  in  this  new 
state  of  things  were  my  friejttls3  the  king  stopped  before 
me. 

'Ha,  M.  de  Marsac! '  he  cried  cheerfully,  signing  to  those 
who  stood  before  me  to  give  place.  'You  are  the  gentle- 
man who  rode  so  fast  to  warn  me  the  other  morning.  I 
hare  spoken  to  M.  de  Turenne  about  you,  and  he  is  willing 
to  overlook  the  complaint  he  had  against  you.  For  the 
rest,,  go  to  my  closet,  my  friend.  Go!.  Bosny  knows  my 
will  respecting  you.' 

I  had  sense  enough  left  to  kneel  and  kiss  his  hand;  but 
it  was  in  silence,  whieh  he  knew  how  to  interpret.  He  had 
moved  on  and  was  speaking  to  another  before  I  recovered 
the  use  of  my  tongue,  or  the  wits  which  his  gracious  words 
had  scattered.  Whea  I  did  so,  and  got.  on  my  feet  again 
I  found  myself  the  centre  of  so  much  observation  and  the 
object  of  so  many  congratulations  that  I  was:  glad  to  act 
upon  the  hint  which  La,"Vareane  gave  me,,  and  hurry  away 
to  the  closet. 

Here,  though  I  had  now  an  inkling  of  what  I  had  to  ex- 
pect, I  found  myself  received  with  a  kindness  which  bade 
iair  to  overwhelm  me..  Only  M.  de  Eosny  was  in  the 
room,  and  he  took  me  by  both  hands  in  a  manner  which  told 
me  without  a  word  that  the  Rosny  of  old  days  was  back, 
and  that  for  the  embarrassment  I  had  caused  him  of  late  I 
was  more  than  forgiven.  When  I  tried  to  thank  him  for 
the  good  offices,  which  I  knew  he  had  done  me  with  the 
king  he  would  have  none  of  it;  reminding  me  with  a,  smile 
that  he  had  eaten  of  my  cheese  when  the  choice  lay  between 
that  and  Lisieux. 

'And  besides,  my  friend,'  he  continued,  his  eyes  twin- 
kling,. 'You  have  made  me  richer  by  five  hundred  crowns.' 

'How  sx>?'  I  asked,  wondering  more  and  more. 

'I  wagered  that  sum  with  Turenne  that  he  could  not 
bribe  you,'  he  answered,,  smiling.  'And  see,'  he  continued, 
selecting  from  some  on  the  table  the  same  parchment  I  had 
sieen  before,  'here  is  the  bribe.  Take  it;  it  is  yours.  I 


408  A   GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

have  given  a  score  to-day,  but  none  with  the  same  pleasure. 
Let  me  be  the  first  to  congratulate  the  Lieutenant-Governor 
of  the  Armagnac. ' 

For  a  while  I  could  not  believe  that  he  was  in  earnest; 
which  pleased  him  mightily,  I  remember.  When  I  was 
brought  at  last  to  see  that  the  king  had  meant  this  for  me 
from  the  first,  and  had  merely  lent  the  patent  to  Turenne 
that  the  latter  might  make  trial  of  me,  my  pleasure  and 
gratification  were  such  that  I  could  no  more  express  them 
then  than  I  can  now  describe  them.  For  they  knew  no 
bounds.  I  stood  before  Rosny  silent  and  confused,  with 
long-forgotten  tears  welling  up  to  my  eyes,  and  one  regret 
only  in  my  heart — that  my  dear  mother  had  not  lived  to 
see  the  fond  illusions  with  which  I  had  so  often  amused 
her  turned  to  sober  fact.  Not  then,  but  afterwards,  I 
remarked  that  the  salary  of  my  office  amounted  to  the  exact 
sum  which  I  had  been  in  the  habit  of  naming  to  her ;  and  I 
learned  that  Kosny  had  himself  fixed  it  on  information 
given  him  by  Mademoiselle  de  la  Vire. 

As  my  transports  grew  more  moderate,  and  I  found  voice 
to  thank  my  benefactor,  he  had  still  an  ansAver.  'Do  not 
deceive  yourself,  my  friend,'  he  said  gravely,  'or  think 
this  an  idle  reward.  My  master  is  King  of  France,  but  he 
is  a  king  without  a  kingdom,  and  a  captain  without  money. 
To-day,  to  gain  his  rights,  he  has  parted  with  half  his 
powers.  Before  he  win  all  back  there  will  be  blows — 
blows,  my  friend.  And  to  that  end  I  have  bought  your 
sword. ' 

I  told  him  that  if  no  other  left  its  scabbard  for  the  king, 
mine  should  be  drawn. 

'I  believe  you,'  he  answered  kindly,  laying  his  hand  on 
my  shoulder.  'Not  by  reason  of  your  words — Heaven 
knows  I  have  heard  vows  enough  to-day! — but  because 
I  have  proved  you.  And  now, '  he  continued,  speaking  in 
an  altered  tone  and  looking  at  me  with  a  queer  smile,  'now 
I  suppose  you  are  perfectly  satisfied?  You  have  nothing 
more  to  wish  for,  my  friend?  ' 


1VIVE  LE  ROI!^  409 

I  looked  aside  in  a  guilty  fashion,  not  daring  to  prefer 
on  the  top  of  all  his  kindness  a  further  petition.  More- 
over, His  Majesty  might  have  other  views;  or  on  this  point 
Turenne  might  have  proved  obstinate.  In  a  word,  there 
was  nothing  in  what  had  happened,  or  on  M.  de  Kosny's 
communication,  to  inform  me  whether  the  wish  of  my 
heart  was  to  be  gratified  or  not. 

But  I  should  have  known  that  great  man  better  than  to 
suppose  that  he  was  one  to  promise  without  performing,  or 
to  wound  a  friend  when  lie  could  not  salve  the. hurt.  After 
enjoying  my  confusion  for  a  time  he  burst  into  a  great 
shout  of  laughter,  and  taking  me  familiarly  by  the  shoul- 
ders, turned  me  towards  the  door.  'There,  go!'  he  said. 
'Go  up  the  passage.  You  will  find  a  door  on  the  right,  and 
a  door  on  the  left.  You  will  know  which  to  open. ' 

Forbidding  me  to  utter  a  syllable,  he  put  me  out.  In 
the  passage,  where  I  fain  would  have  stood  awhile  to  col- 
lect my  thoughts,  I  was  affrighted  by  sounds  which  warned 
me  that  the  king  was  returning  that  way.  Fearing  to  be 
surprised  by  him  in  such  a  state  of  perturbation,  I  hurried 
to  the  end  of  the  passage,  where  I  discovered,  as  I  had  been 
told,  two  doors. 

They  were  both  closed,  and  there  was  nothing  about 
either  of  them  to  direct  my  choice.  But  M.  de  Rosny  was 
correct  in  supposing  that  I  had  not  forgotten  the  advice  he 
had  offered  me  on  the  day  when  he  gave  me  so  fine  a  sur- 
prise in  his  own  house — 'When  you  want  a  good  wife,  M. 
de  Marsac,  turn  to  the  right ! '  I  remembered  the  words, 
and  without  a  moment's  hesitation — for  the  king  and  his 
suite  were  already  entering  the  passage — I  knocked  boldly, 
and  scarcely  waiting  for  an  invitation,  went  in. 

Fanchette  was  by  the  door,  but  stood  aside  with  a  grim 
smile,  which  I  was  at  liberty  to  accept  as  a  welcome  or  not. 
Mademoiselle,  who  had  been  seated  on  the  farther  side  of 
the  table,  rose  as  I  entered,  and  we  stood  looking  at  one 
another.  Doubtless  she  waited  for  me  to  speak  first ;  while 
I  on  my  side  was  so  greatly  taken  aback  by  the  change 


4io  A    GENTLEMAN  GF  FRANCE 

wrought  in  her  by  the  Court  dress  she  was  wearing  and  the 
air  of  dignity  with  which  she  wore  it,  that  I  stood  gasping. 
I  turned  coward  after  all  that  had  passed  between  us.  This 
was  not  the  girl  I  had  wooed  in  the  greenwoods  by  St. 
Gaultier;  nor  the  pale-faced  woman  I  had  lifted  to  the 
saddle  a  score  of  times  in  the  journey  Paris- wards.  The 
sense  of  unworthiness  which  I  had  experienced  a  few  min- 
utes before  in  the  crowded  antechamber  returned  in  full 
force  in  presence  of  her  grace  and  beauty,  and  onoe  more 
I  stood  tongue-tied  before  her,  as  I  had  stood  in  the  lodg- 
ings at  Blois.  All  the  later  time,  all  that  had  passed  be- 
tween us  was  forgotten. 

She,  for  her  part,  looked  at  me  wondering  at  my  silence. 
Her  face,  which  had  grown  rosy  red  at  my  entrance,  turned 
pale  again.  Her  eyes  grew  large  with  alarm;  she  began 
to  beat  her  foot  on  the  floor  in  a  manner  I  knew.  'Is  any- 
thing the  matter,  SIT?  '  she  muttered  at  last. 

'On  the  contrary,  mademoiselle,'  I  answered  hoarsely, 
looking  every  way,  and  grasping  at  the  first  thing  I  could 
think  of,  '  I  am  just  from  M.  de  Eosny. ' 

'And  he?' 

'He  has  made  me  Lieutenant-Governor  of  the  Ai-magnac. ' 

She  curtseyed  to  me  in  a  wonderful  fashion.  'It  pleases 
me  to  congratulate  you,  sir,'  she  said,  in  a  voice  between 
laughing  and  crying.  'It  is  not  more  than  equal  to  your 
deserts.' 

I  tried  to  thank  her  becomingly,  feeling  at  the  same  time ' 
more  foolish  than  I  had  ever  ielt  in  my  life  5  for  I  knew 
that  this  was  neither  what  I  had  come  to  tell  nor  she  to 
hear.  Yet  I  could  not  muster  up  courage  nor  find  words 
to  go  farther,  and  stood  by  the  table  in  a  state  of  miserable 
discomposure. 

'Is  that  all,  sir? '  she  said  at  last,  losing  patience. 

Certainly  it  was  now  or  never,  and  I  knew  it.  I  made 
the  effort.  ''Ho,  mademoiselle/  I  said  in  a  low  voice, 
'Far  from  it.  But  I  do  not  see  here  the  lady  to  whom  I 
came  to  address  myself,  and  whom  I  have  seen  a  hundred 


'VIVE  LE  ROI^  411 

times  in  far  other  garb  than  yours}  wet  and  weary  and  dis- 
hevelled, in  danger  and  in  flight.  Her  I  have  served  and 
loved;  and  for  her  I  hare  lived,  I  have  had  no  thought 
for  months  that  has  not  been  hers,  nor  care  save  for  her. 
I  and  all  that  I  have  by  the  king's  bounty  are  hers,  and  I 
came  to  lay  them  at  her  feet.  But  I  do  not  see  her  here. ' 

'No,  sir?1  she  answered  in  a  whisper,  with  her  face 
averted. 

'No,  mademoiselle.' 

With  a  sudden  brightness  and  quickness  which  set  my 
heart  beating  she  turned,  and  looked  at  me.  'Indeed!3  she 
said.  'I  am  sorry  for  that.  It  is  a  pity  your  love  should 
be  given  elsewhere,  M.  de  Marsac— since  it  is  the  king's 
will  that  you  should  marry  me.' 

'Ah,  mademoiselle  1 '  I  cried,  kneeling  before  her — for  she 
had  come  round  the  table  and  stood  beside  me — 'But  you? ' 

'It  is  my  will  too,  sir,'  she  answered,  smiling  through 
her  tears. 


On  the  following  day  Mademoiselle  de  la  Vire  became 
my  wife;  the  king's  retreat  from  Paris,  which  was  rendered 
necessary  by  the  desertion  of  many  who  were  ill-affected 
'•o  the  Huguenots,  compelling  the  instant  performance  of 
the  marriage,  if  we  would  have  it  read  by  M.  d'Amours. 
This  haste  notwithstanding,  I  was  enabled  by  the  kindness 
of  M.  d'Agen  to  make  such  an  appearance,  in  respect  both 
of  servants  and  equipment,  as  became  rather  my  future 
prospects  than  my  past  distresses.  It  is  true  that  His 
Majesty,  out  of  a  desire  to  do  nothing  which  might  offend 
Turenne,  did  not  honour  us  with  his  presence ;  but  Madame 
Catherine  attended  on  his  behalf,  and  herself  gave  me  my 
bride.  M.  de  Sully  and  M.  Crillon,  with  the  Marquis  de 
Rambouillet  and  his  nephew,  and  my  distant  connection, 
the  Duke  de  Rohan,  who  first  acknowledged  me  on  that 
day,  were  among  those  who  earned  my  gratitude  by  attend- 
ing me  upon  the  occasion. 


412  A    GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE 

The  marriage  of  M.  Franqois  d'Agen  with  the  widow  of 
my  old  rival  and  opponent  did  not  take  place  until  some- 
thing more  than  a  year  later,  a  delay  which  was  less  dis- 
pleasing to  me  than  to  the  bridegroom,  inasmuch  as  it  left 
madame  at  liberty  to  bear  my  wife  company  during  my 
absence  on  the  campaign  of  Arques  and  Ivry.  In  the  latter 
battle,  which  added  vastly  to  the  renown  of  M.  de  Rosny, 
who  captured  the  enemy's  standard  with  his  own  hand,  1 
had  the  misfortune  to  be  wounded  in  the  second  of  the  two 
charges  led  by  the  king;  and  being  attacked  by  two  foot 
soldiers,  as  I  lay  entangled  I  must  inevitably  have  perished 
but  for  the  aid  afforded  me  by  Simon  Fleix,  who  flew  to 
the  rescue  with  the  courage  of  a  veteran.  His  action  was 
observed  by  the  king,  who  begged  him  from  me,  and 
attaching  him  to  his  own  person  in  the  capacity  of  clerk, 
started  him  so  fairly  on  the  road  to  fortune  that  he  has 
since  risen  beyond  hope  or  expectation. 

The  means  by  which  Henry  won  for  a  time  the  support  of 
Turenne  (and  incidentally  procured  his  consent  to  my  mar- 
riage) are  now  too  notorious  to  require  explanation.  Never- 
theless, it  was  not  until  the  Vicomte's  union  a  year  later 
with  Mademoiselle  de  la  Marck,  who  brought  him  the 
Duchy  of  Bouillon,  that  I  thoroughly  understood  the  mat- 
ter; or  the  kindness  peculiar  to  the  king,  my  master,  which 
impelled  that  great  monarch,  in  the  arrangement  of  affairs 
so  vast,  to  remember  the  interests  of  the  least  of  his 
servants. 


THE    END. 


